Thad Castle x Cheerleader!Reader Headcanons
1. He brags about you constantly — even when it’s unrelated.
Coach could be talking about the team’s defensive scheme, and Thad will suddenly interrupt to bring up how "your toe touch looked like porn mixed with gymnastics.” He doesn’t even realize it’s off-topic — to him, you’re the centerpiece of everything, including game strategy. “What keeps morale up? Not your weak-ass plays, Harmon — it’s my girlfriend’s ass in that skirt.” His bragging has less to do with pride and more to do with needing the team to see what he has, like you’re a trophy on display.
2. He insists you wear his jersey to every party.
If you forget, even once, he’ll act like you stabbed him in the back. “How are people supposed to know you’re exclusive property of peak masculine genetics?” he asks, fully serious, reeking of Axe and jealousy. He’ll dramatically pull it over your head at the door, even if it messes up your hair. It’s less about romance and more about branding — you’re his walking endorsement.
3. Locker room? Just him showing you off.
He’s made a folder on his phone called “Castle’s Queen” filled with cheer pics, up-close selfies of your butt, and you mid-split. Any time someone so much as mentions a girl, he opens it like it’s a presentation. “That’s my girl,” he says, zooming in on your thighs like he’s evaluating stock. If anyone jokes about it, he gets weirdly defensive — “You wish you could pull this level of glute-to-waist ratio.”
4. No one else is “qualified” to date you.
Thad talks like there’s a physical requirement to even look at you — elite testosterone levels, minimum bench press, protein intake, etc. “Only a man with alpha hormone density can satisfy a high-performance cheer queen like her,” he once said to a terrified freshman. If someone flirts with you, Thad corners them in the hallway later and “educates” them on “biological dominance.” It’s not a joke to him — he genuinely believes he’s genetically superior, and therefore entitled to you.
5. Got kicked out of the gym once for being too loud with you.
You were spotting him and he kept making porn-level moans, yelling stuff like “Boost me, babe, I need your estrogen waves to max out!” Other gym-goers asked if you were filming something. When staff told him to quiet down, he flexed and said, “Sorry, testosterone surge can’t be contained.” You got banned for a week, and he wore it like a badge of honor.
6. Will do choreography with you — badly.
Thad insists he can keep up with your halftime routine, shirtless, with ankle weights “to simulate adversity.” He ends up hip-thrusting the wrong way, smacks another cheerleader, and trips on a pom-pom — then blames it on “inferior mat grip.” You try to help him, but he tells you not to “soften his edge.” He still makes the team watch the video of it on loop.
7. He has personalized cheers about himself that he makes you chant.
He writes them himself, and they’re full of lines like “Give me a C for Castle, give me an A for Alpha, give me an S for SEX.” If you don’t say them at games, he sulks and accuses you of “cheer betrayal.” You once tried to replace it with a team chant and he yelled, “What about my spirit??” He’s convinced you’re the amplifier for his greatness — and wants the world to hear it.
8. Carries all your stuff like it’s combat gear.
He grabs your duffle bag, water bottle, and pom-poms like they’re mission objectives, barking “I’ve got the goods!” as he lugs them into the stadium. He’ll complain, but only when other people are around, so they know he’s doing it. “Real men carry their queen’s battle equipment,” he says, unironically. He’ll drop everything if you ask, but acts like he just saved your life.
9. Jealous of the mascot.
One game, the mascot hugged you and Thad full-on tackled him on the field. “I don’t care if it’s a suit — foam or not, hands were on you.” He got ejected for unsportsmanlike conduct and told the ref it was a “domestic defense situation.” Later, he apologized to you but not the guy in the costume — “He touched Castle’s Queen. That’s a war crime.”
10. He lives to impress you — dangerously.
If he sees you during a lift, he adds weight mid-set even if he physically can’t handle it. “This one’s for your ass, babe!” he shouts before nearly collapsing. He’ll injure himself just to flex in front of you, then use his limp as a reason to guilt you into rubbing his shoulders. Pain means nothing to him if you’re watching.
11. Writes awful poetry about your legs.
You once found a laminated poem under your pillow that began, “Your thighs, they thunder, my heart they plunder.” It was scrawled in all caps on notebook paper with protein shake stains. He recites them in the locker room, using your legs as motivation for the team’s squats. You begged him to stop after one of the guys threw up from laughing.
12. Overprotective to an insane level.
If another guy gives you a compliment, Thad starts interrogating you like you’re in a crime drama. “Why did he say ‘nice skirt’? What’s he implying? IS HE TRYING TO BREED WITH YOU?” Your physics professor gave you an A- and Thad decided he was flirting. He’s already planning to "accidentally" run into him at the campus gym.
13. Wants your uniform shorter — and keeps “shrinking” it in the wash.
He’ll offer to do your laundry and magically, the skirt comes back tighter every time. “Oops, I think the hot water did something… but damn, it’s aerodynamic as hell now.” He claims it’ll help with your speed and stunt performance, but he just wants more thigh showing. You’ve had to start hiding your clean uniforms in your car.
14. Your presence boosts his workouts.
He literally tracks his PRs in two categories: “with babe” and “without babe.” You’re listed in his training log as a supplement — “Cheer-Induced Growth Gains.” He claims your scent makes his testosterone spike 30%. If you’re not there, he records his reps and makes you watch later for “form feedback.”
15. You're his phone wallpaper — and the caption is unhinged.
It’s a mid-cheer pic where you’re smiling, hair flying, and the caption just says: Property of Castle. Violators will be tackled. He shows it off to the team like it’s his proudest achievement. He’s changed it three times, and one version had a crude arrow pointing to your chest with the words “National Treasure.”
16. Buys you “team snacks” — but they’re obviously for sex.
He hands you protein bars and electrolyte packs with little sticky notes that say “For later ;)” or “Keep stamina up, babe.” One time he bought you gummy bears and said they were “mouth training.” He genuinely thinks giving you snacks equals romantic effort. You caught him Googling “pre-sex snacks for athletes” once.
17. Demands people refer to you as “Queen.”
He corrected the Dean once. “Excuse me, her name is Queen of the Castle — get it right, academia boy.” He even has it saved as your name in his phone, with three crown emojis and the fire symbol. You tried to change it once and he made a dramatic post-game speech about betrayal.
18. Touchdown dances include you — even if you're not involved.
He scored once, ran to the sideline, picked you up Lion King-style and yelled, “MY QUEENNNN!” in front of the entire crowd. The coach fined him for “unauthorized use of spirit personnel.” Thad framed a screenshot of it and put it above his bed. He genuinely thinks that moment deserves a spot in the school’s trophy case.
19. Sends you “good morning” pics of his abs every single day.
Sometimes flexed, sometimes oiled, sometimes with motivational quotes like “Start your day with alpha fuel.” If you don’t respond immediately, he’ll double text with “You ignoring the gains??” He once printed one and stuck it in your locker as a surprise. You keep a folder titled “CastleSpam” on your phone and it has over 80 images.
20. “Captain” is his favorite pet name — for you.
You called him Captain once as a joke and he went still, smirked, and said, “Say it again… slower.” Now he insists on calling you Captain during sex, practice, even casual convo. “Captain wants a smoothie? Captain gets a smoothie.” He treats it like a sexual title and a military rank — his queen, his commander, his obsession.
Thad absolutely lives for locker room quickies before games. He’ll slam you against the metal lockers, pants already halfway down, ranting about how your “magic pussy” guarantees a win. There’s no warm-up—just raw adrenaline and an ego the size of the stadium. The man busts in under two minutes, then slaps your ass and says, “Alright babe, now I’m fuckin’ focused.”
He gets off on the idea of you cheering right after he’s creamed in you. He’ll yank your uniform aside in the car or behind the bleachers, fuck you stupid, then smirk while you have to run back on the field sticky and sore. It turns him on knowing his cum is dripping out of you while you smile and do toe-touches. You bet he’s in the stands bragging to the guys about it, too—loudly.
Oral is his goddamn favorite—when you’re on your knees. He wants you on the field, on the mascot mat, in the film room—anywhere risky—begging for it like it’s an honor. He grips your hair like it’s a football helmet and calls it “team spirit” when you choke on him. Afterwards he’ll slap your cheek, zip up, and say, “That’s why you’re my number one starter.”
Thad gets crazy possessive when other guys look at you. He’ll drag you into the equipment closet mid-party, rip off your thong, and rail you so hard the helmets fall off the shelf. The whole time he’s muttering, “Mine. Mine. Mine.” Then he walks you back out with your makeup smudged and his hand gripping your ass like a warning sign.
Roleplay? Oh, Thad’s obsessed. His favorite is you pretending to be a rival cheerleader and him “punishing” you for trying to seduce the BMS team. He’ll put you in pigtails and make you say a fake chant while riding him, calling you a “traitor slut” the whole time. After he finishes, he makes you wear the enemy colors home—“as a trophy.”
He 100% records your sex tapes—without shame. He has a whole “Thad’s Greatest Hits” folder on his phone, filled with clips of you moaning his name while he flexes for the camera. He watches them before practice to hype himself up, saying it’s better than pre-workout. If you ever act up, he’ll smirk and go, “Don’t make me send your highlight reel to the squad.”
Thad has a praise/degradation kink like no other. He’ll say, “That’s my good sloot,” while also mocking you for how loud you’re begging. He switches between calling you his “cheer queen” and his “dumb little cum dumpster” like they mean the same thing. And somehow, it works—because the second he says “attagirl,” your knees are weak.
He gets off on public sex and near-catches. Once he bent you over the golf cart during homecoming setup while people were twenty feet away. You were halfway through saying “this is insane” before he shoved your panties to the side and said, “That’s why it’s hot.” You came right as the band walked past, and he didn’t even flinch.
He loves when you wear your cheer uniform during sex. The pleated skirt drives him absolutely insane—especially when you’re on top and it’s bouncing. Sometimes he’ll grab your pom-poms and wave them while he fucks you, yelling “Go Thad!” like he’s your personal pep rally. It’s stupid, chaotic, and exactly his brand of erotic.
Thad loves breeding talk—even though he’s totally not ready for kids. He’ll go, “You’re gonna take this load like a future Castle,” while finishing deep inside you, every single time. After he nuts, he holds you down and says, “Stay still, gotta let it marinate.” Then he’ll panic later like, “Wait, you’re not actually pregnant, right?”
He has a weirdly intense thing for morning sex. Like, he’ll wake you up by already being inside you and say, “Rise and grind, baby.” He acts like it’s cardio and flexes while pounding you from behind, even making you hold his protein shake. It’s not gentle, not sweet, and you 100% missed your first class because of it.
He gets jealous when you wear clothes that anyone else notices. His solution? Rip them off and fuck you in whatever you didn’t plan to be seen in—like his old football hoodie or a towel. He’ll go, “Only I get to see this body, babe,” while pounding you into the mattress. And then he dares you to go out in it with no panties.
Thad will do anything to prove he's better than your ex. He’ll dirty talk like, “Bet your loser ex couldn’t make you scream like this,” while folding you in half. He’ll check your reactions like it’s a scoreboard and demand feedback mid-thrust. If you accidentally say an ex’s name (even as a joke), he won’t let you walk the next day.
Car sex is a weekly thing. He acts like it’s a rite of passage, especially if it's in the team van or his frat buddy's truck. He’ll fog up the windows, slap your thigh, and say, “You know we set records in this thing, right?” And then he expects a high-five after he finishes.
He’s totally into choking—but only because it makes you louder. He’ll say it’s for dominance, but he really just likes how wrecked your voice sounds after. He wraps his hand around your throat like it’s part of the playbook and whispers filth with that cocky smirk. Afterwards, he’ll tell people you sound hoarse because you “cheered too hard.”
He calls your pussy his “MVP.” He’ll actually say things like, “No offense to Moran, but your pussy carried the team this season.” He’ll talk to it during sex like it’s a living thing: “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna feed you real good.” If anyone else heard him, you’d both be expelled—but he doesn’t give a single fuck.
Aftercare? Only after he's had a protein bar. He’ll nut, roll off, unwrap a bar, then cuddle you and kiss your forehead like he didn’t just rail you like a linebacker. Sometimes he flexes while you’re laying on his chest like it’s a sexy pillow. It’s not soft—but it’s so him.
He’s obsessed with mirror sex. Thad wants to see every angle—his muscles, your tits, the way you bounce. He’ll say, “Look how hot we are. We’re like porn for winners.” Then he’ll take a mirror selfie mid-stroke and send it to his backup phone labeled “Spank Bank.”
Thad lives for you saying his name. He’ll whisper, “Who’s the captain?” until you scream it like a chant. If you moan “Thad,” he fucks harder—if you moan anything else, he stops and says, “Wrong answer.” He might be a raging narcissist, but damn if it doesn’t work in bed.
He once made you cum to the BMS fight song. He was behind you, clapping off beat while thrusting, saying “TOUCHDOWN” every time he hit deep. You were laughing and crying at the same time, but somehow still came like a champ. He high-fived you afterwards and said, “God, I’m good.”
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