warnings: yandere themes, dark fic, female rivalry at the start, one sided hatred(sort of), jealousy/envy, wish Nikki is bat shit crazy about R, suggestive content that leads to mature themes, Nikki acting sort of like an AI bot, R is no better than a man *in a negative way*
(more to add as the story fowards.)
CUPIDWONTMISS
masterlist
summary: All you ever wished for was for bear to look at you, not as a friend but as a partner. So when you get the opportunity to wish that Nikki stoped being so obsessed with bear you take it.
What’s the saying: be careful what you wish for?
chapter 1: wrath
WORK IN PROGRESS!
(Comment if you want to be mentioned on the chapters)
warnings: yandere themes, dark fic, female rivalry at the start, one sided hatred(sort of), jealousy/envy, wish Nikki is bat shit crazy about R, suggestive content that leads to mature themes, Nikki acting sort of like an AI bot, R is no better than a man *in a negative way*
(more to add as the story fowards.)
CUPIDWONTMISS
masterlist
summary: All you ever wished for was for bear to look at you, not as a friend but as a partner. So when you get the opportunity to wish that Nikki stoped being so obsessed with bear you take it.
What’s the saying: be careful what you wish for?
chapter 1: wrath
WORK IN PROGRESS!
(Comment if you want to be mentioned on the chapters)
Summary: in which you are Spider-Man’s biggest fan. What happens when you find out that, under the mask, your favourite hero shares a face with the girl you hate?
Warnings: Sexual content, self deprecation on Natalie’s part, pining, self harm, Spider-Man typical violence, underage drinking and smoking, weed consumption. He/him pronouns for Nat when he’s Spider-Man that is (not really a warning but oh well).
Regina’s on her back, one leg bent, scrolling lazily through her phone, freshly manicured nails clacking against the screen. Her blonde hair’s a little messy from your fingers, and her gloss is smudged just slightly—but she still looks like she just walked off a Vogue cover.
You’re curled beside her, cheek on her stomach, just watching her. In complete silence. Eyes full of nothing but awe.
After like a full minute of you just staring, she sighs, not looking up.
“God, you’re obsessed with me.”
You grin. “Yeah. I am.”
She pauses, then glances down at you with a squint. “You’re not even denying it?”
“Nope.” You kiss the skin just above her bellybutton. “I’m totally, tragically, obsessively in love with you. You’re perfect.”
Regina rolls her eyes, but her smile betrays her. She tosses her phone aside and stares down at you, lips twitching.
“You’re insane.”
“Insanely into you, yeah.”
She pretends to scoff, but you can tell she’s soaking it up—her eyes go soft, her fingers find your hair, and she tugs you closer like she’s the one who can’t get enough.
“Keep talking,” she murmurs, feigning boredom. “If you’re gonna worship me, do it right.”
You smirk, propping yourself up just enough to press a kiss to her ribs, then another to her hip. “You’re the hottest girl in the entire universe. Your hair’s perfect, your body’s illegal, and your attitude? God-tier. You’re terrifying and sexy and I’d let you ruin my life any day.”
She exhales sharply, almost a laugh, and cups your face suddenly, tilting it up.
“You already let me ruin it,” she whispers with a grin, “and you’re still begging for more.”
——
Regina’s pacing.
Not dramatically—she’d never be that uncool—but her bare feet are gliding across her bedroom carpet, lip gloss perfectly reapplied even though no one’s here yet. Her phone’s on the bed, unread texts from Karen and Gretchen glowing uselessly. She keeps glancing at the time.
You’re five minutes late.
Whatever.
She folds her arms, stares out her window, and scoffs to herself.
She’s literally in love with me. Like—actual, textbook obsessed. I told her to shut up yesterday and she smiled. Who does that?
She walks to her mirror, checks herself again, then frowns.
I’m not even nice to her. I don’t try. I make fun of her shoes, I insult her in public, and she just… takes it. Worse—she likes it. And now we’re dating? Like officially? As if that means anything. As if I’m gonna suddenly start being sweet and soft and hold her hand under the table or whatever? No. I don’t do that. She should know that.
She glares at herself. Her reflection just smirks back.
She should be running. Screaming. Getting a restraining order or something. But no. She keeps showing up. With snacks. And compliments.
And her stupid, glowy, heart-eyes face every time I so much as breathe near her.
There’s a knock at the door.
Regina turns, rolls her eyes, flips her hair over her shoulder like it didn’t just take her fifteen tries to get it that perfect.
She opens the door.
And there you are.
Smiling up at her like a puppy that learned how to love a wolf. Soft sweatshirt, hands in your pockets, eyes practically sparkling at the sight of her.
She doesn’t even give you time to speak.
“Genuinely,” she says flatly, “you’re fucking crazy.”
Your smile gets even bigger.
“I know,” you say cheerfully, stepping into her room like you belong there, like her meanness doesn’t even register. You plop down on her bed, cozy and relaxed, like she didn’t just call you insane. “But you like it.”
She stares at you.
You beam.
Regina shuts the door behind you with a dramatic little sigh, walks over, and crawls onto the bed like a lion cornering prey.
“You’re literally out of your mind.”
You’re already leaning into her. “Mhm.”
“You’re obsessed with me.”
“Obviously.”
Her fingers curl under your chin, forcing your gaze up to hers. “You’re mine, you know that?”
You nod, so soft, so pliant it almost hurts. “Completely.”
She groans under her breath and kisses you like she’s punishing you for being this easy to own.
Her lips are warm and glossy and kind of unfair—like every kiss is a flex. You tilt your head, matching her rhythm, letting her lead, letting her take. And she does—mouth pressing deeper into yours, fingers slipping into your hair like she owns it, like she owns you.
And just as it starts getting heated—
You giggle.
Right against her lips.
Not on purpose. It just bubbles out—tiny, breathy, bright—as she pulls you closer. You’re just so happy. And flustered. And totally high off her lipgloss and attention.
She flinches back immediately with the most offended expression known to mankind.
“Did you just giggle?” she asks, staring at you like you committed a war crime. “While I was kissing you?”
You bite your lip, trying not to laugh again. “…Maybe?”
Her face is somewhere between scandalized and disgusted. “Oh my god. You’re ruining it. I was literally having a moment.”
“I’m sorry!” you say quickly, still grinning like an idiot. “Let me fix it.”
Before she can throw more sass, you lean up and start kissing her lips in quick little pecks. One. Then another. Then another. Soft and rapid and borderline ridiculous.
Peck.
Peck.
Peck.
She glares at you through it, totally still, letting you do it—but with her arms crossed now and a very done energy.
“Stop it,” she says flatly, even as you kiss her again. “That’s not how you fix it.”
Peck.
Peck.
Peck.
“Oh my god, stop it, you’re making it worse.”
Peck.
But her mouth twitches. Just barely.
You pause, hovering close. “Better?”
She exhales dramatically, finally unfolding her arms and grabbing your face in both hands.
“So much worse,” she says, then kisses you again—this time harder, longer, lips parting like she’s reclaiming the moment. Like if anyone’s going to ruin a kiss around here, it’s her.
—
She’s lying on her stomach now, cheek against your chest, scrolling through her phone again with one hand—totally silent except for the occasional soft tch when she sees something dumb on Instagram.
Your other hand is in her hair. Not even consciously. You’re just absentmindedly threading your fingers through it, slow and lazy, twirling strands around your pinky, combing them out again. Every once in a while, you scratch lightly at her scalp—and you feel her melt just a little deeper into you.
“You’re like… obsessed with my hair,” she mumbles without looking up.
“Mhm.”
“You’re not even denying it anymore.”
“Nope.”
Another pause. She pretends to scroll, but you can feel how still she’s gone. You tug her hair gently back from her face and she lets you.
Then, after a beat:
“You better not be doing this to anyone else.”
You snort. “Regina, I would never play with someone else’s hair. Are you kidding? That’s, like, sacred.”
“Good,” she mutters. Still not looking at you. “I’d kill them. And you. But mostly them.”
You grin, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Noted.”
And then silence again. Just the soft rhythm of your breathing, your fingers looping through her golden hair, her body pressed against yours like you’re the only safe place in the world.
She stays like that. Doesn’t move.
She’ll claim she fell asleep like that later. But you’ll both know the truth.
——
Gretchen’s talking about some junior who copied her hairstyle. Karen’s eating her lunch like she forgot how forks work. And Regina’s lounging in the center, obviously, picking at her salad like it personally offended her.
You’re sitting next to her, tray untouched, elbow gently nudging hers. You haven’t said much. You never really do around the others—you’re more of a lean-into-Regina’s-shoulder-and-smile-at-her-like-she-hung-the-moon kind of girlfriend.
Which is exactly what you’re doing right now.
She catches you looking and raises a single eyebrow. “What.”
You tilt your head a little, voice soft. “You’re really pretty.”
Gretchen pauses. Karen blinks. The table goes quiet for a second.
Regina doesn’t even flinch.
“I know,” she says flatly, like she’s bored. She pops a grape into her mouth and keeps scrolling through her phone like you didn’t just drop a heart-eyed compliment out of nowhere.
You just smile at her.
Like big, soft, sparkly smile. Like you meant it in the most sincere, absolutely unhinged, fully-in-love way possible. No sarcasm. No angle. Just: she’s pretty, and you’re lucky, and the sun is warm when she’s near.
Regina side-eyes you slowly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” you ask, still smiling.
“Like I’m a puppy and you’re about to cry from happiness.”
You giggle, leaning your head on her shoulder. “I’m just happy.”
Karen blinks again. “You guys are like, so in love. It’s kinda weird but also cute.”
Regina shoots her a look. “No one asked.”
But she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t tell you to get off. Doesn’t roll her eyes. She just lets you rest there, soft and content, like she’s gotten used to having something so warm and easy and pliant curled up beside her.
And when no one’s looking, she reaches under the table and slips her hand into yours.
No words. No smile. Just fingers laced, hidden, held.
You’re still curled into Regina’s side at the Plastics’ table, your sad little sandwich untouched on your tray like it’s already given up on life.
Meanwhile, her salad is glowing. Expensive. Perfect. Untouched grapes sparkling in the light like forbidden treasure.
You blink up at her.
“Baby…”
Regina doesn’t look up from her phone. “What.”
You nudge her lightly with your elbow. “Can I have one of your grapes?”
That gets her attention. She turns her head slowly, eyebrow already raised. “Are you serious.”
You nod. “I forgot to pack anything else, and you’re not even eating them…”
“Because I’m saving them. For the end. Like a normal person with priorities.”
You lean in a little closer, flutter your lashes, full dramatic performance.
“Please?” you say softly. “Just one? I’ll be so good.”
Regina stares at you like she’s never seen something so pathetic in her life. “Oh my god. You’re flirting for a grape.”
Karen leans in like this is a movie. “I’d give you a grape.”
When Regina snaps her head to look directly into Karen’s eyes and glare at her, she hides away behind a spoonful of her own lunch.
Gretchen ignores all of you, chewing like this happens every day.
Regina turns back to look at you. She’s holding back a smirk now. You can see it. She’s pretending to be annoyed but there’s this glint in her eye like she’s seconds away from feeding you grapes and calling you ridiculous.
You press your cheek to her shoulder. “I’ll trade you my sandwich for just one.”
She looks at the sandwich. Grimaces. “That’s not a trade, that’s an insult.”
You blink up at her again. Big eyes. Innocent smile.
She stares at you.
Stares at you some more.
Then sighs like she’s carrying the emotional weight of this entire relationship.
Without saying anything, she picks up a grape between her fingers and holds it just in front of your lips.
You light up. “Thank you!”
She doesn’t move the grape. Just raises one perfect eyebrow. “Say it cuter.”
You blink. “Cuter?”
She tilts her head. “Mhm.”
You try again, voice higher, almost a whisper: “Pretty please?”
She looks unimpressed.
You pout. Full pout. Eyes wide, lips soft, leaning in like she’s the only person on Earth who’s ever fed you.
Finally—finally—she sighs and lets you take it from her fingers. You do, happily, lips brushing her knuckles, chewing with the most satisfied little hum.
Regina rolls her eyes.
“You’re a menace.”
You smile sweetly. “Your menace.”
And she doesn’t deny it.
——
You’re walking alone, hugging your books to your chest. Light steps. Mind on nothing. Just hoping to make it to your locker in peace.
But then some random senior guy—loud, way too confident, clearly not catching a single cue—corners you halfway there. Leans a little too close, one hand braced on the locker beside your head like he thinks this is a rom-com.
“Hey,” he grins. “You’re Regina’s girl, right?”
You blink, already uncomfortable. “Um… yeah?”
“That’s hot. I mean, you don’t act like her. You’re, like, way softer. Nicer. Kinda cute.”
You laugh, awkward and tight. “That’s really… nice of you to say?”
You try to slide past him—politely, of course—but he moves with you, blocking your way again.
“I’m just saying,” he adds, clearly not done, “you deserve someone who actually treats you right, you know? Someone who’s not, like, terrifying.”
You clutch your books tighter. Like they might shield you from whatever this is.
“I’m… actually really happy,” you say gently, trying to keep your tone light. “And Regina’s not—well, she’s… she’s a lot, but I like her. So…”
You look up, hoping he gets the hint.
He doesn’t.
“C’mon,” he says, “you’re too sweet to be stuck with someone like her.”
You open your mouth to respond—one last polite decline—but you don’t get the chance.
Because that’s the exact moment Regina George’s voice slices through the hallway like a knife dipped in honey:
“Excuse me?”
You both turn. And there she is.
Walking toward you with slow, terrifying purpose, heels clicking, ponytail bouncing, eyes sharp and locked on the guy like she’s already planning his funeral outfit.
He tries to smirk. “Hey, Regina—”
“Step. Away. From her.”
There’s something about her tone. About the way she doesn’t even raise her voice, but the threat laces through every syllable like poison.
The guy steps back instantly, hands up, trying to laugh it off. “Jeez, relax—”
Regina cuts him a look that could level a building.
“Don’t speak,” she says calmly. “Just walk away while you still have knees.”
He blinks. Then walks.
Quickly.
She turns to you, eyes softening only slightly.
“You okay?”
You nod quickly, smiling up at her like she literally just descended from heaven in Prada. “My hero.”
She rolls her eyes, clearly trying not to smile. “You’re ridiculous.”
You beam. “And you love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
But then she slips her arm around your waist and pulls you close, kissing the top of your head before leading you away like nothing ever happened—like of course she protects her girl. Of course no one else gets to touch you. You’re hers.
Regina walks you down the hallway with her arm still around you, totally unbothered, like she didn’t just threaten someone’s entire bloodline three seconds ago.
You glance up at her, still glowing. “Seriously though. That was so hot.”
She groans. “Don’t make it weird.”
“You saved me,” you whisper dramatically, like it’s a fairytale. “From the big bad locker bro.”
“You’re embarrassing.”
You smile. “But pretty.”
She side-eyes you. “Stop.”
“Pretty and powerful.”
“Stop.”
“Pretty, powerful, and mean.”
“I swear to god, if you don’t shut up—”
You giggle, leaning into her side. “You love me.”
She pauses. Looks at you. Real slow.
Then?
She kisses you. Just once. Soft and quick and right in the middle of the hallway.
You blink, stunned. “What was that for?”
Regina shrugs. “Felt like it.”
And that’s it.
She keeps walking like she didn’t just casually destroy your soul with a forehead kiss, and you follow her, still clutching your books, still her soft little shadow.
No one says anything.
Because Regina George doesn’t need to say she loves you.
She just makes sure everyone else knows you’re hers.
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
annaxmalina
