fratboy!eren couldn’t help his jealousy when you stopped texting him after you two landed an excellent score on your chem project.
he couldn’t help the late nights he spent in his dorm,
watching the video of you arched, your ass jiggling onto his pelvis as velvet moans spilled from your full lips,
watching the video of your legs locked around his neck, your stomach sinking in as his lips wrapped around your clit,
watching the video of your swollen lips wrapped around his red tip..
fratboy!eren fell for nerd!reader.
nerd!reader’s ability to keep your composure around him, the way you were able to walk straight past him despite the fact that you two made love (more like fucking to you) countless of times two weeks ago,
fratboy!eren met his match.
so he couldn’t help his jealousy when he saw you laughing it up with a 6 feet blond man with hazel eyes.
that man just so happened to be star athlete!reiner.
characters: ex boyfriend!porco galliard x female!reader
summary: your friends take you out after a very brutal breakup between you and your manipulative ex, porco. unbeknownst to you, his band is playing at the venue tonight.
contains: hate fucking, HEAVY degradation, manipulative porco, semi-public sex, slight thigh riding (if you look closely). if degradation or manipulative exes are a trigger for you, pls don’t read. <3
wc: 6.2k
ao3 | wattpad
"Come on, babe." Pieck rolls her eyes, the exasperation clear in her voice. "You have every right to go out and have a good time. Quit letting that asshole ruin your life!"
You huff, sinking deeper into the couch and wrapping your arms around your knees like it'll somehow shield you from Pieck's relentless determination. "I'm not letting him ruin my life. I just—don't feel like going out, okay?"
"It's been weeks." Pieck narrows her eyes, folding her arms over her chest. "You've barely left your apartment since the breakup. When was the last time you even showered, let alone had a decent meal?"
"I showered yesterday," you mumble, but it's a weak defense, and you both know it.
Pieck arches a brow, her unimpressed expression doing nothing to ease the knot in your stomach. "Look, I get it. Breakups suck. Especially when the guy's a manipulative, egotistical, emotionally-stunted dickbag like Porco."
You flinch at his name, the sound of it dragging old wounds to the surface. Porco fucking Galliard. The man who once had you wrapped around his finger so tightly, you didn't even realize you were suffocating. And by the time you did, it was already too late.
He made you feel wanted, needed, like you were something precious he couldn't bear to lose. Until he wasn't getting his way. Then he'd twist your words, guilt-trip you into thinking you were the problem. That you were the one always overreacting, always messing things up.
But the worst part? You believed him. For far too long, you believed him.
"Which is exactly why you need to get out and have some fun," Pieck continues, her tone softening but not losing its edge. "You deserve a break. Something that reminds you you're more than just 'Porco's ex.'"
"I know I'm more than that," you mutter, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears.
Pieck lets out a sigh and drops onto the couch beside you, her head resting against your shoulder. "I miss my friend. The one who used to laugh and actually have a life outside of that asshole. So let me do this for you, okay? Just one night. We'll grab drinks, listen to some decent music, and if it sucks, we can leave and trash-talk everyone we saw on the way home. Deal?"
You hesitate, the excuses already building up in your mind. But Pieck's gaze is unwavering, her concern obvious beneath the playful exasperation. And as much as you want to argue, you're tired of feeling like this. Tired of feeling like he still has his claws in you, even when he's not around.
"Fine," you sigh. "But I'm not dressing up. If you're dragging me out, I'm wearing whatever I damn well want."
Pieck's eyes light up with victory. "Fair enough. Just don't complain when all the girls are hitting on me instead of you."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
You manage a weak smile, the first genuine one you've felt in days.
Pieck had tried to convince you to wear something "hot enough to make your ex cry," but you weren't in the mood for tight dresses and flashy makeup. You settled on something simple, something that felt more like you.
The dark, high-waisted jeans hug your hips snugly, the denim worn and soft from years of use. They're ripped at the knees—more from actual wear than style—and they mold to your legs in a way that feels comfortably familiar. Paired with them is a fitted black tank top, the fabric clinging to your torso just enough to hint at your curves without making you feel exposed.
A cropped leather jacket hangs loosely over your shoulders, its weight comforting as you tug it tighter around yourself. It's the one thing you couldn't let go of during the breakup—something you bought just to spite Porco's complaints about how "you weren't edgy enough to pull off that look."
Your shoes are nothing special, just a pair of old combat boots that add a little height and a lot of attitude. They make you feel grounded, like you can stand your ground even if the world around you feels like it's falling apart.
Your other friends had at least convinced you to wear some makeup—a little eyeliner smudged around your eyes and a swipe of tinted lip balm. Just enough to avoid their disappointed looks without making you feel like you were trying too hard. They'd spent the better part of an hour trying to talk you into something more dramatic, something that would make you feel "hot and irresistible" rather than "a sulking wreck."
You shut them down at every turn, insisting you weren't trying to impress anyone tonight. But the pitying looks they kept throwing your way wore you down until you finally agreed to at least put on the bare minimum of effort. If only to get them off your back.
But now, standing in the middle of the packed bar with Pieck on one side and your other friends scattered somewhere in the crowd, you can feel their good intentions pressing down on you like a weight. The music thrums through your chest, too loud and too aggressive for your already frazzled nerves.
You should've known better than to let them drag you out tonight. After weeks of moping in your apartment, they were determined to get you out and "remind you what fun feels like."
But fun feels impossible. Like something that exists just outside your reach, taunting you with memories of nights that used to be carefree and easy.
You've been here less than an hour, and you already want to leave.
But you promised them you'd try. So, you cling to your drink like a lifeline, pretending the alcohol is doing something—anything—to dull the raw ache still lodged deep in your chest. The kind of ache that doesn't fade no matter how many times your friends tell you you're better off without him.
Because how do you just move on from someone like him?
Your ex. Your manipulative, arrogant, infuriating ex.
Porco fucking Galliard.
The thought of him alone is enough to sour your mood all over again, but it's nothing compared to the shock of hearing his voice.
That voice, too familiar and too sharp, cutting through the noise like a blade. Your body goes rigid, your fingers tightening around your glass until your knuckles ache.
No. There's no way.
You whip around, eyes scanning the small stage at the other end of the bar. And there he is. Front and center, microphone gripped loosely in one hand as he belts out the lyrics like the crowd is there solely to worship him.
You feel sick. Actually, physically sick.
"Shit," you breathe, the word lost under the booming bassline.
Of course. Of course, he would be here. The universe loves playing cruel little jokes on you.
He looks good—because of course, he fucking does. Messy blonde hair, cocky grin, confidence oozing from every smug line of his body. He's always had that magnetic, infuriating charm that makes people's eyes stick to him like he's the only one in the room worth paying attention to. The kind of charisma that drew you in from the start, sparking something reckless and stupid inside you the moment he turned that grin your way.
You'd never been the type to fall for arrogance. You used to scoff at guys like him, rolling your eyes at their entitled swagger and shameless flirtations. But Porco was different. There was something about the way he looked at you, like you were a challenge he was just dying to conquer. And when he finally had you, the attention was intoxicating. Overwhelming.
He made you feel seen. Like every other guy who'd brushed you off or passed you over was just a mistake waiting to be corrected by him. Porco knew how to make you feel wanted, needed, like you were something precious he couldn't bear to lose.
But that same charm was a weapon he wielded just as easily to cut you down. When things were good, it was all heated touches, addictive smiles, and whispered promises that you swore you could believe in. But when things were bad—when you dared to push back, to argue, to stand your ground—his affection twisted into something else entirely.
He'd call you dramatic. Accuse you of overreacting. Make you feel like every doubt you had was something you needed to apologize for. Every argument ended the same way: him making you feel like you were the problem. Like your emotions were something to be fixed, silenced, dismissed.
You lost count of how many times you caved. How many times you swallowed your own hurt and guilt just to keep the peace, to convince yourself he really did care about you even when his words sliced through you like glass. Because when he wanted to, Porco could make you feel invincible. Like nothing else mattered but the way his eyes burned into yours and his hands pulled you closer.
He kept you burning for him until there was nothing left of you but ash. And when you finally found the strength to walk away, you'd barely been able to recognize yourself.
But standing here now, seeing him back on stage with that same fucking grin plastered across his face, you feel it all over again. That stupid, reckless pull. The anger tangled up with something darker and infinitely more pathetic.
Because no matter how much you hate him, some part of you still wants him.
That's the worst part, isn't it? The part that keeps you awake at night, replaying every fight, every gaslighting comment, every moment he twisted your own emotions against you until you weren't sure which way was up. And yet, buried beneath all that hurt, there's still this sick, shameful ache that craves his attention. That wants him to look at you the way he used to—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.
But it's all a lie. It always was.
You feel the panic building in your chest, a rising tide of anger and disgust you can't keep down. The room feels smaller, the air thick and cloying as his voice crashes over you like a taunt, dragging you right back to the worst parts of yourself. The parts he twisted and broke and left scattered like debris.
You can't be here. Not with him so close. Not with the memories clawing their way up your throat like poison.
Your breathing quickens, hands trembling around your drink as you force yourself to tear your eyes away from the stage. You need to get out. You need air, distance, anything to stop the world from spinning around you like this.
You barely register Pieck's concerned voice calling your name, her hand brushing your arm as you stumble to your feet. You mumble something that's probably meant to sound reassuring, but you can't even hear yourself over the pounding in your ears.
You're already halfway out of your seat before your friends even notice. Someone says your name, but you don't stop to look back. You're pushing through the crowded room, desperate for air, desperate to get away before he notices you.
You can still hear his voice tearing through the speakers, smooth and cocky, sending every nerve in your body into overdrive. But you don't look back. You shove past strangers, ignoring the annoyed grumbles and glares thrown your way. All you can think about is getting outside. Getting as far away from him as possible.
The hallway leading toward the bathrooms is quieter, the pounding music muffled by the thick walls. You force yourself to breathe, your lungs heaving like you just ran a mile instead of stumbling twenty feet.
But just as you reach the end of the hallway, the music cuts off mid-song. Confused murmurs and a few frustrated shouts from the crowd filter through the air, but you barely notice. All you care about is that the sound of his voice is finally gone.
And that's when you hear it—footsteps pounding against the floor, purposeful and unrelenting. Heading straight for you.
You should've known better than to think you could escape him.
You barely have time to process the dread pooling in your stomach before a hand clamps around your wrist.
"Well, well, well. Thought that was you sulking in the back." Porco's voice is low, smug as ever, each word a deliberate scrape against your already raw nerves.
"Let me go," you snap, jerking your arm free and taking a step back. But of course, there's nowhere to go. Just a narrow, dimly lit hallway and him standing between you and your only exit.
He looks you over, a slow, mocking grin spreading across his face. "Didn't realize you were so desperate for me that you'd actually show up at my show."
"Don't flatter yourself. I didn't even know you'd be here."
He laughs, the sound cruel and dripping with condescension. "Sure you didn't. And I'm supposed to believe you just happened to end up here, out of all the bars in town? Give me a fucking break."
Your hands clench into fists at your sides. "My friends brought me here. Believe what you want, but I'm not pathetic enough to come crawling after you."
He arches an eyebrow, eyes glinting with twisted amusement. "No? Could've fooled me. Showing up here looking like you just rolled out of bed, all sad and desperate. Like you couldn't even bother trying to look good because you were too busy sulking over me."
You can feel your cheeks burn, anger curling hot and volatile in your chest. "You're unbelievable."
"Unbelievable?" Porco steps closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours. "Funny. That's exactly what you used to call me when you were begging me to fuck you."
The words punch the air from your lungs. Every ounce of logic is screaming at you to walk away, to shove him aside and leave him choking on his own ego. But there's something about his tone, that condescending lilt in his voice, that's dragging you right back into the mess you swore you'd never touch again.
"What's the matter?" he taunts, eyes narrowing as he watches the conflict war across your face. "Too embarrassed to admit you missed me? That you've been moping around wishing you could feel me ruining you all over again?"
"Shut up," you snap, but the words are weak, shaky. And he knows it.
Porco's smile widens, all sharp edges and vicious intent. "Come on, sweetheart. We both know how this ends. You acting all pissed off and indignant like I'm the worst thing that ever happened to you, when really? You fucking loved it."
You hate that his words make your skin prickle, that his presence alone is enough to drag your pulse into a reckless sprint. You hate that even now, after everything he put you through, there's still some part of you that craves the destructive heat only he's ever managed to spark.
His hand comes up to grip your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You look like shit, by the way. Like you've been crying over me for weeks. Pathetic."
You should slap him. You should knee him in the groin and leave him writhing on the filthy floor of this shitty bar.
But instead, you glare at him, refusing to back down. "You're such a piece of shit."
"And yet, here you are," he counters smoothly. "Practically drooling over me like you haven't been getting off to the thought of me every night since you left."
Your nails bite into your palms, but you don't deny it. You can't.
Because he's right.
"Why don't you just admit it?" he continues, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Admit that you missed me. Admit that you came here hoping I'd wreck you all over again."
"Fuck you."
He laughs again, the sound dark and mocking. "Oh, I can’t wait."
And when his mouth crashes against yours, all teeth and hunger and cruelty, you don't stop him. You don't even try.
His lips are rough against yours, all force and arrogance, like he's claiming something that still belongs to him. You hate him for it. Hate him even more for the way your body responds, heat pooling low in your stomach despite every rational thought telling you to push him away.
But you don't. Instead, you kiss him back with just as much venom, teeth nipping at his bottom lip hard enough to draw a low growl from his throat.
"Still a feisty little bitch, huh?" Porco sneers, his hands finding your waist and shoving you backward until your spine hits the cold, sticky wall. "Guess some things never change."
You glare at him, your breathing already uneven. "You really think I'm doing this because I missed you?"
"Oh, I know you missed me." He leans in, his breath hot against your ear. "I can practically feel you shaking for it. What was it you always used to say? That no one fucked you like I did?"
Your nails dig into his shoulders, but the pressure only makes his smirk grow. He likes it when you fight back. Hell, he's counting on it.
"Go to hell."
I'm already there, sweetheart. Just waiting for you to catch up."
His knee shoves between your thighs, forcing your legs apart until his thigh presses firmly against you. The contact is sudden, rough, and your body reacts before your brain can catch up. A shiver rolls down your spine, heat pooling low in your stomach even as you try to twist away.
But his hands are already on your hips, fingers digging into your sides to keep you exactly where he wants you. And despite every ounce of fury still burning in your veins, your hips twitch against his thigh, a pathetic little grind that makes his grin stretch wider.
"See? Fucking pathetic," he sneers, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Your body's already begging for it, and I've barely even touched you. Guess leaving me didn't fix you as much as you thought, huh?"
"Shut up," you snap, but the words are a broken rasp, your voice trembling even as you try to force steel into it.
He laughs, the sound low and mocking. "You can say that all you want, but we both know you're just a needy little slut. Rubbing yourself on my thigh like you've been waiting for this. Just admit it—you missed me. Missed the way I wreck you."
Your hips betray you again, the pressure against his thigh sending a shameful rush of heat through your body. You try to hold yourself still, to stop giving him exactly what he wants, but the need is already clawing at you, vicious and relentless.
And Porco knows it. He feels it. And he's not about to let you forget it.
“Pathetic," Porco spits, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in, his mouth brushing your ear. "You act so tough, but you're nothing without me. Just a desperate little mess who can't even pretend she doesn't want me to fuck her."
You feel his fingers trail down your sides before he's yanking you forward, your body stumbling against his chest with a startled gasp. His arm hooks around your waist, his grip possessive and unyielding as he starts walking, practically dragging you down the narrow hallway.
"W-What the hell are you doing?" you sputter, your hands instinctively shoving at his chest even as your body struggles to keep up with his brutal pace.
"Taking you somewhere a little more private," he says, his voice dripping with smug assurance. "Unless you want me to make you come just by grinding on my thigh right here in the hallway. Wouldn't be the first time, would it?"
Your face burns with humiliation, the memory of just how easily he's torn you apart in the past flashing behind your eyes. But you can't find your voice, your throat clamped tight around whatever protest you're desperately trying to force out.
Porco's grip never loosens, his fingers digging painfully into your hip as he shoves open the first door he comes across—a dimly lit storage room littered with stacked chairs and boxes of cheap bar merchandise.
"Perfect," he mutters, kicking the door shut behind him and shoving you back until your shoulders hit the wall. "Now, where were we?"
His knee forces its way between your thighs again, pressing up against you until your legs are trembling.
"Oh, right," he sneers. "You were making a fool of yourself by humping my thigh like a bitch in heat."
"Fuck you," you snap, your voice splintering under the weight of your own anger and shame.
His thigh grinds against you, relentless and unforgiving. The pressure against your core has your body twitching helplessly, heat pooling low in your stomach despite every furious thought screaming at you to shove him away.
But Porco knows how to keep you frozen. How to tear your defenses down until you're nothing but a wreck at his feet.
"You should see yourself right now," he sneers, his voice thick with twisted amusement. "Acting like you hate me when you're two seconds away from dripping all over my leg. Maybe I should drag you back out there, let everyone see how desperate you really are."
Your fists clench at his chest, but it's a weak, half-hearted effort. Your body's already betraying you, your hips rolling against his thigh like you can't even help yourself. Like the humiliation only makes you need him more.
"You're disgusting," you spit, but the words tremble on your tongue, the shame burning through your veins like acid.
"Maybe," he shrugs, eyes blazing with arrogant delight. "But at least I'm not the one getting off on it." His fingers curl around your chin, forcing your head up until you're staring straight into his merciless gaze. "Admit it. You fucking love this. Being treated like the worthless little slut you are."
"I—" Your voice cracks, your body fighting against itself. Everything feels too hot, too sharp, his words digging under your skin and making something dark and desperate unravel inside you.
"Can't even deny it, can you?" Porco laughs, the sound cutting and cruel. "You act all pissed off and righteous, but we both know the truth. You fucking need me. No one else can fuck you the way I do, and you're just pathetic enough to keep crawling back for more."
"Shut up," you whisper, the words nothing more than a broken gasp.
"Why?" His lips brush against your ear, his breath scorching your skin. "Because you know I'm right? Because you can't stand the fact that you'd let me do anything I wanted to you if it meant getting that filthy little itch of yours scratched?"
You try to shake your head, but his grip on your chin is iron. Instead, all you can do is tremble, your body's reaction making him smirk like he's already won.
"Maybe I should make you beg for it. Make you tell me how much you fucking missed me," he murmurs, his fingers slipping down to hook into your waistband. "But I think you've been pathetic enough for one night."
He yanks your jeans down to your knees, the denim scraping against your skin as he forces them out of the way. His eyes rake over you with that same condescending delight, like you're nothing more than his personal plaything put on this earth for him to ruin.
"I should make you say thank you," Porco continues, his fingers finding their way between your thighs, rough and unkind. "Because let's be honest—you'd let me do anything to you right now, wouldn't you? Just so you can feel something other than how fucking worthless you are."
The words hit like a slap, but the sting only makes you gasp, your body clenching around nothing as he drags his fingers against you with bruising force.
And then he feels it. How soaked you are, how your body's already betraying you before he's even really started. His fingers slide along your slit, slick and shamefully wet, the evidence of your own pathetic desire coating his skin.
"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," he laughs, the sound dripping with contempt. "You're already dripping for me. Didn't even take much, either. Just a few insults and a little attention, and you're fucking gushing like the desperate slut you are."
You bite down on your lip, hard enough to taste copper. You want to shove him away, scream at him, claw his eyes out for the way he's looking at you. Like he owns you. Like he's already won.
But you can't move. Not when his fingers press against your entrance, circling slowly, deliberately, like he's giving you a chance to stop him. To tell him no.
You don't. You can’t.
You know just as well as he does that your body is craving his touch.
"Pathetic," Porco spits, his voice a low, vicious rumble. "Your body's just begging for me, isn't it? Bet you touch yourself every night thinking about me, wishing someone else could fuck you even half as good. But no one else even comes close, do they?"
"Shut up," you whisper, but it's barely more than a whimper. Because he's right, and you both know it.
"Can't even deny it," he sneers. "Go on. Say it. Tell me how much you fucking missed this."
"No," you rasp, but your voice is weak, trembling. And when his fingers finally push inside you, the sound that escapes your throat is nothing but pure, humiliating need.
"Fuck," he breathes, his smirk growing even more wicked. "You're soaking my fingers already. Bet you're so fucking tight just from me talking down to you. Because you love it, don't you? Love being reminded how useless and broken you are."
You want to deny it, want to scream at him to go to hell again, but the pleasure twisting through your body is impossible to ignore — and the shame only seems to make it worse.
Porco's fingers pump into you, rough and unyielding, dragging along your walls with such force. Your hips jerk against his hand, your body's reactions spiraling out of your control as he continues to tear you down with every filthy word. The sounds of your panting breathing fills the air, your cunt squeezing his fingers tight with every curl he gives you.
"See? That's all you're good for," he growls, his breath hot against your ear. "Taking whatever I give you like a needy little slut. Doesn't matter how much you hate me—you'll still let me fuck you whenever I want, won't you?"
You choke out something between a sob and a moan, your body clenching around his fingers as if trying to draw him in deeper. The humiliation only sharpens the pleasure, making you tremble against him as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans against your neck, his teeth biting down into your flesh. “Your pussy has missed my fucking fingers, hasn’t it? It’s practically sucking them in all by myself.”
His fingers curl inside of you, finding the spongy part that he knows will break you every single time.
"Come on," Porco taunts, his thumb pressing down harshly against your clit. "Show me how much of a fucking mess you are. Make a mess all over my hand like the worthless little whore you are."
His words dig into you, sharp and cutting, but the heat coiling low in your stomach only tightens in response. It's twisted and pathetic and you hate yourself for wanting this, for craving the very thing that made you walk away from him in the first place.
But you can't help it. Because even though you know he's just getting off on humiliating you, some sick part of you likes it. The way his cruelty makes everything feel sharp and immediate, tearing down every rational thought until there's nothing left but raw, reckless need.
Your hips jerk against his hand, chasing the pressure of his fingers like you've already given up on fighting him. And maybe you have. Because nothing else feels this good. Nothing else drowns out the ache of losing him the way his touch does.
"See?" he sneers, his breath hot against your ear. " You can act like you hate me all you want, but your body's telling me everything I need to know. You fucking missed this. Missed being put in your place."
He pulls his fingers out of you quickly, a loud whine escaping your lips at the loss. His thumb continues to press hard circles into your clit instead, keeping you right on the edge of your release.
"Fuck you," you rasp, but there's no heat behind the words. Just desperation.
He laughs, the sound thick with cruel satisfaction. "You wish. But I think you've got something else to take care of first." His fingers plunge into you harder, rough and unyielding, dragging another broken gasp from your throat. "So go on. Come all over my hand like the desperate little slut you are."
Your body obeys before your pride can stop it, your orgasm crashing over you with brutal intensity. You bite down on your lip to muffle the pathetic moan that slips out, but the damage is already done.
Porco feels it. He loves it.
"That's what I thought." He doesn't stop, his fingers still working you over, prolonging your orgasm until your thighs tremble and your vision blurs. "Fucking knew you'd fall apart the second I touched you. Just like always."
Your breaths come in ragged, shallow pants, the aftershocks of pleasure still thrumming through you even as his taunts sink in like poison. You should be pushing him away, telling him to get the hell out of your life for good. But instead, your arms are wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing left in your crumbling world.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with condescension. "Still holding onto me like you're scared I'll leave you here all needy and wrecked. Guess you really are more pathetic than I thought."
"I hate you," you choke out, but even to your own ears, it sounds like a lie.
"Yeah?" He finally pulls his hand away, his fingers glistening with everything you hate about yourself. "Funny, because your cunt is telling me something completely different."
He brings his glistening fingers to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste your essence all over them. The action makes your stomach twist, shame burning hot under your skin. Your body continues to cling to him though, knowing damn well he’s far from stopping.
And even if he was, you wouldn’t want him to stop.
Porco fucking knows it.
"Look at you," he laughs, the sound thick with derision. One of his hands works into the back of your hair, pulling it tightly to bring your face to his. "Fucking pathetic. You should be thanking me for even touching you after the way you fucked everything up."
Your jaw clenches, fury sparking bright and blinding behind your eyes. But your body won't listen to your mind. It craves the friction, the anger, the desperate, hateful need that only Porco seems capable of yanking out of you.
"Shut up," you choke out, but the tremor in your voice only makes his grin widen.
"Nah. I don't think I will." His mouth crushes against yours again, swallowing whatever feeble protest you try to make. The kiss is all teeth and cruelty, the kind of kiss meant to punish rather than pleasure.
It's rough. It's ugly. It's exactly what you wanted.
You hate him for that, too.
By the time he finally yanks his pants down just far enough to press himself against you, your mind is a chaotic mess of fury and heat. Your body practically arches toward him even as your brain screams at you to stop, to push him away before you let him ruin you all over again.
His cock rubs against your pussy in the best way, your wetness coating it. He grinds it against you, groans falling from his mouth as whimpers escape yours.
Fuck. You’ve never wanted someone so fucking bad like you do right now. And it had to be him of all people.
"Tell me you don't fucking want this, baby," he says, his forehead pressed against yours. It sounds so soft that you almost forget about the monster standing in front of you.
The pet name he rarely called you slipped from his lips with ease. That name that he used to reel you in every goddamned time.
Not a single argument falls from your mouth. It would be useless. Both of you know that you would do anything for him to be inside of you right now.
You fucking hate yourself for it.
His mouth finds your neck again, giving it bruising kisses as he sinks himself inside of you. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from crying out, the sharp sting of pain mingling with something far more shameful.
"Still take me so fucking well," he grunts, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."
"Just—shut up," you rasp, the words broken and desperate.
"Why?" he sneers. "Because you can't handle the truth? That no matter how hard you try to convince yourself you hate me, your body still knows it belongs to me? That only my cock could fuck your tight little pussy like this?”
His words twists inside you, equal parts fury and need, your nails raking down his back hard enough to draw a hiss from him. But he just laughs, the sound vicious and triumphant.
"Come on, sweetheart. Admit it. You missed this. Missed me."
You shake your head, but the movement is weak, your body trembling with each brutal thrust. And Porco sees it. He fucking sees it and relishes in it.
"Pathetic," he spits. "You can lie to yourself all you want, but your cunt still knows exactly who it fucking belongs to."
You can feel yourself unraveling, the heat building until it's almost unbearable. Your body responds to him like it's been trained. Your hips move in rhythm with his, trying to get you closer to your release - closer to getting yourself the fuck away from him.
"Porco," you cry out, that familiar knot growing deep inside of you, begging to let go.
Porco can feel your cunt clenching around him, and fuck if it doesn’t take everything he has to not cum inside of you right then and there.
"Fuck yeah, sweetheart," he groans. "That's it. Cum all over my fucking cock like the slut you are for it."
Your nails dig into his shoulders as your hips move faster, his cock hitting that sensitive spot repeatedly with every thrust. A loud moan rips from your throat as you finally let go.
“Fuck, Porco!” you scream out as you come all over him, your pussy sucking his cock in greedily for more.
He gives you just that, fucking you through your release as he follows behind you. His cock unloads inside of you, filling you up just how you used to beg him to every time he fucked you.
Your forehead slumps against his shoulder as you come down from your high, and it takes everything in you not to wrap your arms around him and pull him closely like you used to.
For a moment, the world is nothing but harsh breathing and the distant thump of the music beyond the hallway.
Then the silence comes, and with it, the crushing weight of everything you just let him do.
After a moment, Porco pulls out of you, setting your wobbly feet back on the ground. He pulls his pants back on and buttons them with that same smug grin that he wore on stage plastered across his face. "Guess I was right. You really are just a desperate little slut."
"Go to hell," you whisper, your voice shredded and raw. Your hands pulls your pants back up around your waist as you fight the tears threatening to fall from your eyes.
"Already told you, baby," He whispers as he brings his lips down to your forehead, kissing it softly. "I'm waiting for you to catch up."
And then he's gone, slamming the door closed behind him, leaving you slumped against the wall—breathless, your heart pounding with a mix of anger, shame, and something you can't even name. You hate how easily he got to you. How quickly you let him drag you back into the same toxic, addictive mess you swore you'd never touch again.
But most of all, you hate yourself for still wanting him.
LEVIXREADER! Coming back to headquarters after a challenging expedition pained you. After all; the grime combined with the tightness of your muscles wasn’t a good pair. But, Levi's hands in your hair, with a cozy hot bath running, was a perfect one.
_________
♫ IT'S NICE TO HAVE A FRIEND - taylor swift
❝ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʟᴀᴛᴇʟʏ, ʏᴇᴀʜ, ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ. ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇʀᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ❞
The walls of Trost loomed overhead, but the weight on your shoulders felt heavier as you walked through the gate. The journey you'd just completed had been long and brutal, soldiers' bodies and souls pushed to their limits.
After yet another grueling mission with the Survey Corps, your body ached in ways you didn't know were possible. Every bone felt heavy, every muscle screamed for rest, and all you wanted was a moment of peace.
As soon as your feet hit the headquarters’ courtyard, every step grew heavier, every breath more labored. Putting your horse away to rest at the stables made you weary. All you craved was a sanctuary, a moment of peace far from the chaos and the carnage that surrounded your body and mind.
Your body ached at joints you hadn’t noticed before. Arms tight by your side, legs begging to give out while dragging yourself. You bypassed the bustle of the other soldiers returning and made your way directly to a place you knew would be quiet, secluded, and safe— Levi’s quarters.
You can’t recall when going to Levi’s room was a place for comfort after a mission. It just had been a silent agreement between the both of you. Maybe it was his unwavering strength or the craving to have someone there to lean on, but his space always seemed to offer the tranquility you so desperately needed.
Which is why you found yourself walking in a familiar path.
Levi’s quarters were quiet and meticulously organized, nothing different from his nonchalant personality. You didn’t bother knocking, knowing he wouldn’t mind your intrusion.
The door creaked softly as you pushed it open, and you peered inside to find Levi at his desk, paperwork scattered in front of him, yet he looked up the moment you entered. It always amazed you how he looked so put together after such a reckless expedition. But this was the Levi Ackerman, nothing was expected less.
He must’ve arrived a few moments before you have; and is already shoving himself into paperwork. You’ve tried countless times to try and pull him away from his (what you like to call it) workaholic behavior, but he never budges.
“What are you doing here?” Levi’s voice was stern, but his eyes softened when you saw the state you were in. You must have looked as bad as you felt, worn out and on your last threat. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about your dirty state in the front of a higher-up.
“I just need somewhere,” you pause, breaking the eye contact you both held to look at the cozy, neatly made bed in the corner. “Peaceful to rest,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper as you slowly shuffled towards his bed.
Without a word, he stood up, his chair scraping lightly against the floor. With a long stride, he approached you, gaze scrutinizing as he took in the full extent of your fatigue. You picked up the tiniest scrunch of his nose as he did so.
“You look like hell,” he commented, taking in your body one final time as he looked back up to meet your eyes. You knew he didn’t mean anything to come off as rude, his tone carried more concern than insult.
“Thanks,” you managed a weak smile, too tired to come up with a witty response.
Instead of his usual reprimand, for your state, Levi guided you gently by the hand. With being drained you still managed to hold his, following him to wherever he took you.
“Come on, you need a bath before you crash.” Despite your initial protest at first; wanting to sleep the ache of your muscles off, the thought of a warm bath was too comforting to resist.
Guiding you to the bathroom, Levi turned on the faucet, adjusting the temperature until steam rose in gentle curls from the water’s surface. He added a measure of soap that filled the room with a clean, soothing scent. “Get in,” he instructed, stepping out to give you privacy.
As you stripped down, the steam-filled bathroom was a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world outside. You sat in the warm bath, tendrils of steam curling around you, creating an intimate cocoon.
Your muscles relaxed involuntarily, a sigh escaping your lips as you submerged yourself up to your shoulders. Moving your fingers to touch the top layer of soap across the water, you sink into its warmth.
You’ve been in this position more times than you can remember, but you love it more than the last time before. Levi always needs to care for you, even when it’s not reciprocated.
Hearing the door creek open, Levi steps in. With a curt nod of consent given from both of you, he arranges everything needed for washing your hair with his usual quiet efficiency. His movements were precise, a trait that bled into every aspect of his life, but his eyes held a softness reserved just for moments like these.
“Alright, lean back,” Levi instructed, his voice faint in the confines of the small room. He waits patiently as you adjust yourself, finding a comfortable position with your head tilted back to the rest against the rim of the tub.
As he poured a dollop of shampoo into his palm, the familiar scent of lavender filled the air, mixing with the steam and creating a calming atmosphere. He began to work the lather into your hair, his fingers skilled and gentle.
“Tell me if I’m too rough,” he murmured, though you knew he wouldn’t be; he’d never had. Levi’s hands might be capable of deadly precision in battle, but here, they were nothing but tender.
"It's perfect," you sighed, closing your eyes to better savor the sensation of his fingers massaging your scalp. The stress of the mission began to melt away under his careful ministrations. "Where did you learn to do this?"
Levi paused for a fraction of a second, his hands continuing their motion. "Old memories," he replied quietly. "Used to help someone, long ago."
You nodded, understanding the unspoken depth of his words. Silence fell between you again, comfortable and easy. His hands rinsed your hair with water warmed to just the right temperature, washing away the suds along with the remnants of the day’s grime and worries.
"How does that feel?" Levi asked after a moment, tuning out the quietness that enveloped the both of you.
"Like I could fall asleep right here," you responded with a laugh. You were half-joking, but you were truly relaxed under his touch, ready to drift to sleep.
"You wouldn't be the first," he admitted with a rare, small chuckle. "But try to stay awake for just a little longer. I'm not done pampering you yet."
The word 'pampering' coming from Levi might have felt odd to anyone else, but between the two of you, it felt right—special even. His hands worked through your hair once more, giving you the second round of shampoo.
"Keeping my hair in good shape for the next mission?" you teased, eyes still closed as you enjoyed the sensation.
"Something like that," Levi agreed, dismissing your banter. "Can't have you going out there with anything less than perfect."
"It's more than just being clean," you commented, tilting your head to the left slightly to give him better access. You reminisce on when he said he was pampering you. "It's like you're—taking care of me."
"That's exactly what I'm doing," Levi confirmed, voice distancing out as if he was grabbing something. "You take care of everyone else. Who takes care of you?"
You smiled, eyes still closed. "You."
Levi's hands stilled once more in your hair, and you opened your eyes to look at him. There was a softness there, rarely shown to others. "I always will, if you let me."
"Then I will," you said, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the bathwater. "Let you."
With a smile, you lean back, exposing your neck and shoulders as he begins to wash your hair. His fingers were more tentative than his usual brisk touch, exploring the texture before massaging your scalp deeply. You couldn’t suppress a hum, relaxing under the surprisingly sensual touch of his strong, careful fingers.
“You should take it easy,” Levi spoke up after a moment, his voice low. “You push yourself too hard.”
You briefly nodded in response, too relaxed to form words. His concern made your heart swell a bit—Levi was not one to coddle, at least not to others, so his attentiveness spoke volumes.
Levi, Humanity’s Strongest, most vulnerable in your presence. It was laughable to others, to you, it was adoration.
“You should take your advice,” you say, peering up to see his face. “No seriously, you work yourself out. Maybe I’ll give you a hair treatment with how stressed you always look.”
His grin was small at your words. Almost imperceptible, but it was there, and it warmed you more than the bath ever could. He grasps onto your shoulder, moving you to be back in place.
He continues to wash your hair without complaint, his touches now filled with an unspoken promise, each stroke and rinse carrying a tenderness that spoke more than words.
As he finished and began to rinse your hair, his actions were deliberate, ensuring not a trace of shampoo was left behind. “But, I’ll always be here whenever.” He muttered as he gently raised your head back to rinse thoroughly.
"Thank you, Levi," you whisper, hearing the water flow as your knees come closer to your chest.
"There's no need to thank me," he replied, rinsing your hair and ensuring no suds remained. "Just promise to take better care of yourself."
"I promise," you said, knowing well that your promise was as much for him as it was for you.
The assurance in his words wrapped around you just as comfortably as the water did.
When he finished, he rinsed the last of the conditioner from your hair, then helped you stand to get out of the tub.
“You can sleep in my room tonight,” he commented as he handed you a towel with an averted gaze, modest despite the many times you’d fought and bled together.
Now wrapped up, you followed him back to his room, too drained to converse. Pulling a shirt from his closet, he hands you a baggy black pullover, then steps out to the bathroom; probably going to tidy up the place.
Back in his room, you felt a thousand times lighter. Levi watched you as you crawled into his bed, his sheets cool and crisp against your clean skin. He didn’t say anything, just watched you with an unreadable expression.
As you drifted towards sleep, you felt the bed dip beside you. Expecting to be alone, you murmured a confused protest, going to rise but it died on your lips and body as Levi settled behind you. His body was a solid line against your back, an arm carefully laid over your waist, not confining but reassuring.
“Rest now,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your ear. It was the most delicate of invasions, and you found yourself relaxing into his embrace.
As sleep began to pull you deeper, Levi shifted slightly behind you. His movement was careful, calculated not to disturb, but purposeful. You felt him lean over you, his presence enveloping. Then, a gentle pressure—a soft, fleeting kiss—touched your forehead.
It was a simple act, yet it carried the weight of all the unspoken things between you: protection, care, and maybe something even deeper. Levi’s kiss was a silent vow in the stillness, a moment of tenderness offered with the solemnity of a confession.
Comforted by the gesture, you sank further into sleep, a content smile curving your lips. In a world that demanded so much from you both, this small, quiet act spoke volumes of your shared sanctuary.
( Eren Jaeger and Scouts x Black OC in High school AU)
⚠️ Mentions of: bullying,
𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄-𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌= 𝐉𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Being apart of a group chat that you didn't interact with wasn't fun. There was a lot of Group Chats in Paradis High. Each group chat was for a certain thing, specific topic, and was made for a certain reason. The most known kids, both boys and girls—were invited and added to group chats. For some it was an amazing thing, and it highlighted the beauty of popularity. It showed the peak of popularity. You would get to be invited to parties, like Historia's Reiss yearly summer mansion party for example. Or you would be invited to sport games, like Jean Kirstien who plays basketball, and Eren himself. Then the other people on the team as well, since they weren't the only athletic boys in the school. So it was no surprise to Eren when he was added to the group chat years ago, and he still thinks about why he hasn't left it.
So like every lunch time, Eren sat at the table, taking his phone off of Do Not Disturb. A series of notifications blew up on his phone. Almost every social app he had was ringing with alerts.
But it was a certain group chat that he decided to checkout first.
Opening the group chat, Eren was not surprised to see that it was still dinging with new text messages. There was a conversation happening between a variety of people, and Eren's first thought was to scroll up to the beginning of his English Period.
Eren wasn't really sure what he would find as he skimmed through the text messages. Most of it was trash talk, but nothing too severe. It was mostly people describing their class and how boring it was. Or it was people talking about the latest gossip from days ago or maybe last night.
Eren was close to clicking off his phone and visiting another app, but then he saw Historia's name for the first time in the conversation.
Eren narrowed his eyes, glancing up to see if Armin and Mikasa would be on their way yet.
When he didn't see them, he continued reading the messages.
It was no surprise to Eren when he saw that Historia Reiss was badmouthing everyone in their English Class. And of course, Ymir—a fellow popular girl in Historia's clique, who is also rumoured of hooking up with Historia before, was agreeing with her the moment Historia got in the chat.
Eren saw the text messages and furrowed his brows at what he read.
" Not some weird bitch was trying to chat with me like she's on my level"
Eren scoffed, shaking his head as another paragraph of hers was below.
" Who names their kid Jodie?! Lmao anyone know about her?"
Eren pushed his eyes to read more past Historia's message. He read Ymir's message to agree with finding out who Jodie was.
Then he read as a couple other people joined the conversation, and how they immediately fed into Historia's bull.
Eren clicked his phone off with a shake of his head. He already knew where that conversation went, and what everyone was now thinking about the girl named Jodie in his class.
Eren had known Historia Reiss since he was 12, but never really started talking to her until he was 15 ish. She wasn't always mean from the start, but Eren could definitely say she wasn't a real friend.
She often spoke to people in a overly soft and fake voice to get what she wanted. She used her looks to an advantage, and often brought other confident people around her down.
Historia was liked by mostly everyone, and that boosted her ego and self confidence by a lot. Next thing Eren knew, was that the summer of going to 8th Grade, and Historia Reiss had an obvious and disgusting personality change.
Her superior complex, and growth in physical appearance built her popularity.
Eren was popular too around the 8th grade, but he didn't change up on his friends—Armin and Mikasa for popularity. The two friends which he still has today. He might've lost his temper, and usual fire, but that was because of the endless effort he put into getting and maintaining that Centre position he has on the Football Team.
He was not a snotty popular rich kid. And Eren didn't participate in any bullying around the school. He simply didn't have time for that
Just like how he doesn't have time to argue about a sport. Maybe Eren would've joined that argument today if he was 15 again, he would've defended football with his life, but he's changed.
An example can be how he didn't tell anyone to defend him with the whole football situation. He had nothing to do with that.
But Jodie was right when she said he won't speak up on it. He was a bystander, and that was equivalent to the bully.
" Eren!"
Eren lazily lifted his gaze, sitting up from his unconscious slouch in the chair.
" Armin? Mikasa? You guys brought the food already?" His eyes landed on the the packet of Chinese cuisines.
The Chinese small restaurant was the closest place for students at Paradis High to go and grab food. If you were a student especially, the food only cost 5 dollars for the combo. But the packeted shrimp, spring rolls, and etc. came for 2 for 5 dollars.
" Not that much time has passed by you know?" Armin said with his brows furrowed at Eren. " And plus, the restaurant is the first thing right down the street."
Eren nodded his head, feeling dumb that he even asked to begin with. But with the somewhat reassuring shrug Armin gave him, he didn't dwell too much on it.
" Thanks guys," Eren said, accepting the food.
" Thank Mikasa, she bought it this time."
Mikasa shrugged, sitting down on one side of Eren.
Mikasa Ackerman has been friends with Eren Jaeger and Armin Artlet since she was around 9 or 10. Eren Jaeger was one of the first friends she made. She lived in the country side growing up so she wasn't the most social person. Growing up Mikasa has always been right behind Eren. From when he wanted to be successful at the sport he was introduced to during his younger years called " Football", and Mikasa too had an athletic side with Volleyball.
While Eren was the most popular one in their group, Mikasa also had her fair share of popularity. A year ago, she was tied in with the business majors in school who happened to be working on a project in the field of modeling.
Mikasa took up the offer to be one of the groups model, and the successful result of her and that group, resulted to her being an occasional model for Garage—the clothing store.
That was enough to gain her popularity.
Being one of Eren Jaegers best friends that accompanied him everyday was also another reason for her popularity. Mikasa Ackerman was in some group chats, but she refused to chat or talk with much people. Especially Historia Reiss, or any other popular snob.
She just didn't swing that way.
Then there is Armin Artlet. Known for being the smartest student in their grade, and the best player on the chess team. He is also supposed to be the graduating class Valedictorian, and there's no doubt about it. Besides his brains and handsome yet delicate appeal, Armin wasn't all that fetishized.
But he had to say, his ultimate gain in popularity started with people thinking he and Historia were siblings.
Then it was because he was close with Eren Jaeger. Eren who he's been friends with since he was 7 or 8.
" Eren you seem lost in thought." Mikasa called out, taking a bite of her food.
Eren swallowed, ready to deny, but Armin also had caught on.
" Yeah you seem pretty off today. Is it practice or...."
Eren could feel eyes on him around the cafeteria, but he shrugged it off like he planned on doing with this question.
" No it's nothing. I'm good, just a little sore and tired."
Mikasa narrowed her eyes at him, and Eren knew from her pointed look that she wasn't going to let this go. Mikass peeled her sharp gaze off of Eren, pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket with one hand, and proceeding to go on it with that clean one.
Suddenly, a series of dings erupted from her phone.
Eren couldn't help the sigh of exhaustion that escaped from him.
Mikasa's eyes narrowed at her phone screen, immediately tapping stuff as her eyes darted over something. It was as if she was reading.
" Who's Jodie?"
The question came quicker than Eren expected.
Eren shook his head, " Some girl in my English period. I guess she rubbed Historia and them the wrong way."
Eren shrugged his shoulders as Mikasa took her eyes off of him. He wasn't sure if she was content with his answer, but he had food to eat.
" What does it say?" Armin asked. Peeking his head over Mikasa's shoulder to see her phone.
Mikasa kept quiet for a moment, before answering: " Well...it seems like Historia and them have found a new target to attack. Apparently she disrespected Historia and...Eren?"
" She didn't offend me." Eren denied.
" And I tried to talk to her and she didn't want to hear it. Not my problem, I can't do anything else."
" Well what did you say to her?" Armin asked with furrowed brows.
" I tried to give her a heads up about Historia, Ymir, and all those girls behavior. I also tried to apologize, but she shut it down." Eren bit into his shrimp with a shrug of his shoulders.
Mikasa didn't respond to Eren, and neither did Armin.
Armin just averted his eyes to his coconut shrimp, and his brows were still drawn close together. He seemed to be pondering over something, and it was the face Armin made when he was putting pieces together.
" Mikasa," he started, turning to her.
" What did you say was her name again?"
Mikasa glanced at Armin from the side of her eye, before scrolling on her phone.
" It says that her name is Jodie." She answered.
" Jodie L/N."
" Jodie...." Armin repeated.
Eren cocked an eyebrow at Armin. " What? Do you know her or something?"
To their surprise, Armin nodded his head.
" Yeah. I was in a group project with her recently. We had to do this research project for Science class, and she animated and edited all the information I gathered. We got the highest mark for that. It was actually the highest mark I've ever gotten in science."
Eren looked away. " What, so she's smart?"
Armin nodded. " She's good with technology. But she's also really nice. She's friends with Sasha Braus and Connie Springer."
"— She got Historia mad? What did she say Eren?"
Mikasa clicked her phone off, picking a spring roll off her plate. " Yeah. From the way Armin explained her, she doesn't seem all too much like a bitch. So how did she manage to piss off all the popular people?"
Eren thought back to the words of Jodie, and remembered how she spoke facts by accident.
" She said something along the lines of; Common sense has nothing to do with popularity. Seems like all of you lack common sense immensely. It was something following that." Eren refrained a grin from coming onto his face when he repeated the words.
Mikasa raised her brow, " So she didn't say it to Historia?"
" No. But she said it after Historia said some next shit about the people in the class being lame."
Armin let out a small nervous laugh. " Well she's not lying....But that's also not enough for Historia to want to bully her."
" Yeah...."
Armin shook his head in disapproval.
" But even so, Jodie isn't the type to be bullied. So I doubt it I'll work."
Eren nodded his head absentmindedly.
" Right."
—————————————————————
The next day of school came by quickly.
The next two periods of Jodie's class the previous day, weren't anything too special. She didn't have to encounter or be in a class dominated by popular people. And if there was popular people in her classroom, it was one person at least. They were rather quiet, since they worked better as a group than by themselves. Gym with Mr. Ackerman was her first period after lunch, and Calculus was her last. Jodie had nothing to worry about. Popular kids usually skipped gym, especially a lot of the pretty girls who weren't know for athletics. So walking into Paradis High the next day wasn't anything special.
Her first period, science class with Ms. Hange Zoë, went by pretty quickly. The last presentations for the group projects were presented, and Jodie was sure that her and Armin Arlert still had the best project video.
But then English class came, and Jodie L/N wasn't one to skip class. She sure wouldn't because of some popular kids either.
So here she sat, listening to her teacher speak on a new group project that requires reading a book from a typical Intermediate, and Junior Elementary school library. As far as Jodie knows, the task is to dig deep into what your chosen book really was trying to portray. Figure out a message that the targeted age group couldn't have gotten.
She had her mind set on The Hunger Games Series.
" A lot of you guys are going to go for popular romance books—"
The class began to make noises of agreement that had Jodie shaking her head. The teacher laughed though, before silencing the class to further explain.
" And you can do that, but think about whether or not there is a deep message that the targeted audience might not have understood or really picked up on."
Jodie shifted in her seat, the feeling of multiple pairs of eyes on her made her skin crawl. Ever since Jodie walked in the school building, and parted ways with Connie and Sasha, she's been feeling more eyes on her than she's ever felt.
It was not because she looked pretty today. She wore low waisted True Religion Jeans with a black tight top, and black air forces. Jodie was not being looked at for her very basic and not so stylish clothing.
She immediately concluded that Historia, Eren maybe, and plenty others in her English Class had already spread the information about her from yesterday's situation.
She cleared her throat and continued to hold her gaze on the teacher.
" So I'm not going to give you guys a collection of books,"
" Thank God," some people grumbled.
The teacher grinned. " Because I want to see what you guys can come up with. I'll be giving you guys a rubric to follow accordingly though."
Jodie glanced around the classroom, and she could see that some people were already having side conversations either about the assignment, or something totally different. She wouldn't be surprised if it was the latter.
Putting her hand up slowly, Jodie swallowed as she felt the sensation of eyes on her again.
" Yes Jodie?" The teacher quickly picked her, a smile on his face.
The class quieted down at the mention of her name. Jodie was sure she wasn't imagining that.
" Um...is this group work, partner work, or single?"
The teacher took a step back, looking to face the whole class. " Good question! So I don't want to pick partnerships, but I do think that it would be great if you guys could work in groups of 2."
It was better than a whole group. Jodie knows that she hates group work, especially in Paradise High.
But still, she did not want to do group work in her English class of all classes.
But nevertheless, she nodded her head.
" So," the teacher clapped his hands together.
" Find your partners."
With those words, majority of the class scurried. Only a good couple people remaining still in their seats, while avoiding the encouraging eye contact with the teacher. Jodie was apart of that couple people.
Jodie did not wish to be partners with anyone, especially since she had to pick people. She had no friends in her English class, and ever since yesterday, this is the class she dreads the most.
She could hear mixed voices of various girls, the deep laughs of boys, and the off topic conversations that she chose to not listen to.
I'll use my regular technique. Jodie told herself.
That technique consisted of waiting till each partnership was formed, and there was no more students available. After doing that, she would confront the teacher, tell him that all students were in a partnership, and she would quickly add that she didn't mind working by herself.
She just had to wait it out. That was step one to her technique.
So with that being said, Jodie pulled out her phone, ready to pass time. She could hear Historia's distant voice saying something. She didn't sound to happy with her tone. Jodie forced herself to not listen, and occupied herself on Tiktok.
Not that Jodie was exactly counting, but she wasn't even able to get past 6 videos when she was interrupted.
A figure stood over her. A masculine figure she noted before she glanced up. Jodie felt a bile rise in her throat as she slowly peeled her eyes off of her phone. With each second her eyes scanned over the figures body, Jodie's brain immediately thought of a certain someone in her class.
Eren Jaeger. And she was indeed correct.
Today, Eren was dressed in grey joggers and a white regular shirt. His hair was down too, framing his face. Jodie cleared her throat, yanking her mind away from the appearance of Eren Jaeger.
" Can I help you?" She asked with a low voice.
" We're partners."
Jodie literally reclined in her seat. Her eyes darting around the classroom in search of any camera or phone on her. When she saw nothing, she looked back at Eren like he was crazy.
" Excuse me?" She asked, completely appalled.
Eren raised his brow questioningly, " You don't have a partner."
" For a reason," Jodie quickly added. " I rather be partners with no one, than someone who won't ever try and do work."
" My student average is a 87."
Jodie didn't look impressed. " Do you know how much popular kids pay nerds to do their work?"
" —Done by me." Eren included with a shake of his head. " Quit insisting that I'm some bad guy. You don't know me."
" And I don't wish to with all due respect."
Eren stared at her for a moment, and Jodie believed that this was a recap of what happened yesterday at lunch. Eren would stare at her, maybe longer than last time, and would proceed to walk away.
But no, he remained in his place. Deep turquoise eyes boring into Jodie's honey brown ones.
" We're going to be partners," Eren said, slowly turning to an angle. " We'll just have to arrange a time that works for the both of us."
Jodie refused to let him have it. " For you—you mean. I'm always free, I'm sure you can't relate."
Eren scoffed. He looked like he was about to say something, but the teacher began speaking before he could.
" Okay guys! I've given more than enough time to arrange partners, so everyone return to their original seats."
Eren spared Jodie a look before walking away from her desk. Quickly going back to his placement, and scattering into place with everyone else. Jodie couldn't help but slump in her seat.
Eren Jaeger chose to be partners with her of all people, and she didn't understand why.
Is he trying to embarrass me? Jodie thought to herself. Because if he is, I'm not going to let my walls down for that. I refuse.
Turning to the white board, the teacher began to write out a title that read; Group Partners.
" Okay...now that we have our partner groups somewhat decided, we need to record our groups. That way I can start mild assessing."
When he was finished writing on the board, he turned to face the class.
" So can each person from the partnership come write down you and your group partners name? I'll release a doc later where you guys can state your books. More than one partnership can do one book by the way."
Slowly, people began slowly dragging themselves up from there seats. Sluggishly making their way to the bored to write their name, as well as their group partners.
Jodie shifted in her seat, poking her head out to glance at Eren. To her surprise he was already staring at her. Many people laughed at the partnerships being written down. Fellow popular kids laughing at the fact that the two class clown boys were in a group.
—Looks exciting, because no work was going to get done.
Jodie raised a brow at Eren as more and more names were being written out on the board. Eren stared back at her with furrowed brows, seemingly lost by the intensity of her gaze.
" What?" he mouthed.
Historia Reiss walked up to the front of her class. Grabbing the marker with a shit eating grin, Jodie watched as she wrote down her name in cursive handwriting that looked unreal. Before writing down a name nobody really recognized beside her own. It didn't take long for people to start hollering when they realized why that was.
Historia will have the " nobody" do all the work.
" Shit," Jodie cursed under her breath when Historia turned back to face the class.
She could've sworn they made eye contact, and a glint shown in Historia's eyes. But it was gone when she retreated back to her seat, the shouts and comedic laughs following her back.
With sharp eyes, Jodie snapped her gaze to Eren with even more intensity than before.
Jodie did not think about why Eren was already staring at her when they made eye contact. All she knew was that she was not embarrassing herself up there. With a aggressive nod of her head, Jodie roughly swung her head in the direction of the board.
It sure didn't take long for Eren to catch on with what she was saying.
—You're writing down our names. Go!
Those were the words to Jodie's motions.
Eren, like everyone else, slowly got up from his seat. Making his way to the front of the class as eyes followed him. The cheers for Historia went down as everyone focused on what Eren Jaeger was about to write down for his partner.
Was it going to be a girl? A boy? Was it going to be Historia? Everyone wanted to know.
No one knew what he was writing, or what was written until he stepped back from the board. Snapping the marker lid on, Eren handed the marker to the teacher before walking back to his desk.
As Eren walked by, Jodie made eye contact with him, and she could faintly see the grin on his face.
~Jodie and Eren~
That was what was written on the board.
For some reason, Jodie wanted to smile, but the silence in the room kept her from doing such.
It was a small action that differed Eren from Historia entirely. Eren didn't plan on being with his partner—Jodie L/N— for her to get all the work done, but because he genuinely decided to. And him putting her name ahead of him really showed his and Historia's differences.
Jodie couldn't suppress her grin.
This was interesting, and not even the hate filled glare of Historia Reiss could ruin this.
