Where’s the trophy? He just comes running straight over to me
Pairing: isaac garcia x fem!reader (cheerleader reader)
Summary: In which you and isaac have been dating for a while and everytime he wins in football he sprints right over to you
Warnings: none
dating isaac is…good. despite the fact that every single girl in school wanted to be you (which honestly isn’t as great as it seems,Constant whispers in the hallways, stolen glances, and the subtle—but persistent—jealousy made it clear that being “the girl dating Isaac” was far from simple.)
you met when he started football, you’d known his cousins thanks to cheerleading events and weekend games, so seeing him wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. He’d flirted with you, you’d known pretended to be above it all pretended to be annoyed but you liked him. He was sweet and pretty and said all the right things.
He started popping up everywhere you were, always pretending it was a coincidence. At first, it was little things—catching your eye in the cafeteria, sitting a few rows behind you in class, showing up at practices with a grin that made your stomach twist. Then it got bolder. Texts in the middle of the night with terrible jokes that somehow made you laugh, “accidental” encounters at your favorite coffee spot, even dropping by cheerleading practice under the guise of “supporting the squad.” You couldn’t deny it: he made you feel noticed in a way no one else ever had.
It didn’t take long for you to start dating—people kind of expected it. I mean, come on: Cole Walter’s little cousin following in his football footsteps and the head cheerleader? It was ridiculous how out-of-a-movie it seemed. Everyone whispered, speculated, and took bets on when it would finally happen, but somehow, that only made it feel more inevitable.
The first time you two were officially ‘together’ it was almost anticlimactic—at least on the surface. No dramatic confessions in the hallway, no banners or cheers. Just a kiss under the bleachers and a teasing comment: “You wanna tell me you’re not into me one more time before I kiss you again?”
You rolled your eyes, pretending to scoff, but your heart was doing somersaults. “You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered, nudging him with your shoulder, though your lips betrayed you with a small, shy smile.
After that, you’d been living on a pink cloud, floating through each day with a secret smile you couldn’t—or didn’t want to—hide. Isaac made sure of it. He passed you notes in every shared class, little scraps of paper filled with messy handwriting and simple words that somehow made your heart leap: “You look pretty” or “Wanna come over after school?”
It wasn’t just the notes. He did everything in his power to be close to you, all day, every day. He’d brush past your desk “by accident,” lean over to whisper something that only you could hear, or find excuses to sit near you in the cafeteria. Even in the hallways, where the world seemed to be watching, he found ways to make you feel like you were the only person in the crowd.
Like with football games, every time the team won, the boys would pile on top of each other, shouting and laughing, caught up in the chaos of victory. The stadium roared around them, the air buzzing with excitement—but Isaac didn’t get lost in it. The second the celebration started, he wove through the throng of teammates, ignoring the high-fives and backslaps, and went straight over to you.
Tonight, he was nervous. The team had all been drug tested earlier in the week, and the results had just come back—Dylan, the quarterback, hadn’t passed. That meant Isaac now had to step in and play the position, suddenly carrying the weight of the game on his shoulders.
Usually so confident, so calm, he seemed smaller somehow, like the pressure of the moment had made the stadium feel ten times larger. Before the game started, he walked over to you, pulling his helmet off his head.
“You ready to cheer me on?” he asked teasingly, his voice carrying that familiar mix of bravado and nerves—the same one he’d had when he asked you to the movies that first time.
You smiled, leaning slightly against the railing. “Well, I only cheer for people that win,” you teased.
Isaac tilted his head, a mock-offended grin spreading across his face. “You’re saying you don’t think we’re gonna win?” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “And this is the person that calls herself my girlfriend? Harsh.”
“You’ll do great,” you said, cupping his cheeks with both hands before pressing your lips to his.
Isaac’s grin widened, eyes sparkling. “Now that’s more like it,” he said, his voice low and teasing, though the nervous tension from before had eased a little. He leaned into your touch for a heartbeat longer, drawing strength from the simplicity of the moment before the game swallowed him whole.
With a final squeeze of your hands and a teasing wink, he straightened, lifted his helmet, and jogged back toward the field
The game was going well—or at least, that’s what it seemed like. Honestly, you didn’t know much about football at all, but you could tell the energy on the field had changed. The crowd was on their feet, cheering louder with every play, and Isaac kept appearing just where he needed to be, moving with a mix of precision and raw determination that made your chest tighten.
Every time he threw the ball or dodged a tackle, your heart leapt, and you found yourself jumping to your feet, waving your pom-poms like you actually knew what was going on. You couldn’t help it—just seeing him out there, handling the pressure, made it impossible to stay calm.
The ball was snapped and, for a split second, everything seemed to move in slow motion. Isaac had it in his hands, eyes scanning the field, the weight of the entire stadium pressing down on him. The opposing team charged forward, their defense tighter than it had been all night, but instead of panicking, he tucked the ball close and bolted.
You weren’t even sure what was supposed to happen—wasn’t he supposed to throw it?—but the way he ran made your breath catch. He weaved through players like he’d been born to do it, juking left, cutting right, his strides long and sure. Every time you thought someone would take him down, he slipped just out of reach, adrenaline fueling every step.
The crowd was screaming, a wall of noise you could barely process, but all you could see was him—Isaac, helmet glinting under the stadium lights, determination written in every line of his body. And then, with one final burst of speed, he crossed into the end zone, ball still clutched tight in his arms.
Touchdown.
The stadium erupted. His teammates swarmed him, shouting, leaping, pounding his back in triumph, but his eyes searched the sidelines until they found you. His grin was wide, breathless, pure joy.
He sprinted towards where you stood, not even slowing down as he reached the sidelines. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground as if you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised laugh, your pom-poms falling to the dirt as he spun you once before pulling you in.
When his lips pressed into yours, it was harsh and breathless, filled with adrenaline and victory, the kind of kiss that made the whole stadium blur into background noise. You could feel the pounding of his heart against your chest, his hands steady even though his entire body buzzed with energy.
From the field, a chorus of “ooohs” and wolf whistles rang out, his teammates howling like they’d just scored twice—once for the touchdown, and once for the public display of affection.
Isaac broke away just long enough to grin at you, cheeks flushed, eyes wild with triumph. “Told you I’d win,” he said, voice cocky but still rough with exertion. “Don’t get a big head now” you tease
He pressed one more quick kiss to your forehead before jogging back to his team, who were still jeering and clapping him on the back.
