#dcc!reader

dcc!reader who… was originally a dancer on the HIStory tour, micheal absolutely adored her passion and drive during performances and loved to work with her.

dcc!reader who… was absolutely petrified to break the news to micheal that she wouldn’t be returning as his backup dancer after this last leg of tour. she cherished the friendship she’d created with him and didn’t want to offend him at all.

dcc!reader who… wanted a change of pace, following the ultimate dancers dream of becoming a dallas cowboys cheerleader, this is something she’s wanted to ever since she could remember.

invincibleera!micheal who… was devastated with her decision not to become a returning backup dancer, even selfishly considering doubling her salary just so she’d stick around. however, he knew better then to hold you back.

invincibleera!micheal who… against his own feelings, lets you go and chase your dreams, being supportive of your decision. you are still so young and he knows you need to take these opportunities while your able to.

dcc!reader who… still regularly talks/sees micheal after leaving the tour, as she prepares for her solo, even asking him for advice on her solo and nervously requesting for him to help choreograph bits and pieces for her.

invincibleera!micheal who… is worried to bits about the long training days she puts herself through, making sure to try and check up on her as much as possible during this time, scolding her to look after herself both physically and mentally. he knows she’ll be okay, she went on tour with him for god sake! however, he needs to hear it directly from her!

dcc!reader who… once she makes the team, micheal becomes one of the first people she calls and breaks the news too. one minute, tears are streaming down her face from relief that all her hard work paid off, the next minute her cheeks heating up as she listens to his praises, picturing the grin plastered on his face over the phonr.

“i always knew you could do it sweetheart!”

invincibleera!micheal who… is secretly even more proud of her for making the team then she is! he always knew she was capable.

dcc!reader who… eventually becomes one of the most popular cheerleaders for not only her resume, working with the micheal jackson and everything, but her overall confidence and presence she brings onto the field.

invincibleera!micheal who…starts to attend all her home games in dallas, the press are surprised and curious on what he’s doing at every. single. game. he just wants to support his favourite girl!!

dcc!reader who… is shocked to see him in the crowd for the first time, nerves starting to blossom within. she starts to become hyperaware of her small shorts, leaving little to nothing to the imagination.

invincibleera!micheal who… is starstruck when she skips out onto the field, jaw on the floor and aviator quickly sitting on the top of his head as he watches her with the biggest smile adoring her face. he knows this is exactly where she’s suppose to be.

dcc!reader who… quickly pulls herself together, snapping out of her nervousness bashfully smiling as she skips onto the field for the first time. eventually even winking up at the camera when it lands on her, knowing exactly who she’s directing it to.

invincibleera!micheal who… is a blushing and flustered mess once he sees her wink, covering his face when the crowd starts screaming and giggling around him.

oh he’s down bad fr…

tag list: @slugstarzz <33 (pls lmk if you’d like to be added!!!!!)

authors note: here’s is the very anticipated first ever fic/blurb/imagine/writing i’ve ever done! i’m sorry it’s taken me so long to post… please give me any pointers, ideas ect on this au/my writing in general!!

When you walked into your house, Rafe was sitting on the couch, fresh from practice. His team-issued Cowboys shorts clung to his thighs, his jersey discarded on the armrest, and his tablet sat in his lap as he reviewed plays. He barely looked up at first—until he noticed the way you were practically buzzing in the doorway.

“Hey, baby. You’re home early,” he muttered, his voice casual but his eyes narrowing at the way you hovered, your chest rising and falling too fast. “What’s goin’ on?” You dropped the duffel bag at his feet with a dramatic little thud, unable to hold it in any longer. “I made it,” you blurted, the words tumbling out all at once.

“I’m officially a DCC, Rafe. I’m on the team.” His head snapped up so fast the tablet nearly slid off his lap. “No way,” he said, half-disbelieving, half-grinning, as he leaned forward. “You’re serious? You’re on the team?” You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes as you laughed breathlessly.

“I—I can’t even believe it. I’m one of them. I have the uniform and everything.” He didn’t even let you finish before he was on his feet, hands gripping your face as he kissed you hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. The tablet clattered to the floor, forgotten.

“That’s my girl, I knew you could do it,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours. His voice was low and full of pride. “Holy shit, baby. You did it. You’re a star now.” You giggled, pressing your face to his chest, breathing in the faint smell of his aftershave and cologne.

“I was so nervous. I thought they were gonna cut me. I thought I messed up the jump split.” “Are you kidding?” Rafe pulled back, holding you at arm’s length so he could look at you properly. “You’re one of the most talented girl, on that field, no contest. The second they saw you, they didn’t stand a chance. Hell, they should be payin’ you extra just to stand there and smile.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating up, but his pride made your chest ache in the best way. He bent down to unzip the duffel, his big hands reverent as he pulled out the uniform like it was something sacred. He whistled low under his breath. “Jesus. I don’t know if I should be proud or worried.”

He shot you a crooked grin, holding up the vest to your frame. “You’re really gonna be wearin’ this in front of a stadium full of guys?” “Jealous already?” you teased, nudging his hip. “Damn right,” he said, not even pretending otherwise. But then his grin softened, pride taking over again. “Nah. I’m just proud. I get to say my girl’s a dcc.”

-

The roar of AT&T Stadium was deafening, the air vibrating with the sheer weight of thousands of fans. You were lined up with the other cheerleaders, your white boots gleaming under the stadium lights, pom-poms in your hands, heart hammering against your ribs.

Your smile was pasted on tight, but it wasn’t fake—you were glowing, soaking it in. The music blasted through the speakers, and the crowd erupted as the cheerleaders took the field. You caught a flash of navy and silver out of the corner of your eye. The players were running out of the tunnel, helmets glinting.

You knew exactly which number to look for. #55 Rafe Cameron. He always looked good in uniform, but tonight felt different. Maybe it was because you were both living out the dreams you’d whispered about to each other late at night, back when they’d felt so far away. During the routine, you risked a glance toward the sideline.

Rafe was standing tall with his helmet in hand, eyes scanning the field until they landed on you. Even from that distance, you felt the weight of his gaze. He gave you the smallest, quickest smirk—his way of saying I see you, baby. I’m proud of you. The game itself was a blur.

You danced until your thighs burned, smiled until your cheeks ached, and when the Cowboys scored, the energy was electric. The cheerleaders exploded in synchronised routines, your pom-poms flashing under the lights. The crowd fed off it, and you felt like you were part of something massive, something bigger than yourself.

By the time the game ended—Cowboys winning, the stadium roaring—you were drenched in sweat, but high on adrenaline. When you finally made it back to the tunnel, Rafe was waiting. Helmet tucked under his arm, jersey grass-stained, cheeks flushed from the game.

He didn’t care that cameras were everywhere, didn’t care that fans were still pouring out. He caught you by the waist and spun you around, laughing. “Look at you,” he said against your ear, breathless, his voice still rough from shouting plays. “My girl, out there stealin’ the show.” You laughed, breath catching as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Between his tennis schedule, your cheerleading commitments, and the suffocating heat of public attention, it had just made sense to keep your relationship off the radar. It wasn’t about shame—it was about peace. About protecting what you had. But lately, you were both starting to care less and less about peace, and more and more about freedom.

He came into town late last night, after flying straight from Europe. You’d snuck him through a side door of your apartment and stayed up past midnight curled up on the couch, legs tangled, catching up like you hadn’t been texting every hour since he left. He made you promise you wouldn’t look for him during the game.

“I’ll be too obvious if you keep staring at me,” he’d teased, playfully poking your side as you both lay under a shared blanket. But you didn’t have to look for him. You could feel him. Even from the field, even surrounded by tens of thousands of screaming fans, you could sense the weight of his gaze.

Somewhere high above in one of the private VIP suites, shielded behind tinted glass and heavy security, Ben was watching you—eyes locked on you as you danced, kicked, and smiled like your heart wasn’t pounding out of your chest. He was there. And he was watching you do what you did best.

-

It was halftime now. Your squad was in the middle of a high-energy performance, and sweat clung to your spine as you spun, kicked, and shimmied to the booming beat of the stadium speakers. Your smile never wavered—years of training made sure of that—but inside, your stomach was flipping like a gymnast.

You finished your final move, landing in a perfect pose with a radiant, camera-ready grin. The crowd exploded in cheers as the music faded, and you stayed frozen in place for a beat longer than usual. That’s when you noticed it. The stadium’s jumbotron had zeroed in on you.

Your face filled the massive screen above the field—windblown hair, flushed cheeks, lashes fluttering like they were born to flirt. It wasn’t unusual for the camera to pan to the cheerleaders. But this? This was different. You held the camera’s gaze, not daring to breathe. And then—you winked. Slow, playful, intentional.

The kind of wink that said, this is for someone. A ripple of whoops moved through the crowd. A few of your teammates caught on immediately, giggling under their breath. And just like clockwork, the camera feed cut—and then landed on a shot of the crowd. Of him. Ben. The second his face appeared onscreen, the stadium erupted.

His friends around him jeering him on and slapping his back. He was sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, like he knew they were coming for him next. His hat was off now, curls messy and effortless. He tilted his chin up at the screen, eyes twinkling as he locked onto your face hovering above the field.

And then he did something that made the fans scream louder. He grinned. Wide, unapologetic, utterly soft. A boy in love. Ben leaned forward, elbows on knees, and gave the smallest, most casual salute to the screen. A move so confident, so full of inside-joke energy, that there was no mistaking it. This wasn’t just coincidence.

This was intentional. And everyone watching knew exactly what they were seeing. Phones lit up around the stadium like fireflies. You could already imagine the tweets:

“BEN SHELTON IS DATING A COWBOYS CHEERLEADER??? THE WINK???”

“The way he smiled at her omg I’m sobbing”

“That was NOT a platonic wink I fear.”

You stepped off the field with your heart thundering in your chest, but your face still glowing. When you slipped back into the tunnel with the other girls, your best friend on the squad gave you a look. “You winked at Ben Shelton.” You just smirked. “Took them long enough to catch on.”

-

Later that night, after the win, you walked out of the stadium with your duffel bag slung over one shoulder and your hair still in your signature game-day curls. You spotted him leaning against the hood of his car, hands in his pockets, sunglasses perched on his head now that the sun had set. The moment you got close enough, Ben pulled you in with one arm and kissed your temple.

“So…” he murmured, grinning against your skin. “Guess we’re not a secret anymore.” You gave him a mock-innocent look. “Oops. Camera caught me.”“Yeah?” He lifted a brow. “Just caught you mid-wink, huh?” You shrugged, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Maybe I gave it a little help.” Ben laughed, low and warm, then pulled you closer.

But so did you in your own way—a dynamic that sometimes made your relationship fiery but always magnetic. Just as you were about to turn a corner into the light of the field, a hand reached out and grasped your arm. You froze, spinning on your heel to face the figure. “Y/n,” a voice said, too familiar and too unwanted. You froze for a moment before turning.

There he was—Ethan. Your ex. Tall, smug, and unfortunately wearing the rival team’s uniform. The bold colours of his jersey were a sharp contrast to the dim tunnel, and his smirk made your stomach churn. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms across your chest. Ethan leaned against the wall, blocking your path with ease. “Relax. Just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” you deadpanned, attempting to step around him. He moved to block you again, his grin widening. “I see you’re still loving the spotlight,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery as his eyes roamed over your uniform. “All dolled up, shaking those pom-poms, stealing the show. Bet you like this, don’t you? Being the centre of attention.” You felt your jaw tighten, heat rising to your face, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was anger.

“Move, Ethan. I’m not interested in whatever this is.” “Come on, Y/n,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a faux whisper. “You always liked people watching you, didn’t you? I mean, why else would you stay with Cameron? Must be nice, being his little trophy.” You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to stay calm. Ethan’s words were a calculated jab, meant to get under your skin.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship, so keep your opinions to yourself,” you said firmly. “Oh, I know plenty,” Ethan retorted, his smirk growing. “Like how guys like him only care about what’s on the outside. Cameron must be loving the arm candy, huh? But hey, if you’re happy playing the part, who am I to judge?” Anger flared hot in your chest, but before you could respond, a voice interrupted, deep and dripping with fury.

“What the hell is going on here?” Both you and Ethan turned to see Rafe striding toward you, his jaw set and his eyes dark with barely contained rage. Clad in his Dallas Cowboys gear, he looked every inch the intimidating force you knew him to be on the field. Ethan straightened, his smirk faltering slightly but still intact. “Relax, Cameron,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just catching up with an old friend.” Rafe didn’t even spare him a glance. His eyes locked on you, scanning your face as if to check for any sign of discomfort or distress. “You okay?” You nodded quickly, the tightness in your chest easing slightly at his presence. “I’m fine. He was just leaving.” Rafe’s gaze shifted to Ethan, his lips curling into a cold smile. “You heard her. Leave.”

Ethan held his ground, clearly trying to appear unfazed. “Relax, man. We were just catching up.” Rafe took another step forward, his height making the space between them feel smaller, more suffocating. “You don’t touch her, and you don’t talk to her. Ever again.” There was a long pause, the tension thick enough to cut. Ethan glanced between the two of you, then finally took a step back, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

He brushed past Rafe, but not before throwing a final comment over his shoulder. “See you out there.” Rafe stood motionless, his fists clenched at his sides, until Ethan disappeared into the tunnel. When Rafe finally turned back to you, his expression softened, though the tension in his body remained. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice quieter this time.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, placing a hand on his arm. “Don’t let him get to you.” His jaw ticked, and you could see the battle waging in his mind. Finally, he nodded, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “Go do your thing,” he said, his tone softening slightly. “I’ll take care of him.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already walking away, his broad shoulders tense as he headed toward the field.

~

From the sidelines, you could feel the shift in Rafe the moment the game began. He was locked in, his focus razor-sharp—but it wasn’t just about football. Every time Ethan touched the ball, Rafe was there, delivering brutal, bone-crushing tackles that sent the crowd into a frenzy. It wasn’t long before the tension between the two boiled over.

In the second quarter, after a particularly vicious hit that left Ethan sprawled on the turf, he shoved Rafe as he got up, muttering something under his breath. Rafe didn’t back down. Instead, he said something that was lost in the chaos of the game. But the expression on Rafe’s face said it all—this was personal.

The referees stepped in before it could escalate further, but the warning had been delivered. From that moment on, it was clear that Rafe wasn’t just playing to win—he was playing to make a point. Ethan looked rattled, and Rafe looked like he was just getting started.

~

After the game, you waited for Rafe near the locker room, your heart still racing from the intensity of the match. When he finally appeared, his jersey was streaked with dirt and sweat, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t have to go that hard,” you said softly, though your tone lacked conviction. Rafe stopped in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yes, I did,” he said simply.

You let out a shaky breath, your emotions finally catching up to you. “Rafe, he’s not worth it.” “He disrespected you,” Rafe said, his voice hard. “I’m not gonna let that slide.” Your heart ached at the protectiveness in his tone, but there was something deeper beneath it—a frustration, a vulnerability he rarely let show. “I can handle myself,” you said, reaching out to touch his arm.

“I know you can,” he replied, his voice softening. “But you don’t have to. Not when I’m here.” The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without warning, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “You’re mine,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and raw.

“Nobody talks to you like that. Nobody.” You buried your face in his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart calm the storm inside you. “I love you,” you whispered, the words carrying every ounce of gratitude and affection you felt for him. Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cup your face. “I love you too,” he said, his voice steady.