#cheerleader!reader

[buttonsaregoodforthesoul]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ HERE GOES NOTHING 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟpairing:: virgin!mike wheeler x cheerleader!reader

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟSummary:: You just broke your with your cheating jock boyfriend and need someone to get revenge on him. Mike is the perfect person.

𖤐.ᐟContains:: drinking, nipple play, corruption kink if you squint, they don’t fuck just heavy petting, Mike is rly awkward.

ִ ࣪. 𖤐.ᐟ A/N:: for some reason i haven’t been able to finish this for months lmao, lmk if someone wants a part two and i’ll write it <3

You couldn’t believe this.

You really couldn’t fucking believe this.

Your boyfriend of two years, that handsome basketball player that you didn’t think in a million years would like you back, is cheating on you. Cheating on you with that stupid skinny cheerleader that every other guy wants to be with, of course.

Typical.

And now— stupidly— you’re here. Sitting against a random locker with tears streaming down your face; it carries your mascara in black rivers down your cheek. At the sound of someone coming down the hall, you scurry to your feet and rush into the bathroom before anyone can lay eyes on your pitiful state.

While staring into your own bloodshot eyes, hands resting on the bright green and orange branded Hawkins High sink, you decide that you weren’t going to let this ruin you; to give him the satisfaction of breaking you down. You take a makeup wipe out of your bag and rub your cheeks raw— until there isn’t a hint of your sadness left on your face. Then, an idea popped into your mind.

You open your phone to a recent message inviting you to a party— a birthday nearly half the damn school is going to. You skim the invite ‘something something— drinks, something something— hookups’.

Perfect.

You’ll go in the sluttiest outfit you can put togther and make sure he watches me get the fuck over him.

…

You walked— well, more like shuffled (on account of how tight your skirt) is— to the front door. Your heels clicked on the driveway up as you quickly reapplied lipgloss and ran your hands through your hair.

You took a deep breath, only now thinking about if you’re ready to face so many people right after this breakup. Your hand raised to the door to knock but hesitated when—

“Hey! I thought that was you!”

You flinched and held back a yelp. The voice— that you’ve identified as Chrissy— coming from the door, now swung open.

“Oh my goodness! I didn’t think you would be here! How are you?”

You knew exactly what she was talking about by the pitiful look on her face. Her eyebrows pinched together like she was talking to a small child.

“No-no i’m fine. Now, i’m just… single and ready to party!” You shout with a large grin. It was a partial lie, you were still hurt. However, the idea of being single at a party for the first time in two years ignited a fire of excitement in your stomach.

“Well, good. The whole damn school showed up to this party. Even the DnD club?”

Your ears perked up. The DnD club? You didn’t even know we had one until they started making those ridiculous shirts. And now that you think about it, they would be the perfect group to get back at him with.

His arch nemesis! A group of nerdy, virgin, fumbling losers getting with his ex? He would freak! Plus, some of them do have a weird sort of sex appeal. Now that you really thought about it, some of them have caught your eye. Especially that tall black haired one, you think his name was—

“Mike wheeler.”

“Wh-what?”

“He’s here. I totally wasn’t expecting it, i haven’t seen him anywhere but school like, ever. And even then, I hardly see him around. I only know his name because that whole mall thing a few years back.”

“Right..”

“Come on! It must be freezing out here!”

Only then were you reminded how much skin you were showing and how much the cool air make your skin raise.

Perhaps some alcohol to warm you up was necessary.

…

You raise your red solo cup full of a random mixture of fruit juices — and probably other things— to your lips. To your credit you haven’t drank much. Just enough to get you looser.. and more determined.

You finally lock eyes with a semi-familiar head of black curly hair. His height makes him easy to spot.

you weave between drunken teenagers, accidentally shoulder checking a few while moving across the living room.

Mike and a few of his friends— one you recognize as Eddie Munson, the infamous “town freak”. And another with curly hair and a baseball cap that you don’t. You see his figure grow as you get closer until you’re almost right behind him. Taking a deep breath, you approach him and tap him on the shoulder.

He spins around with wide eyes, like he was expecting someone to attack him, or something. But looked more confused than frightened when he laid his eyes on you.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey! Mike is it?”

“Uh-yeah! Micheal— um— but you can just call me Mike.. If you want or Micheal but really I go by both—“

His nervous rambling was cut off by the loud sound of Eddie clearing his throat. You look past him to see Eddie looking at Mike like he was a helpless child and curly-head almost bright red from holding in laughter.

“Why don’t we get a drink? I’ve never seen you at a party, do you know the birthday girl?”

You slowly coaxed him away from his friends like he was a scared kitten. A very tall kitten you noticed, having to crane your neck almost all the way up to talk to him this closely.

“Well, usually tonight would be campaign night—I mean— practice. But, Eddie heard about this party and told me and Dustin that we needed to get out more, or something.” He explained, you noticed he talked with his hands a lot, nearly hitting a few passer-byers.

“I see.. Well, are you enjoying it so far?”

“I mean.. It’s loud.”

You giggle.

“Wheeler, y’know what makes a really good party? Especially a rager like this?”

Here goes nothing.

“No? What—“

His eye widened at the look on your face, your face that’s considerably close to his. Infact, he swears the distance is shrinking. He doesn’t even register your slow movement until he can feel your breath on his lips. He short circuits, swears he can feel his brain fizzle out as he inhales your sweet perfume. He snaps out of it when he realizes that you aren’t moving any further, asking for his consent. And then, he connects the distance between you two.

His lips are slightly chapped, but so warm. They move against yours, more experienced than you were expecting. You loop your arm around his neck to pull him closer. A wolf whistle audible over the crowd of the party interrupts you.

Mike rolls his eyes and glances behind him, locking eyes with a grinning Eddie holding two thumbs up in the air from across the room. You giggle and grasp his forearm. His head moves from Eddie to where your bodies are now connected.

“You wouldn’t mind continuing this upstairs, would you?”, you say lowly, batting your eyes as seductively as you can.

His eyes widen and he coughs, like he was choking on air.

“Continue? You mean like— upstairs? Like in a bedroom—alone—just us? Are you sure it isn’t the alcohol talking I mean someone like you and someone like me people might talk—“

“Exactly. Listen you are really hot Wheeler.”

“I am? I mean— of course I am.”

“And I need to blow off some steam. Come on!”

You grasp his arm tighter but don’t move, letting him make the decision himself. You realize he’s flushed a deep red and sweating.

“Screw it, let’s go find an empty room.”

You grin.

…

And that’s how you got here, furiously making out with Mike freaking Wheeler in a random room of your friends house with half the school outside the door that you’ve pinned him against.

Your hands are reaching up— because of his height— tangled once again in his long black hair. You scratch his scalp slightly and he groans into your mouth. You use the noise to work your tongue through his lips. He groans again— louder— at the intrusion, but welcomes it; his own sliding against yours.

You disconnect your lips and briefly glance at him, his state makes you nearly drop to your knees.

The room is dark but just bright enough to see his heavy lidded eyes and furrowed eyebrows. A heavy blush settled on his freckled cheeks. His lips are now swollen and glistening with your combined saliva. His hair is messy and falls over his forehead in small tangles. He looks perfect.

Continuing, you kiss the corner of his mouth. Then his cheek, then his jawline, then right below his ear— which warrants a small whine— then down to his neck.

“Can I leave hickeys?”

“Mark me up—fuck.”

The request causes heat to pool in your stomach. You suck small purple bruises into the pale skin and then lick the mark you left behind. You stop at one particular spot that makes him shutter and pay extra attention to it.

“Holy—ngh. Listen, by the way, not that I want this to stop— ever— but I would feel like an asshole if i didn’t tell you that— um. I haven’t done this before. I mean, i’ve kissed but i’m.. a virgin.”

You stop and look up at him. His eyes are squeezed shut and he looks like he could cry. You guess he’s expecting you to find it gross or embarrassing but.. you kind of find it.. hot?

“Fuck, how has no one made someone as pretty as you there’s? hmm?”, you tease. He breathes a heavy sigh and looks back at me.

“So you’re okay? We’re still going to..y’know.”, he trails off.

You laugh at his shyness and nod.

“Yes, I’m still gonna fuck the shit out of you, Micheal.”

“Holy shit.”

“Get on this bed.”

He backs up and sits without any protest, pupils blown wide. You straddle his hips, your thighs resting on either side of his. His arms awkwardly prop him up until he hesitantly rests his palms on your hips.

You lean down and keep kissing his neck, your hands trails up the inside of his shirt. You feel over his tall, lean frame. Your hands move over the smooth skin of his stomach and you can feel him flex under your touch which makes you smile. Finally, you tug against his Hellfire shirt.

“Take this off.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He reaches down and pulls his shirt off so fast you swore he almost ripped it clean off. He tosses it somewhere behind him. You take a second to scan over his bare chest.

He’s covered in freckles over his bright skin that looks almost white in this lighting— it’s enchanting. He has a thin, dark happy trail leading from his belly button to below his pants. You bite your lip at the sight and refrain from licking down it right then.

Your hands trail up him again, this time without any fabric in the way.

Your hands slide up and up before reaching his nipples. The tiny cute little buds hardening now in the cold air. Your thumbs run over them, testing the waters. He gasps and arches his back into you.

“Fuck—fuck. Those are.. sensitive.”

The sight is so hot it makes more slick pool in your underwear. You lean down into his chest and poke your tongue through your lips, giving the slightest kitten lick to one of his nipples.

“Yes! fuck— more, please.”

He’s so much more vocal than you thought— you love it. You stick your entire tongue out flat and lick a big stripe over the bud. His whole body twitches and he shakes like a leaf in the wind for a moment.

“That feels so fucking good— don’t stop.”

You oblige and swirl your tongue over his nipple, your other hand coming to play with the other. He lets out a loud moan and bucks his hips into you and his erection grinds into your thigh. You grind back and he lets out a string of curses.

“Oh fuck! Wait!—i’m gonna fucking blow if you don’t stop!”, he managed over the heavy breaths escaping him.

You halt your movements and pull back, admiring the darkening purple marks covering his chest.

“Let’s move to the bed?”, You asked.

“Fuck yes.”

[zombiivalentine]

what does that spell? | cheerleader!reader x mike wheeler

genre/warnings: aged up to seniors in hs, cheerleader!harrington!reader, hurt/comfort, no smut, established secret relationship

desc: After hurting his secret girlfriends feelings, Mike wheeler has to do something grand to win her back

w/c: 2.9k

a/n: hi guysss lowkey this is so short and kinda crappy im soz i just wanted to get something short n sweet out there bcuz i have a really long fic idea that might drain me a bit umm she isn’t proof read honestly writing this felt so cliche but in a good way idk lmk if u like it pls dont lmk if you hate it

Mike Wheeler hated basketball games. He hated all the noise, the jocks, the way that everyone fantasized over all the cheerleaders. It was high school conformity at its peak. 

There was one thing he did like, though. 

Mike had been dating the cheer captain, Y/n Harrington, since the summer before the end of their senior year. Now, it was April, at the rally right before the big playoff game. Mike didn’t understand all the hype, but Lucas had spent the past week training 25/7 for this game. 

Y/n had always been popular, a people's princess just like her older brother. The party, if they were being totally honest, were always too scared to try and talk to her; and Steve had always made it very clear that they were not to fuck with her. Mike had always thought she was pretty, he would blush when he saw her in the hallways. But she was way out of his league; Mike couldn’t stand a chance. Despite always going to the same school, they first met during the summer on a day where he went to Steve’s house with Dustin to drop off something. 

Face to face, she was so much prettier than Mike remembered from afar. She had the sweetest smile Mike had ever seen. “Mike! Dustin!” she said when she opened the door “how can I help you guys?” 

Mike’s jaw practically dropped at her knowing his name. Dustin, sure–that was Steve’s best friend–but Mike? The prettiest girl he had ever seen, Hawkins star cheerleader, Y/n Harrington knew his name. 

Dustin had to do all the talking, explaining to Y/n that they were just returning a can of hairspray that Dustin had borrowed from Steve for a date. They stayed at her door for a while, having small talk about their summer plans and whatnot. Y/n asked them about Hellfire, which Mike had to embarrassingly confess he was the dungeon master of. 

“yeah-I mean, it’s like-it’s totally not a big deal” he stumbled “total nerd crap, y’know? We just sit around and roleplay..really lame” 

Y/n shook her head “I actually think it’s pretty cool. Looks really confusing but I’ve always wanted to play” 

“We can teach you” Mike offered “I can teach you, if you’d like” 

Y/n started showing up a lot more after that. Mike swore it was a coincidence, like he didn’t get information on where she would be from eavesdropping on Nancy’s calls with Steve. They ran into her and her friends at the arcade a couple times, they had bumped into her at the pool; Mike eventually worked up the courage to invite her to go swimming with them at Lover’s Lake. She quickly assimilated into their friend group. Mike was kind of surprised by it–little miss popular fitting in with all the freaks and outcasts. 

Her and Mike would hang out alone, too. He taught her all about Dungeons and Dragons, showed her all of the last campaigns. They would sit alone in his basement for hours, just talking back and forth. 

Y/n was the one who made the first move. Mike had taken her home on his bike after a movie night with everyone in his basement. Right outside her front door, Y/n grabbed Mike’s face and kissed him. It was a small peck, she pulled away and looked at him nervously. 

“Sorry” she whispered “I shouldn’t have-” 

Mike shook his head and pulled her in for another kiss, a longer one this time. 

They made things official about two weeks after their first kiss. Mike knew it had to be a secret, no one could know about them. He thought of Steve, who would beat him up–but he also thought of all the popular kids in school, the ones that loved Y/n and hated Mike. They would never let her live it down if they knew about them, she would lose her status, her friends, maybe even her position as cheer captain. 

They kept it a secret for months. They acted normal around friends, around family, they treated each other as friends. Nothing more, nothing less. Mike liked sneaking around, if he were being honest. It was sort of thrilling; all the kissing in the backs of movie theaters, the secret picnics and late night walks. He liked sneaking around in school even more. They would make out in janitor's closets, right before games or DnD campaigns, in the woods during lunch. 

Everything was a perfect, secret bliss. 

That was until a week ago, when Mike was forced to tell his best friends about her. Mike still swears the fight wasn’t his fault. 

They were sitting alone in Mike’s basement, cuddled together on the couch watching a movie. Y/n had her head resting on his chest, her arms wrapped around his torso. One of Mike’s hands was playing with her hair, the other resting on her legs that laid on his lap. 

“Mikey?” she whispered. It was late, both of them half asleep and barely paying attention to the movie. 

“Yeah, Y/n?” 

“I think,I think I wanna tell everyone…about us, I mean” 

Mike’s body froze. “What?” 

She lifted her head to look at Mike’s face, a nervous smile on her lips “I mean, we’ve been together for like, eight months already” 

Seven months and 23 days–not that he was counting. 

“Don’t you think people should know already?” 

Mike didn’t know what to say. She was too sweet for her own good, too sweet to realize that publicly dating Mike would be her downfall. “I dunno, Y/n” 

Y/n swallowed. He could see the disappointment and fear pooling in her eyes. “Why not?” she asked “I mean, doesn’t have to be everyone. We could just tell the party?”

Mike shook his head “If we tell them then Dustin will tell Steve, Will will tell Jonathan, Lucas will tell Erica. The whole town would know within a week.”

“Is that really so bad, though?”

Mike held his breath. He couldn’t say yes, that would be rude. He couldn’t say no, that would be a lie. 

“I know we don’t-we don't say it” Y/n continued “but, but I love you, Mike. I wanna love you outside of the confines of this basement. I wanna love you in front of our friends and at school” 

She was staring up at him with wide eyes. Mike’s hard was racing, his mind lost. That was the first time she had ever told him she loved him; and Mike wanted to say it back with all his heart. It danced on the tip of his tongue, the words I love you, Y/n begging to escape. But he couldn’t, he never could. Mike didn’t know why, he knew that he loved her. He knew that she loved him. He knew, logically, nothing bad could happen from saying it to her. He just couldn’t. 

“We can’t” was all he could say as a response. 

Y/n’s eyes flooded with tears so fast. She pulled herself away from Mike. “Wow,” she muttered “real sweet, Mike” 

Mike sighed “I didn’t mean-” 

She stood up off the couch “No, no I get it…I tell you I love you and you just tell me we can’t? Really? Do you…do you not love me” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence, tears threatening to spill out. 

Why did she have to ask that? Was it not obvious in the way he kissed her, the way he held her? “People can’t know, Y/n” He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say, but he couldn’t get any other words out. 

“I should go,” Y/n muttered “I don’t-I dunno, Mike. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this, not if you don't, you don’t-” 

Mike stood up to follow her as she walked to his door. “C’mon, Y/n, don’t say that. You know that’s not true” 

“So then say it. If it’s not true then say it, tell me you love me”

There was a pause, a quiet moment that went on for way too long. Mike could only stare at her in silence. 

Y/n scoffed and shook her head, muttering “I can’t do this,” before rushing out the door. 

That was the last time Mike talked to her. She had ignored him for the entire week. Everyone had started getting suspicious when she walked into first period all teary eyed. And when she stopped sitting with them during lunch and went back to join the cheerleaders, they all definitely knew something was up. 

Mike didn’t know what to do. By Wednesday his body was filled with dread and guilt. He wanted to make things better, he needed to. That was why he told all his friends. 

He sat Lucas, Will, Dustin, Max, and El down–told them the entire story all the way from the beginning, starting at that day he and Dustin first met her. He told them about their fight, about how Y/n wanted to go public, about how she loved him and he couldn’t bring himself to say it back. 

At the end of his story, Lucas was smirking. Dustin and Will let out a groan and reached into their pockets to grab their wallets. They both pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to Lucas. 

“Knew it!” Lucas said in a sing-song voice. “I told you guys, I called this months ago”

Mike's eyes were wide “What? How the hell did you know?” 

Lucas shrugged “Dave from basketball asked her out. Y'know, that hot guy that any girl at Hawkins would die to go out with? Yeah, he told me she rejected him because she was busy studying with you, Wheeler”

Mike groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Does everyone know?”

“Only us,” Dustin said “we were just betting on it” 

Will nodded “Yeah, me and Dustin thought she was too cool for you”

Mike shook his head back and forth aggressively. He looked up at his friends, face full of despair “What do I do? I’ve totally gone and fucked everything up! She’ll never forgive me” 

“You need something big,” Max told him, “a big grand gesture to win her back, to prove to her that you love her.”

El nodded “Yes! Something grand to make up for your stupidity” The girls laughed to themselves. 

Mike groaned. His hands grabbed his hair and tugged at it, as if the pain would bring him new ideas. “I can’t think of anything” he muttered 

Dustin clicked his tongue with disappointment “C’mon, man. I think the solutions pretty obvious” 

Lucas was smirking “How do you feel about pompoms?” 

That was how Mike got where he was now, standing on the sidelines of this week's pep rally. Nerves soared through his entire body, sweat coating the microphone he held in his hand. He looked at the bleachers, watching all the students listen to the principal's speech about dominating the court and whatnot. The cheerleaders had just finished their set. Y/n did great, as always; when was she anything other than perfect? She was sitting on the bleachers with the rest of the cheerleaders drinking water and laughing. He watched as she looked behind her to scan the bleachers. Her smile faltered when she skimmed past Hellfire's usual spot and saw none of them there. 

Mike took a deep breath. He looked across the gym to Dustin, who was giving the DJ ten bucks to leave his stand and let Dustin take over. Over the loud speakers, cutting off Principal Higgin’s speech, was Dustin’s voice. 

“Thank you, Higgins, for the lovely and redundant speech” There was a scattered laughter at Dustin's comment “We’d like to introduce a special friend to the stage…everyone please clap it up for Mike Wheeler!” 

Dustin played a blowhorn sound and some victory music as Mike walked to the center of the gym. There were a few people who clapped along, but most people just stared with confusion. He locked eyes with Y/n, who was staring with furrowed eyebrows. Mike planted his feet and cleared his throat into Mike. 

“Hey guys,” he said. His voice was shaky and his breath was weak. “Well-um, the reason I’m here is…theres this special someone, someone who deserves the world. And-and I’ve been too stupid–or too scared, really–to give it to her. She’s so perfect; and you guys would agree that she deserves this and probably more. She’s funny, sweet, smart as hell…she’s everything I could ever dream of.” Behind him, Will, Lucas, Max, El, Dustin, Erica, and two other members of Hellfire  were standing facing the crowd with small posters. 

Mike stared at the crowd, an awkward silence briefly coming to the crowd. He coughed and nodded to himself, “right, yeah…” he set the mic down onto the floor next to his feet. Feedback screeched across the gym, causing everyone to cringe and cover their ears. Mike put his arms straight against his side, trying to mimic the posture he had seen Y/n practice so many times. 

“Give me an I!” He lifted his arms above his head to look like an I. Some of the crowd followed along, a tiny recall of an “I” returning his chant from the crowd. Will lifted his poster, revealing a letter I painted on it.

He moved his right hand to stick out horizontally on his side “Give me an L!” More of the crowd started to follow. His eyes fell on Y/n. Her expression was unreadable. Lucas raised his poster as the crowd screamed back “L”, revealing another painted letter. 

Mike continued on with his chant, calling out every letter without taking his eyes off Y/n. I-L-O-V-E, by then, realization dawned on her face. She bit her lip, a small smile spreading across her face. Mike was grinning like an idiot by the end of it. Y-O-U. By then, everyone was participating. Mike put his hands back to his sides “What does that spell?” 

A unanimous “I love you!” spread across the gym. Dustin ran back to the DJ booth to play some cheers, fireworks, and any other stupid preloaded sounds he could find. Mike waited for the noise to die down. There was a low muttering around the gym, whispers spreading wondering who this was for. Mike took a deep breath.

“I love you, Y/n” he said as confidently and as proudly as he could, “and I hope this shows you how sorry I am for not saying it sooner” 

Y/n had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. There were sporadic claps and cheers from the crowd. She stood up, tripping over her and the team's water bottles and gym bags. She ran to Mike, putting her arms around his neck and jumping to wrap her legs around his waist. Mike's hands moved to wrap around her back, holding her up as they kissed. This was definitely not school appropriate, and they would both be getting into crazy trouble for this–but Mike didn’t care. All he could think about was Y/n in his arms, the feeling of her smile against his lips. 

A rough hand on his shoulder is what pulled Mike away from the kiss. He hadn’t realized all the commotion they caused. Some people were clapping, some people were yelling–some people had started to make out on their own. Principal Higgins was staring at Mike and Y/n with the angriest expression they both had ever seen. 

“Detention. Both of you. Tonight.” 

Y/n nodded, ever proper “yes sir, sorry sir”

“And you!” Higgins turned to point at Dustin, who was still playing with the controls on the DJ booth “You are on thin ice, Henderson! Do you hear me?” He walked up to Dustin, who tried to run and hide behind the bleachers. 

Mike turned his attention back to Y/n. He grabbed her hands and interlocked her fingers with his. “So, do you forgive me?” 

Y/n tilted her head to one side as if she had to think about it “I dunno, your Y was pretty sloppy” 

Mike scoffed “I had a horrible teacher! Seriously, Erica doesn’t know anything and I had to give her $50 bucks just to join us-”

Y/n cut him off with a quick kiss. “You’re an idiot” 

Mike hummed, pulling her in as he kissed her back. “I love you,” he said against her lips 

“I love you too, Wheeler” Y/n said almost immediately. 

Mike's hands wrapped around Y/n’s body, pulling her as close as he could. He thought of all the consequences to come. He could imagine Steve twisting a bat in his hands, getting ready to swing it at Mike's face once he found out. He thought of the endless teasing he would get from his friends, the insane debt he owed to Erica for her help. One thing he didn’t mind, though, was detention. Sure, usually it’s boring; you just sit around and stare at the ceiling or clean chalkboards. But something told Mike–maybe it was the way Y/n was kissing him–that tonight's detention wouldn’t be half bad. 

In fact, if Mike were being honest, he was kind of excited. He liked the idea of being locked in a room with Y/n for a couple hours after everyone's left the school. 

[starlinggirll]

introducing nerd!art x cheerleader!reader . . . ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

꒰ᐢ - ˕ - ᐢ꒱

nerd!art who gets teased alot, not straight up bullied but teased about his nerdiness. sometimes he gets name called, but that's really it.

nerd!art who gets shy with cheerleader!reader whenever she comes up to him asking him for help. with plump lips and cleavage hanging out of her uniform asking him for help in math.

cheerleader!reader who uses him for answers. giving a tiny kiss on the cheek each time he does her packet of homework.

nerd!art who gets hard at the sight of her red lipgloss getting stained on his cheek. he doesn't bother wiping it off, and when it comes to showering he is very reluctant on wiping it off.

nerd!art who is the envy of his friend group when they see the smudge of lipstick on his cheek. specially when you walk past them and give art a teasing wink? they all wish to be him.

cheerleader!reader subconsciously looks forward to seeing him, she tries to tell herself that its just for fun. but something about having a 6 foot, shy, submissive man squirm and blush at the sight of her gives her something to look forward to each day.

nerd!art and cheerleader!reader who get shipped without them realizing. their friends whisper among themselves about their relationship, but they are too busy in their own little bubble to pay attention.

nerd!art and cheerleader!reader who start warming up to eachother, going as far as art giving her private tutoring on math lessons.

𖠁 stuttering problem

𖠁 getting used academically

𖠁 studying

𖠁 janitors closet

𖠁 reward

𖠁 "keep talking"

𖠁 nipple play

𖠁 dominant art

𖠁 proposal

[peanutalergy]

ionic, covalent, metallic

in which confusing hallways, disloyal class partners, exercise sheets, and hypothetical atoms all work towards forming some new, hardly scientific and entirely incomprehensible, kind of bond

tags: pre relationship / fluff ! high school au !! fem cheerleader reader !!! teeny tiny mention of a scar / wound; spencer reid is the loserest of all losers; reader is like really bad at chemistry and so am i, if u cant tell; i also should note i have never been in an american high school chemistry class before; The Hotchners mentioned and jemily propaganda if u squint; i swear initially this was gonna be a slow burn; gif by @/reidgif !!

w/c: 2.5k

a/n: how is it possible that every time i tried to lock in on this something insanely time and energy consuming happened to me irl. if i told u you wouldnt believe it i swear ANYWAY i wrote this thru the most stressful time of my life and edited while surrounded by children so ignore any errors and defects pobody's nerfect AS ALWAYS thanks to my lovely eliza 4 proofreading this <3

prev part | universe masterlist | meet the reader

You give the door the quickest and quietest pair of knocks before opening it slow and hesitantly — the sound ricochets off the walls of your near empty head and you grow to mourn it as soon as Mr. Wilson's nasal monotone comes into your hearing instead.

Something, moles, something, atoms, something this, something that, is all you can understand from the lesson as you interrupt it with your head low and your breath long since lost somewhere between the way-too-many corridors you ran through in a futile attempt at getting to class on time. He (thankfully) stops talking as soon as you start walking into the classroom, but he's only quiet for a second and only to highlight the mean look he sends your way — your shoes are a sight much more interesting (or, at the very least, much less oppressive), you decide, so you keep your eyes down as you walk past his desk with a mumbled apology. “Sorry, sorry.”

He sighs. “I'll mark you tardy before you leave. Just go find a partner… or sit by yourself, I don't care.”

You scoff. Almost subconsciously you look to Jj's direction only to find her already paired up, darker hair and darker eyeliner beside her, your friend mouthing something along the lines of I didn't think you'd come today only somewhat apologetically. It's not so hopefully that you look for Haley, and she doesn't seem to notice your presence when you do find her table — Aaron's shoulder presses into hers, and she giggles between pretending to write on the worksheet they've been leaning over.

If your eyes had taken a different path while looking for another option, you might have sat with that new girl who rarely ever wants to be with anyone else or with some weirdo who rarely gets to be with anyone else; your sight, however, recognizes the face of lonely Spencer Reid first, and when you see the glasses held together by hope and crooked tape, perched on top of those hesitantly curious eyes, you decide you've found your partner for the day.

So you give Mr. Wilson the politest yet fakest of smiles and you strut across the room with all the grace of an 18-month-old, towards the table he's filled to its capacity with notebooks and notes and books. He's twirling a pen around his fingers and staring intently at nothing in particular when you reach him — startled and/or confused, his head perks up as soon as your shadow stretches into his perimeter, for a second you'd swear you were a pair of headlights facing a fawn.

“Hey, Spencer,” you all but croon, neck bending at an angle just as the corners of your lips do.

His hand stills, his shoulders straighten up, his eyebrows knit themselves closer. “Hi.”

You chuckle before the joke and you inwardly curse yourself. “All my friends hate me just because I was a little bit late,” you gesture vaguely behind you. “Is it okay if I sit with you?”

“Yea— yes. Yes. Of course,” he whispers, he hums and he nods and he drags his chair an inch to the side as if to take up even less space.

“Thank you.” The chair scrapes the floor just as loud as your speech, which grows longer while you sit, “It's, like, totally not my fault. This time. The building rearranged itself overnight, I swear, this classroom was on the other corridor last week.”

He huffs out some air and it might as well be a giggle. “The building's actually designed on a mirrored floor plan,” he says, and your silence seems to make for enough of a please elaborate. “The repetition makes it harder to orient yourself without visual anchors, and there's barely any of those standing out in this department.”

“Right. Yeah, no, totally,” you nod, elbows sliding onto the desk as your head tips into your palm. “It's still not my fault.”

“Not your fault, no,” he echoes.

You twirl your hair around a finger and the moving strands become the only source of sound then — silence grows steady as it seems Mr. Wilson has finally mastered the art of shutting the fuck up, unfortunately so at such a moment. The light is bright and blue and it bounces off Spencer's glasses in a way that would make a bling if portrayed in a cartoon. He tucks a strand of overgrown hair back before turning to fidgeting once more, his gaze now somewhere among his words in graphite, on paper.

His own worksheet, now yours as a pair, sits pretty between his hands, you have to squint for a chance at reading what he's written down so far — actually understanding it, however, is a whole other topic, and one you will worry about much, much later. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbles at your peeking, using two fingers to slide the paper across the desk. “This is, uh… we're working on stoichiometry.”

Not because of the distance anymore, nor because of his less than decent handwriting (though it certainly doesn't help), you still frown when trying to decipher it — you would've understood it all the same had it been written in proto-indo-european.

“Totally. Question.”

He nods, open to any.

“What is that?”

“What, stoichiometry?” his face contorts in what could be either judgment or concern when you move your head in confirmation. “We've been studying that all semester.”

“Oh, shut up, the semester's barely started,” you giggle almost defensively.

For a second, he looks as though he's about to argue — that changes in his expression when you pout in his direction, though. In that usual nerd fashion, his index pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he speaks, endearingly so. “It's the relationship between the masses in reactants and products throughout chemical reactions, basically,” he starts, and despite your best efforts, you're lost by the fifth word. He doesn't seem to realize it. He also does not stop.

No one really cares about these molecules, now, do they? You find much more interesting Spencer himself, and you can't help but notice, think about, and admire, with a sense of unprocessed and undisclosed fondness, his inadequacy and the state of discomfort he's sort of always in. His eyes twitch and hands gesture as he speaks, and he speaks like he's reading straight from a book, though his gaze never strays far enough to reach those papers. You'd swear the slit on his brow was purposeful if only you hadn't seen it when it was an open wound — it cuts across the tail of hair smoothly, in a way almost pretty, though that might just be you and your peculiar way of judging pretty. It is, at least, enticing. Admirable.

You nod and hum like the attentive listener you've always been good at pretending to be, and when he finishes his lesson with a “got it?,” you shoot back a quiet, shamefully dishonest “totally.”

His response comes barely audibly, an “okay” or a “great.”

He turns towards the teacher again, who now seems to be holding, as if it were something to dispose of, one of the excercise sheets some student has already filled out and turned in. Not in any way subtly, Mr. Wilson insults most if not all aspects of the work and tries to hide it as constructive advice for the rest of the class. You've found within yourself the ability to block out entirely the frequency of this man's voice, so long as you immerse yourself somewhere else. You choose to do so in the shallow first few levels of Spencer's head, now.

“Another question, though.”

“Yeah?”

You smile when he faces you again, even if in his own anti eye contact way. He looks just about prepared to give you an in-depth lecture on the subject. It stays undecided whether you find it sweet or borderline patronizing.

Between trying to phrase the thought and to show appreciation for the sympathy he shows toward your case (of the academic charity kind), your nose scrunches in a motion you couldn’t describe as either subconscious or entirely purposeful. Your words come out before you straighten them out better, it sounds mumbled if nothing else. “How are you?”

Spencer’s eyes jump across your expression for a second or two, you can't tell if his ears couldn't catch it or if he thinks they should not be trusted. Then he's mumbling, “What?”

“How have you been?” You tuck a leg up the chair, knee against your chest as you tilt to the side. “You know, with, uh… since the stuff with Jason and shit.”

“Oh, don’t— no, don’t worry about that,” he replies as if by instinct, voice shaking almost as much as his head. “I'm okay. He— that wasn't the first time he did that. It's fine. I'm used to it. I'm fine.”

You huff. “You are way too smart to be saying that. You know he’s, like, a fuckin—”

“Yes, I know,” he cuts you off all but harshly, his words followed by a sigh. He leans down, now looking only at his hands where they lay restless on his lap, fidgeting with his fingers, wiping his palms against the rough fabric of his jeans. He looks at you once again, though in a quick, shy glimpse now, as if making sure you're still listening. “He likely has some problem with his self-esteem and he hides it by pretending to have a sadistic kind of superiority complex. Everyone knows that, and the fact that I pretend not to be bothered by it has no impact on it whatsoever.”

“But you are bothered by it…?”

He breathes in once, twice, and then it all pours out, slow but loud and tired, through his nose. “Who wouldn't be?”

The hesitance in his voice says more than the words themselves. Empathy and pity are distinct and distinguishable feelings, you tell yourself as you decide to move away from the subject — empathetically so, of course. You look away then. You move abruptly enough to shoo the matter away, most likely to be brought up again sometime within the near future, and you pair it with a mumbled, “Yeah, right. Sorry.”

He frowns. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because, it's— I brought up the subject and you didn't like it. It, like, fucked with your mood, I feel.” You almost laugh softly.

The white tape drags down the bony, cooked bridge of his own nose, following the movement of his nodding head. He fixes his glasses by their end pieces, this time. “Don't worry. You don’t have to apologize, it's fine.”

You wrap your hands around your legs, tap your fingers against your calf to a made up rhythm. You feel your pulse in your temple as you rest it upon your knee, your face turned fully to Spencer, smiling. You keep your eyes fixed on him as if your goal was to off-put the poor boy, which it isn't per se, though it's something somewhat related to such. They're met with Spencer’s nervous side glance a few times, and he takes a breath like one does before talking. He stays quiet a while. He breathes in again. “What is it?”

“Hm?” your brows furrow in sync with the barely honest curious sound.

“Why are you— why do you look like that? Is something wrong? What is it?”

“Look like what?” leaves your lips in a soft giggle. He stutters and you have mercy on him then. “I'm, like… I dunno, really. ‘m just bored and I feel like just being in your presence makes me smarter. It'll, like, go in through my eyes towards my brain. I can feel it already.”

He smiles and his head leans even lower. He could talk about the benefits of being surrounded by people smarter than yourself or about the embarrassing uselessness of it. He could tell you everything you see is, indeed, going through your eyes and towards your brain, and you would say you knew that, and he would make you look like a fool by pretending to believe it. With all the words, he could say you are a fool, and you wouldn't dare to refute it.

But, “okay,” he whispers.

Your bottom lip, caught between your teeth, makes a quiet clicking sound as it frees itself from their tight, painful hold, before you soothe it with a soft chuckle. Insufferably incapable of sitting in silence, you find yourself murmuring again after only so long. “You just look like you'd be a really good friend, I feel.”

A beat goes by and he doesn't show any deliberate response, the only proof of his acknowledgement being the pink slowly but surely staining his cheeks like pigment dropped and spreading onto water. Tinted the same shade and value, his mouth arranges itself with overwhelming effort into a crooked shape, half a smile and a quarter grimace.

“I can’t think of anyone beside my mother who would agree with that statement,” he whispers soon enough.

“Well, then, I'd say your mom is a very reasonable person,” you say in a chuckle. “More so than anyone else in this school.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say so, no.”

“No, sorry, no, I just meant— I could totally be… I wanna be your friend. I'd like to be your friend. If you'll have me. That sounded weird. Sorry. I don’t usually speak so weird.”

Spencer goes silent. He moves his hair away again. He moves his nose like he wants to sniffle, but it stays silent anyway. He'll stay silent. He will, at some later point, nod, and he’ll finally smile then. He'll look you up and down, mumble some kind of pleading gratitude or grateful plead, and you'll shake your head in dismissal.

He will, with immense consideration, redirect both of your attentions towards the paper — the atoms of sulfur and oxygen and iodine and carbon that, for some reason beyond your comprehension, were or are or will be unbalanced and need your help with that. He'll be nicer than he should about the confusion that'll manifest itself between your brows and he will clear his throat before starting over, saying something smart and gross like, “So, here, on your left side, see? These are your reactants.”

You'll frown. You'll laugh. You'll smile, proud and smug, in a week or two, as you show Spencer the paper when Mr. Wilson hands it back to you with a question and an exclamation mark scribbled beside the 95 percent. You'll smile and wave the next time you see him around the halls, and he'll only raise his hand, as if trying and failing to wave back, and you will not be annoyed or offended when he looks away anxiously.

@theredvelvetbitch @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @matcha-kitty13 @girllblogging777 @xjyuto @ikyoudreamofme @jjellecubed @goldencherriess @grandtheftpiper @idcalol

[loveharlow]

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ What's My Name

FB!Rafe Cameron x Cheerleader!Fem!Reader [ more fb!rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥ [0.8k] Frustrated by your unreliable co-captain and disorganized cheer team, you find yourself sharing your burdens with the university's football quarterback.

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ swearing, rafe's cocky & corny but it's acceptable because he's overwhelming hot

THE CO-ED LOCKER room smelled perpetually of old rubber mats, cheap disinfectant, and the faint, metallic odor of sweat. For nearly half an hour after your own practice had ended, you were the sole occupant, and the silence—usually a relief—was now just a suffocating echo of your overwhelming frustration.

You slammed your heavy practice duffel against the metal bench, the hollow 'thunk' ringing out in the empty space. Your team, the one you'd been the head cheerleader of for almost two years now, was supposed to be a point of pride—a well-oiled machine. Of sorts.

Instead, it felt like you were coaching a chaotic kindergarten class while simultaneously doing the administrative work of two people.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, kicking a forgotten water bottle under the bench. You were collecting the stray first aid supplies your co-captain, Jess, had promised to organize before she bailed twenty minutes into practice to meet her boyfriend.

The first weeks were always a mess of cuts, scrapes, and boiling frustration. All of this of which your co-captain was aware of but still selfishly left you to do it on your own.

You knew, deep down, that you should have been used to it. Jessica was reliable only in her unreliability. She was great at the high-profile stuff—the rallies, the game days, the photoshoots—but when it came to the actual grunt work of coaching the twenty terrified freshmen, planning the next week's routines, or ensuring the equipment room wasn't a biohazard, you were flying solo.

You knelt down to grab the last remaining roll of athletic tape, which was jammed between two stacks of freshly laundered towels, pulling them all down in a soft, irritating avalanche.

“You have got to be fucking-” you huffed at the towels, feeling the ridiculous heat of fury rise in your cheeks. You were tired, your muscles were burning, and you still had at least three hours of homework waiting for you when you got back to your apartment off campus.

Just as you stood up, clutching the fallen linen like a disgruntled laundry attendant, the double doors at the far end of the room swung open, hinges creaking as the doors swayed.

The sound of heavy footsteps hitting the linoleum floor was unmistakable, sharp and rhythmic, breaking the exhausted silence. The football team’s practice was scheduled to start forty-five minutes after yours ended, and whoever had just walked in was either ridiculously early or seriously motivated.

The person, a tall male, walked past the main row of lockers, whistling to himself while heading towards a spot not far from you, which happened to be directly across the aisle from where you were currently trapped with a bundle of towels and a growing migraine.

He didn’t seem to notice you at first, focused on pulling off his expensive wireless headphones and dropping a heavily packed duffel bag onto the bench.

You, however, watched him. You knew who he was. Well, recognized him, at least. You saw him across the field every Saturday, barking plays, throwing bombs, and celebrating touchdowns with an effortless, arrogant grin that made the crowd roar. You'd never spoken to him—not a real conversation, anyway.

Weird, yeah—the football players and cheerleaders barely knowing one another. But truthfully, you all kept to yourselves. Some of them got acquainted with one another, more acquainted than you cared for sometimes, but you? You coached your girls, cheered when the players did something right, and went home at the end of the day to do it all again the next game.

You were a very narrow-minded person when it came to your schooling and extracurriculars.

Get your degree, be a good Cheer Captain.

Simple.

The boy was peeling off his hoodie, revealing the tightly wound muscle underneath, when he finally paused, sensing another presence. His blue eyes lifted and landed on you.

You weren't staring, you'd just...gotten distracted.

He didn't seem to surprised or shocked to see another person in here, just fixed you with a smug grin. “Y'alright?” he asked, his voice casual and low, surprisingly gentle. He leaned back against the steel lockers, crossing his arms over his chest. “You look...angry.”

You forced a tight, polite smile, the kind you saved for boosters and reporters. “Just fine. But...thanks, for asking?.” You responded simply, tilting your head and avoiding his oddly piercing eyes. "Sorry, if I'm in your way. I was just leaving."

He just shrugged. "Nah, you're fine. I guess I'm the one who showed up early, right?" He chuckled, a short, deep sound. “...You sure you're alright, though?” He gestured towards you with a shoulder and a slightly skeptical look. “Don't mean to pry, you just seem tense. More tense than a pretty girl like you should ever be.”

You sighed, shooting him a pointed look at his flirting. Dropping the towels back onto the bench, you turned to look at him fully, a hand running through your hair. You were too tired to maintain the facade. “My co-captain hasn't really been...co-captaining. And, I love the girl to death, but she's really been pissing me off these last few weeks. If she doesn't step up soon, I'll have no choice but to cut her and find someone else...”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your co-captain? That girl who's always doing the crowd work?”

You nodded, a wry smile finally breaking through. “The very same. She’s brilliant on the sidelines. Terrible with organization, responsibility, or actually showing up for the hard stuff. She left me to coach half a team of freshmen who can't balance themselves on one leg, let alone in someone's hands, five-feet in the air.”

You started stuffing your own gear into your duffel with more force than necessary, the zip of the bag loud in the silence.

“It’s just… frustrating,” you continued, letting the complaint tumble out. “I had to train over twenty girls by myself today. We have a home game in two days, and I’m pretty sure ten of the girls are still trying to figure out which leg is their dominant one.”

You don't know why you felt so comfortable opening up to him. You weren't exactly an extrovert or introvert, you'd like to think of yourself as landing somewhere in the middle. But expressing your feelings and frustrations? That wasn't something that exactly came naturally. Especially not to cocky jocks in the locker room.

But the guy listened, his expression softening slightly—not into pity, but into an almost thoughtful empathy. He reached into his backpack, pulling out his playbook, a massive three-ring binder that looked weighty enough to stop a bullet, and set it on the bench beside him.

“Look, you know how it is,” he said, his tone still easy. “You’ve got the talent, but you can’t trust the team around you to deliver. It’s like when I’m trying to run a five-step drop, and I know if I give the ball to Mason on the weak side, he’s going to run the wrong route." He explained. "You gotta carry the load until the bench catches up. Being a captain sucks.”

You looked at him, surprised by the sincerity of the comparison. “...You're a quarterback?"

"The quarterback." He playfully corrected, shooting you a pointed look before he paused, shooting you a look of confusion. "Do...you not know who I am?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow and pointing to himself.

You scoffed. "Not exactly, no." You asserted, looking up at the boy. "Look, I don't really concern myself with you football guys."

"...But you're the cheer captain? Of our cheer team-"

"Ah- correction. My cheer team." You corrected, a certain sass in your voice that had the player looking you up and down with a hint of...something, in his eyes. "Unless you're holding pom-poms and wearing an uncomfortably short skirt, I don't really make it a point to learn who you are."

"Ouch." The athlete feigned hurt, clawing at his bare chest and scrunching his face up. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

"Oh, please," You dismissed. "As if you know who I am?" You teased, tilting your head at him.

"No, I don't." He said, matter of factly, as he shrugged. "But I'd like to. C'mon, football guy, cheerleader girl—it's like fate." He winked in your direction.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you peered up at him through your eyelashes. "Right," You dismissed.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, pulling the compression shirt he'd taken out of his bag over his head, an unconscious, fluid movement that drew your eyes for a split second.

You quickly looked away, focusing instead on the bright white tennis shoes tucked neatly under your bench. “No plan. Just a cycle, at this point—stop feeling sorry for myself, go home, finish the three essays I have started and am nowhere near finishing, and then wake up at 5 in the morning to run a mile and re-do the pyramid base drills before the sun comes up.”

He paused, the shirt halfway down his torso, and laughed again. “That sounds miserable. That sounds like a schedule for someone who doesn’t believe in having fun.” He tugged the shirt down fully and grabbed his drink.

He turned toward you fully then, his blue eyes holding yours in a way that felt sudden and intimate.

“Look, you’re clearly stressed,” he said, his voice dropping slightly lower, turning the casual talk into something else. “You need to unwind.” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, a dangerous smirk growing on his face. “...Maybe you need someone to help you with that.”

You stared at him, your eyebrows nearly disappearing into your hairline. The audacity was pure, yet the easy way he delivered the line kept it from being genuinely offensive.

You gave him your best ‘are you serious right now?’ face. “Wow. I appreciate the, uh...shoulder to lean on, but I don’t think I have time for boys right now. My life is about degree requirements, teaching basic coherency and coordination to a group of freshly turned young-adults, and not letting my co-captain sink the team over dick.”

He laughed at the end of your sentence, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the bottle. He smirked, the familiar, slightly cocky curve of his lips pulling tight.

“Hm. Not even for a handsome, starting quarterback like myself?”

The line was so cliché, so perfectly, hilariously arrogant, that you couldn’t stop the burst of genuine laughter that escaped you. You clapped a hand over your mouth, shaking your head.

“After that shit line? Definitely not.” you managed, your voice choked with amusement.

He grinned, satisfied that he’d broken your sour mood. "Ouch, again." He feigned hurt once more. "What? You one of those hard-to-get types or are you just naturally cruel?" He asked playfully.

You were just about to respond, parting your lips, when the bubble burst.

The double doors at the end of the hall flew open with violence and the entirety of the football team came barreling in, a tidal wave of noise, testosterone, and thick, humid air. They were loud—yelling jokes, complaining about practice times, slamming their enormous equipment bags onto the floor, and filling the previously silent, empty space with immediate, jarring chaos.

“Yo, Rafe! What's up, man?" a massive male yelled in the guy's direction, being met with a calm nod as he ripped off his shirt and tossed it toward a laundry bin, missing by a mile. The big guy whistled in your direction when he turned around, seeming to just now register your presence.

Rafe shot his player a pointed warning look, the boy throwing his hands up in surrender and walking away.

The moment was gone. The easy, comfortable intimacy vanished under the weight of forty sweaty, loud, aggressive male athletes. You suddenly felt exposed, standing in the middle of a room that was about to become a steam bath.

“Alright, well, Rafe, I should probably get out of here,” you said quickly, grabbing your duffel and slinging the strap over your shoulder.

Rafe straightened up, his eyes flashing with irritation at the disruption, but he still managed to look slightly amused. “What? Not a fan of big, shirtless guys?"

“That's a hard pass,” you said with a playful look, already taking a step toward the exit.

"You didn't seem to mind when it was just me. Should I take that as a sign?" He teased, eyes following your every move.

You ignored his words, huffing a small laugh and looking at him over your shoulder with a smile. “Good luck with practice, Cameron.”

He smiled. "Thought you didn't know my name." He pressed with a lopsided smile, crossing his arms.

You shrugged, hiking your bag up higher on your shoulder. "Didn't." You reassured, eyes darting to his school issued duffel bag that you hadn't really looked at until now. "It's on your bag, genius." With that, you turned away.

You were halfway to the door, your heart pounding a quick rhythm against your ribs, when his voice cut through the clamor.

“Hey!”

The volume was low, but the command in his tone was absolute. The entire room went silent. Every single football player who had just walked in froze mid-sentence, mid-stretch, or mid-toss, and turned to look at their starting quarterback, who was currently staring you down without a trace of shame.

You stopped and turned back to face him, the eyes of the entire football team now on the both of you. Rafe, completely unfazed by the sudden audience, took a step toward you.

“You’re leaving, and I don’t even know your name,” he said, his voice easy and clear in the sudden silence. “How am I supposed to know who to look for on Saturday when I need a little inspiration?”

A smile touched your lips despite yourself. You ignored the rising heat in your cheeks under the combined stare of the whole team.

“Didn’t I tell you I don’t have time for boys?” you called back, a mischievous smirk on your face as you tilted your head at him.

Rafe’s signature smirk returned, sharp and irresistible. He let his eyes rake over you, a slow, confident assessment from the tips of your cheer shoes to the top of your head, before he held your gaze again.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low as he licked his lips, dipping his head for a second before letting his eyes refocus on you.

“But you didn’t say anything about a man.”

©loveharlow.

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[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹♡ cheerleader!reader and her salacious tendencies should offend CLARK KENT’s honorable small-town sensibilities, and they do, mostly—the way her skirt rides up her thighs, the way her ponytail flips over her shoulder when she walks past him after practice… her tiny shorts and the way she bends over the table like there’s no one standing directly behind her. his eyes widen and he averts them respectfully when her ass peeks out—but it’s the way she smiles at him when she straightens up, pearly whites flashing knowingly, that makes him mumble an excuse and stalk off to the bathroom to try to wish away the tent in his pants. unfortunately, wishes don’t work, and he ends up fucking his own fist and struggling stay silent, face flushed with a mix of pleasure and crushing guilt afterwards

[everydaydreamer]

Ooooo what about nerd anakin x popular cheerleader reader dating? Like opposites attraction, them being lovey lovey

That Boy is Mine

Summary: Going on a boba date with your beloved boyfriend.

Pairing: nerd!anakin x popular!reader

Warnings: people judging their relationship, a bit of jealous reader, anakin and reader being obsessed with one another

A/n: no cuz I was actually thinking about writing something like this!

Part 2

You lean against the wall right outside the mechanics lab, waiting for the class to be over. You smile and wave at one of the football players, Aiden, passing by. "Hey Y/n! What're you standing out here for?"

"Hey Aiden! I'm just waiting for my boyfriend." You simply reply back. He seems taken aback as he furrows his eyebrows and looks around at the nearby science classrooms.

"Here? What's your boyfriend doing here?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"He's in his mechanics class right now. Actually he should be getting out right about....now!" You check the time on your phone and right as the clock strikes 12, a rush of students start flooding out of the classroom into the quad outside.

You scan the people, anxiously looking for your beloved boyfriend. Aiden's eyes flicker from you to the crowd, curious to see who the mysterious guy who holds your heart is. Your eyes light up when you finally spot him, he's one of the last few to leave.

"Ani!" You call out. He turns his head and smiles when he sees you waiting for him. He mutters something to someone behind him and your smile falters when you see it's a girl. She nods with a smile at whatever he tells her which sours your mood a bit.

You hide your jealousy with a loving smile when he runs up to you and wraps his arms tightly around your body. "Hello my love!" You giggle as picks you up with little effort and spins you around.

Aiden, still standing a few feet from you, watches in with a bizarred look on his face.

Way before you and Anakin had even started dating, none of your friends could understand why or how you had a crush on him. They'd watch in confusion at the way you'd stare at him from across the quad, oggling the way he'd adjust his glasses everytime it slid down the bridge of his nose as he read the book in his hands.

You could have any guy you want, especially ones with a higher social status, and yet you wanted the nerd who mostly kept to himself and barely had any friends? They just couldn't fathom what you see in him. No one ever told you their thoughts to your face directly, knowing that you'd end them in seconds. But that didn't stop them from giving you weird looks, especially your friends.

On a fateful day when Anakin's car had broken down and he was seconds away from crashing out, you pulled up beside him in the parking lot. "Need a ride?" He had to do a double take when he saw that it was you, Y/n, known to be in the more popular group at the school.

He's heard things about you, nothing particularly bad. He still would've never guessed you'd offer him a ride.

Realizing that he had no other choice, he ultimately agreed. And after that day, neither of your lives were the same.

None of the weird looks or whispers you'd hear ever bothered you. Nothing could ever stop you from loving him and vise versa. You knew what the two of you have is real. It doesn't matter if no one else understands it.

"How was class handsome?" You barely acknowledge Aiden when he departs, only glimpsing at him with a small smile. Anakin sets you down and you fix his crooked glasses that shifted when he hugged you before tangling your fingers in his curls, playing with the ends.

"It was fine. We have a small project due next week so Natalie and I are gonna work on it a bit today." Your smile falters when he gestures to the girl behind him, the same girl he walked out with. She had been standing there awkwardly as you and Anakin embrace each other, waiting for Anakin to depart with her to the library.

"Oh...today?" Your voice sounds more quiet now and he begins to panic a bit.

He nods, "is that okay?" His voice is laced with concern. He never wants to do anything that would make you upset. It'd kill him.

"I just– I was kinda hoping we could hang out today, maybe get some boba. But if you're busy then that's oka–" Your hold on him begins to loosen which causes his around you to tighten.

"No no no that's okay! We can do the project another day." He turns around to face Natalie, "right? We can do it Thursday?"

Her eyes widen at the sudden spotlight, "oh y‐yeah sure." She smiles before awkwardly leaving. No use being there still since her and Anakin are no longer working on their project today.

When Anakin turns back to you with a smile and raised brows, seeing if you're feeling better, you start to feel bad now. "Ani, you didn't have to do that."

He brushes you off, "don't worry about it. We can get that done in a day or two. Plenty of time to turn it in." He leans down to kiss your pout away "seriously, don't worry about it! Let's go." He grabs your hand and guides you to the car.

"Where are we going?" Your smile is slowly coming back as you get closer to your car.

"To get boba!" He opens the door for you and holds his hand out for your keys. You place them in his hand and he shuts the door. He doesn't mind driving, especially when it's your car since it's way nicer than his. Being a bit of a car nerd, he'll take any chance he can to use yours.

When he gets into the driver's seat, he immediately takes your hand in his with a dopey smile and kisses it before driving off.

After ordering your drinks, you're about to swipe your card before Anakin smacks your hand away with a playful grin and taps his instead. You just stare at him in mock offense while he tries to hide the smug look on his face.

"I could've paid y'know," you say after you sit down to wait.

"Yeah but what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you do that? If I'm gonna be a rich engineer in the future, I might as well get my lady used to being spoiled." He leans forward, elbows resting on the table, as he reaches for your hand.

While he laces his fingers with yours, you just roll your eyes, trying to hide your giddy smile. You do a shit job since his smile just widens and he kisses your knuckles.

"Order number 66!" The worker calls out. You're about to get up but Anakin gestures for you to stay put and he'll just get both of your drinks.

When he sits back down, you grab your straw and then reach for your drink but he pulls it away. "Close your eyes." You do as he says and hear him move it around before tapping. With your eyes still closed, you stab the straw in the direction you heard him tap.

You let out a victory cheer when you open your eyes and see that you just barely got it. "Good job baby." He opens his straw and reaches for his drink but you pull it away. He looks up at you with a raised brow and you only respond with a knowing grin.

He closes his eyes and waits to hear you tap on the cover. He misses the first few tries before eventually giving up. You throw your hands up in victory, "I win! You lose!"

He pokes his tongue in his cheek as he just smiles while shaking his head. "Yeah yeah no need to rub it in ms cheerleader."

"Speaking of which, do you think you can come over to my place after practice tomorrow? I need help studying for Mr Windu's test and since you already took the class, I figured my super smart boyfriend could be of help."

"You mean you want me to tutor you?" He takes a sip of his drink.

You shrug, "I mean it's not like I'm completely clueless in the subject. You can just read off my flash cards for me."

Anakin finishes chewing the jellies before speaking, "of course I'll help you study. Whatever chance I can get to spend time with my girl." He winks at you and you smile shyly, looking to the side away from his burning gaze.

Your have to bite your lip to hide your growing smile when he lifts your hand to his lips again. You're caught of guard when he gets out of his seat and slides on the bench next to you. You let out a small squeal as he wraps his arms around you and begins placing small kisses all over your face.

"Ani what are you doing?" You breathe out through your giggles.

"You're just so cute when you get all shy!" He replies, slowing down his affection. "Who would've known Ms popular cheerleader could get so timid with me?"

You push him away slightly so you can breathe again. "Oh you shut up! You tell anyone, and I'm breaking your glasses." You threaten with a stern look and pointed finger at him.

He places a hand on his chest, "then how will I be able to see my angelic girlfriend?"

"That'll just have to be your punishment." You shrug with a mischievous grin.

"Fine, I won't tell anyone." He promises with a kiss to your temple. He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulder while he continues to sip on his drink and listen to you talk.

[rafehoneymoon]

sunburn

football!coach!rafe scolding cheer!readers coach

heated wind swam through the car’s open window, low music hummed like a quiet pulse throughout the vehicle. rafe had one hand controlling the wheel, the other tapping along it in a rhythm, relaxed. it was needed silence, the contentment of each other’s easy presence, just sitting next to one another as the lazy sun filtered through. 

everything should have felt good, yet there was a ticking underneath your skin. red-hot burns along your legs and arms, even your face had built up with heat. all day you’d been practicing in the humidity, hot sun stalking over you as your coach wouldn’t let up, her orders had more burn to them than the weather. 

however you sat in rafe’s car quiet, silently flinching with every particle of charged air that swirled past you, the hem of your skirt touching your skin like poison. until it became impossible to do so, his hand planted on the flesh of your thigh and you practically jumped out of your seat. a hissing sound released from your sewed lips, rafe pulled back immediately with eyes back and forth from the road to your pain-written face. 

“what the fuck” his tone was sharp, like it was defense and he had already been hurt from the way you pulled away “hey-hey what was that” rafe’s eyebrows creased harsh, hands gripping the wheel tighter. 

“nothing it just hurts, that’s all” you muttered, gaze lost out of the window. the air inside of the car built up to suffocating, an unspoken tension lingered louder than the radio which rafe had turned off abruptly. until the car came to a halt, pulled at the side of the road in a rush, suddenly his fingertips grasped your jaw, facing you towards him.

his eyes were investigating, hovering over every inch of you with an appetite for answers. “did i hurt you” he questioned, although you could barely catch it with how it was whispered like something in the dark, like he didn’t actually want to know. 

you quickly shook your head “i’m just sunburnt s’nothing, coach made us practice all day in the sun” your eyes latching onto both of his in reassurance, but you weren’t met with them. he searched all over your body, gaze running up your legs to the drying skin of your arms, his jaw automatically clenched as if he could feel it. 

“coach made you- why the fuck would she make you do that, you’re obviously hurting” his fingers held the bridge of his nose, his breathing became heavy, overtaking. “that’s not right, all your skin baby, it’s burned” he made an attempt to touch you but your darkened skin flashed as a warning. 

“can’t even touch you, god she shouldn’t just be allowed to do that- fucking wait til i talk to her” stress riled up him with each word, the idea of your coach forcing you to practice til the point of burning kept rotating through his mind over and over. leaning him too over the edge of bad decisions.

truthfully rafe had never really cared about this kind of thing, students needed to learn sometimes, rain, sun, storm. his players got no special treatment, blasted orders thrown at them and bruised knees with how many times they had to pick themselves back up. but the thought of somebody making you do that caused his stomach to churn, his anger racing through like a live-wire, hot.

“rafe it’s fine, you don’t need to-“ your palm gripped his shoulder, attempting to hold him still, unfortunately the fury in him was stronger. “no- no it’s not fine, ok- it’s not fine for you to be hurting like this” his head whipped around to you, your state was offering no help to the storm within him. “i’m gonna speak to her tomorrow alright, gonna get it through her head”

that’s what he planned to do, early morning and the balmy air was already training for the heatwave later on. rafe was on the field, prepping equipment while keeping an eye out for what he was really there for this early. his mind was on a loop, reminded of last night when he took you back to his house, the closeness you were to tears but held back- trying to be strong. 

you were strong. his girl. 

his hand held his cap, trying to keep grip of something. then he saw her, your cheer coach strutting along the grass like it was her own runway, somewhere she called orders. he could practically see the snarky grin on her face, the way she threw it at him so often like some unlucky charm. 

rafe made his way over, determination steering him in direction, the soft breeze wavering to him as if it wanted to untie him, push him to lash out. your coach began setting up the stereo, leaning over to the brim - flaunting her made up youth. as if on time she stood up, like she was alerted the second rafe stepped within a radius of her putrid perfume, rapidly overtaking his lungs. 

“coach cameron” she cooed, lips pulling up with ease, a flashy smile she thought was a gift. rafe felt the words rising up his throat, simmering off of his skin like it was just getting started. he just hummed unamused, nodding his head along with her words that he didn’t catch up to. “listen uh i actually wanted to speak to you” his tone a far reach for her to entertain.

“really, well what can i help with?” her voice laced with intrigue, no doubt admiring the football coach standing in front of her. “it’s about yesterday, you making the girls practice in a damn near heatwave” his teeth strained, gripping hard not to mention your name, but it was the one thing always on his tongue - always tasting like sugar

“yeah uh sorry what about it?” her expression quickly etched into confusion, arms crossed almost in defense. her lack of awareness blinded rafe even more to the rage coursing through his veins, to the ideas flashing through his mind. “what about it? uh maybe when it’s to the point of fucking burning them huh, what’s wrong with you” his fingers tapping his temple, words spewing out of him like bile. 

“now uh you know me, m’no snitch but uh i will take it higher if this carry’s on alright” rafe held his hands up mockingly, a winning smirk wide on his face. “but it’s better if you take it from me, right so i’m telling you not to do it again” he leaned in closer, his words louder with the heaviness of his presence. 

the woman just looked stunned, lips held tight like she was physically unable to muster out a word, no charm or act of confidence could resurface his bluntness. “good, good conversation” he grinned, full with please as he walked off. 

when he entered inside the building, he spotted you with a group of your teammates, finding you almost immediately. the sight of you was his reward, he nodded towards you in motioning. you got the hint, passing by your friends to round the hallway you saw him in. rafe scanned down your body, your skin looked better today after him coating your skin with aloe vera on repeat, refusing to let you breathe without him there.

“hey there pretty girl” his expression smug, accomplished with what he had done. there was an edge of suspicion to him today sharp, looked way too proud - you didn’t know if you wanted answers.

“hi rafe” you smiled up at him, still getting shy around him with his presence too easy to get tangled in. he took his hat off, placing it onto your head, smiling at the way your face was half-hidden

“want you to wear this today alright” 

a/n- bless this anon for this yummy idea 🙏🙏