Laki Suso Stories: Yuiyui, My Geeky Cheerleader part 1

Yuiyui and I didn’t know each other in middle school—she was off at some upscale private academy on the other side of the city, probably bowing politely in a crisp sailor uniform, while I trudged through public school, dodging spitballs and burying myself in textbooks. She was Japanese, her family having moved here years ago, and I’d heard rumors of her even before high school—some transfer kid with a name no one could pronounce right at first. Yuiyui. It rolled off the tongue once you got used to it, sharp and pretty, just like her.

High school was our collision point. First day, advanced algebra, she sat two rows up, her long black hair tied into a high ponytail that swayed like a metronome every time she turned her head. She was hard to miss—Japanese features, delicate but striking, with a body that turned heads even in our drab school uniforms. By the time I saw her in her cheer outfit at the first pep rally—short skirt hugging her full hips, top straining against her big chest—I understood why the guys whispered about her. Yuiyui had a nice ass and curves that could stop traffic, and she knew it. But it wasn’t her looks that hooked me at first. It was her brain.

We got paired for a group project early on, stuck with a couple of deadbeats who couldn’t tell a variable from a verb. She slid into the chair beside me, her floral perfume hitting me like a soft punch, and said, “Looks like we’re the only ones with a clue here, huh?” Her accent was faint, just a lilting edge to her words, and her smile—wide, with a flash of teeth—caught me off guard. I mumbled something back, and we got to work. She was quick, smarter than me at spotting patterns, and we ended up pulling an A while the others coasted. After that, we were a team. The smart ones. Classmates started coming to us—her with her charm, me with my quiet focus—begging for help with assignments or last-minute projects. She’d tease them in Japanese under her breath—“Baka, you should’ve studied”—then explain it anyway, while I filled in the gaps. I liked her then. She’d slip me konpeito candies from her bag, little star-shaped sugar bombs, and say, “For my favorite nerd.” I’d blush, and she’d laugh.

For a while, it was good. She’d strut around in her cheer uniform, all confidence and curves, but with me, she was different—warm, almost sweet. I’d catch myself staring sometimes—her tight skirt accentuating her round ass, the way her chest bounced when she practiced her routines—but I kept it to myself. She was Yuiyui, the untouchable cheerleader, and I was just the loner who happened to be useful.

Then sophomore year rolled in, and the shift came. It started with small favors—“Hey, can you finish my lit notes? Practice ran late”—and I’d nod, thinking it was no big deal. But soon, it was everything. Math homework, biology charts, essays—she’d drop them on my desk with a flick of her ponytail and a clipped, “You’re good at this, right?” Her tone wasn’t a request anymore; it was an order. She’d stand there, hands on her hips, her figure looming over me—big tits practically spilling out of her blouse, ass swaying as she walked away—and I’d grit my teeth and do it. The candies stopped. The smiles turned into smirks. I went from teammate to servant, and she acted like it was my job to keep up with her demands.

I snapped one day in the library. She’d tossed a stack of physics problems at me, saying, “Get these done by lunch, I’ve got a routine to nail,” and I lost it. I stood, papers fluttering to the floor, and said, “I’m not your damn slave, Yuiyui. Respect me, or do it yourself.” Her eyes—dark and almond-shaped—flashed with something dangerous. A few classmates nearby froze, watching her chest heave as she stepped closer. “Fine,” she spat, her voice low and cutting, “I’ll comply. That what you want?” No apology, just a sneer that said I’d crossed a line. She turned, her skirt flaring to show off those hips, and stormed out, leaving me with the mess and a sinking feeling.

After that, it was war. I’d see her whispering to the others, her glossy lips moving fast, her hands gesturing animatedly. She’d glance at me, and they’d follow her gaze—some smirking, some avoiding my eyes. She was trying to ice me out, turn me into the class outcast. I could imagine her in Japanese, calling me “temee” or worse, rallying them against me. But it didn’t stick. I’d always been a loner—head down, world out—so her little crusade didn’t faze me. If anything, I liked the quiet. Fewer people bothered me in the open, though they’d still corner me later, whispering, “Hey, can you fix my essay?” or “What’s the answer to number five?” I’d help, because why not? Yuiyui could play her games—I didn’t need their loyalty.

Still, I felt her grudge simmering. She’d pass me in the halls, her cheer skirt swishing, her chest bouncing with every step, and throw me a look that screamed payback. She didn’t like losing control, and I’d taken it from her. I knew she wasn’t done with me—not by a long shot.

The marathon was supposed to be a clean slate—or at least, that’s what I told myself. Yuiyui and I had been picked as our class reps for the annual school charity run, a twist of fate that felt more like a punishment. By then, our cold war had settled into a brittle stalemate—her tossing me smug looks in the halls, me ignoring her little jabs. I figured we could get through this without bloodshed. The morning of the race, I spotted her stretching near the starting line, her cheer-honed body on full display in tight running gear. Her shorts hugged her round ass, and her tank top clung to her big chest, drawing stares from half the crowd. She caught me looking, smirked, and flipped her ponytail like she’d won something already.

I jogged over, determined to keep it civil. “Good morning, Yuiyui,” I said, voice steady despite the knot in my gut. She straightened, her dark-brown eyes flicking over me, and replied, “Ohayou,” with a plastic smile that didn’t reach her face. It was fake as hell, but I let it slide. The whistle blew, and we took off, feet pounding the pavement in sync. The crowd cheered, banners waving, but all I could hear was her breathing beside me—sharp, competitive. We pulled ahead early, our classmates trailing behind, and for a moment, it felt like old times: us against the world, the smart ones showing everyone up.

I eased my pace, ready to let her take it. She’d love the glory, and I didn’t need it. But then she glanced over, her lips curling, and sneered, “What, too tired to keep up, baka?” That word—idiot—lit a fuse. I gritted my teeth and surged forward, legs burning as I passed her. She cursed under her breath—“Kuso!”—and sped up too, her ponytail bouncing wildly. We were neck and neck, her chest heaving, sweat glistening on her skin, and I could feel her fury radiating. The finish line loomed, and with one last push, I crossed it first. The crowd roared, but her glare was louder. She stomped past me, cheeks flushed, muttering something in Japanese I didn’t catch. Probably another insult. I didn’t care—I’d beaten her, and she hated it.

That should’ve been the end of it, but fate wasn’t done screwing with us. A week later, we landed in detention together. I’d been caught slipping answers to a classmate during a math test—stupid move, but they’d begged. Yuiyui got nabbed too, passing notes to her cheer squad, proving she wasn’t above helping when it suited her. The library was our prison, and inside was like a tomb of silence, the air heavy with dust and the faint trace of Yuiyui’s floral perfume. Detention had dragged on for an hour, just the two of us at opposite ends of a scarred wooden table, the librarian’s “quick break” stretching longer than it should’ve. My pencil scratched aimlessly in my notebook, but I could feel her eyes on me—those sharp dark-brown eyes that hadn’t softened since the marathon. Her foot tapped under the table, a restless little rhythm, and I tried to ignore how her cheer skirt rode up slightly, exposing the curve of her thigh.

Then her chair scraped, loud enough to jolt me. I looked up, and my breath snagged. Yuiyui stood, her fingers trembling as she gripped the hem of her sweater. In one jerky motion, she pulled it over her head, her black hair spilling loose for a moment before settling. She tossed it aside, her chest heaving under her tight blouse—big tits straining the buttons, begging to be noticed. “Yuiyui, what—” I started, my voice rough, but she didn’t let me finish. Her hands moved to her blouse, fumbling with the buttons, popping them open one by one until it fell away, revealing a white lace bra that barely held her in. My mouth went dry as she stepped closer, her skirt swishing against her full hips.

“Don’t say anything,” she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her. She reached for her skirt’s zipper, hands shaking harder now, and slid it down, letting it pool around her ankles. She stood there in her underwear—lace clinging to her curves, her round ass framed perfectly, her skin glowing in the dim light—and I couldn’t look away. Heat crawled up my spine, my pulse hammering as she closed the distance, stopping just inches from me. Her scent hit me stronger now, sweet and intoxicating, and I could see the flush creeping across her chest.

“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked, quieter now, her eyes locking onto mine. There was no sneer this time—just raw, jagged hurt. “I’ve been trying to get you to see me, and you… you just push me away.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. “Hate you? You’ve been treating me like dirt, Yuiyui. Ordering me around, talking crap behind my back—how’s that supposed to make me feel?”

She flinched, her lips parting like she wanted to argue, but then her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, almost a whisper. “I… I like you, okay? I’ve liked you since we started all this—back when we were helping everyone together. But you wouldn’t do what I wanted. You wouldn’t stay close. It pissed me off.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she looked away, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

I stared at her, the pieces falling into place—her dad walking out when she was a child, her need to control, to keep guys tethered, like it's an obsession. She was a mess of pride and longing, standing half-naked in front of me, and it hit me how much she’d been hiding. My chair creaked as I stood, slow and deliberate, closing the gap until I could feel the heat radiating off her. She didn’t back up, just lifted her chin, her breath hitching as I loomed over her. “You don’t have to force it,” I said, low and steady, my hands hovering near her waist. Her skin looked soft, too tempting, and I let my fingers brush her hips—light at first, testing. She shivered, her eyes flickering with something wild.

“Then why won’t you want me?” she murmured, stepping closer, her chest brushing mine. The lace of her bra grazed my shirt, and I could feel her—warm, full, pressing in. My hands settled firmer on her waist, thumbs tracing the dip above her hips, and she let out a shaky breath, her lips parting. The air between us thickened, electric, and I could smell her hair now—floral and faintly sweet, like cherry blossoms.

“I never said I didn’t,” I replied, my voice dropping. I slid one hand up her side, slow, feeling the curve of her ribs, stopping just under the swell of her chest. Her nipples strained against the lace, and I let my thumb graze the edge, teasing without crossing the line. She gasped, soft and involuntary, her hands gripping my arms like she needed to steady herself. “But you’ve been running this like a game. Maybe it’s time you let me call the shots.”
Her eyes widened, pupils dark and hungry, but she didn’t pull away. “You… you want me to just give in?” she asked, her voice trembling with defiance and desire. I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear, and whispered, “Yeah. Submit to me, Yuiyui. See how it feels.” My breath was hot against her skin, and I felt her tense, then soften, her body leaning into mine like she couldn’t help it.

I tilted her chin up, our faces inches apart, and kissed her—slow at first, testing her. Her lips were soft, hesitant, but then she surged forward, kissing me back with a hunger that caught me off guard. Our tongues met, slick and urgent, and she moaned into my mouth, a sound that shot straight through me. My hands roamed—sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing the firm curve of it, pulling her tighter against me. She arched, her chest pressing harder, and I could feel every inch of her—big, soft, desperate—melting under my grip. “Let yourself go,” I murmured between kisses, my teeth grazing her lip. “Be mine.”

She whimpered, her resistance crumbling, her hands sliding up my chest as she nodded—barely, but it was there. “Okay,” she breathed, “I’ll… I’ll try.” Her eyes were glassy, surrendered, and I grinned, ready to push her further—when footsteps clacked down the hall.

She froze, panic flashing across her face. “Teachers,” she hissed, shoving me back as she scrambled for her clothes. I stepped away, heart pounding, watching her yank her skirt up over those hips, her fingers fumbling with her blouse as she cursed in Japanese—“Shimatta!” The door creaked open just as she smoothed her hair, and she shot me a look—frustrated, flushed, and promising more. “We’re not done,” she muttered, and I knew she was right.