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Aug 9, 2025

What The Heck

Regina George x Reader

---------------------------------

Regina George is a newly out lesbian. And as a newly out lesbian, she now wants a girlfriend. In a girlfriend, she wants someone who is close to her physically. And the only gay person in her class is you.

The quiet, but non-underdog bisexual who is hot as fuck, but the exact opposite of Regina's type.

But Regina wants a girlfriend so badly that she might say fuck it fine, I'll just date her. She's still thinking about it, though.

Thinking about it didn't exactly last, though, because when Regina George wants a girlfriend, she gets a girlfriend.

"You wanna go on a date with me?" She asks one day after class, before stating, "Doesn't matter, you're going anyway."

You blink up at the blonde from your workbook, a letter half-written down, "Uhm...eh-okay."

You tried to smile, but all that formed on your lips was a tight little line.

When silence lasts a beat too long, you tilt your head to the side, still locking eyes with Regina from your seat.

For a moment, it looked like Regina's eyes narrowed, but it passed too quickly for you to notice.

"Well, are you gonna give me your number, or stare at me like a puppy?"

"Ah," You mutter things under your breath as you fumble for your phone inside your bag. "Of course."

Regina refrained from rolling her eyes because this exact behaviour was exactly why you weren't her type. You were too soft a slow to react. Regina fears she'd have to protect you all the time, but aye, you're the only option.

When you finally find your phone and hand it to Regina, she hands you her phone, so you can type your number in there while she types her number in yours.

When all's well, all Regina said before walking away was, "See you around, freak."

---

The rest of the day was peaceful with the only sign of Regina around was a ping from your phone from her texting you through out the day.

The first thing she asked you was where you wanted to go for the date- to which you responded with "We can go wherever you wanna go" in true, indecisive fashion- to which Regina responded with "I asked you first, dumbass. You decide." with complete punctuation.

During your last period, you texted Regina these exact words: "What will be our mode of transportation in order to attend our date, and when will this event be held?"

Like some nerdy weirdo.

Regina's initial reaction was to call you a "nerdy shit", but she decided against it somehow. After muttering "what the fuck" to herself for a solid minute, Regine decides to reply to your message.

Regina Queen Shit:

wth is wrong with u r u cosplaying a professor or smthn we'll go after school also if u call this an event again im cancelling u

You responded to her spam messages with a "hmm, okay" in your head and ultimately left Regina on read. But then ten minutes later Regina Texted again.

Regina Queen Shit:

jk but seriously after school dont forget freak also dont flake out on me ill kill u

To which you responded with a measly heart emoji.

---

You decided to go to a flea market a bit outside of town. When you told Regina about it earlier, she asked if you were trying to kill her.

She ended up taking you there anyway.

Now she’s standing beside you in the middle of a crowded row of booths, arms crossed over her chest like she’s guarding herself from whatever secondhand embarrassment you're about to unleash.

“This place smells like dead dreams and expired hot sauce,” she mutters, looking around with thinly veiled judgment.

You nod. “Exactly.”

Regina gives you a look—half disgusted, half confused—and you just smile like you’ve brought her to the gates of heaven. Which, to be fair, you have. There’s a guy selling hand-painted frogs on bottle caps. There’s a table of aggressively cursed dolls. There’s a jewelry stand that might give you tetanus.

You’re thriving.

She, on the other hand, is trailing behind you like a cat being forced to wear a leash.

“You’re really gonna touch that?” she asks as you pick up a suspiciously sticky lava lamp.

You grin. “I’m not gonna lick it.”

“God,” she mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I could be anywhere else right now. A nail appointment. A facial. Literally jail.”

But she doesn’t leave. In fact, when you find a $2 bin of ugly oversized rings, she sighs loudly, walks over, and starts digging through it.

You raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were into rusted costume jewelry.”

“I’m not,” she says. “You are. And if I have to stand here while you flirt with haunted furniture, I might as well make sure you don’t pick something that gives you tetanus and bad taste.”

Then she pulls out a ridiculous, chunky red ring with a fake gemstone the size of a marble. She shoves it onto your finger.

“There. That’s the one. You’re welcome.”

You stare at it. It’s hideous. You kind of love it.

“…Thanks?”

Regina shrugs, turning away like it didn’t mean anything. “Whatever. It’s ugly. Just like you.”

---

You could have sworn Regina was only away for a few minutes.

But I guess she was away long enough for some dude in a bad shirt and skinny jeans to approach you with an egotistic pick up lines.

“You’re lucky I stopped by. I don’t usually flirt with people holding haunted dolls, but I make exceptions for girls who look at me like that.”

His observation was severely offbeat because when you looked down at the item in your hand, you found that you were holding a frog lamp.

"You strike me as the type of girl to like real confidence." He says this while he is adjusting his knockoff bejeweled belt and a smirk on his chapped lips.

Thankfully, before you could even get a polite "no thanks" in, Regina slides up to you with a protective arm around your waist.

"Back off, Scooby doo. My girlfriend doesn't need your weak dick." Regina says with a scowl on her face. beneath the scowl, though, you felt like she was low-key enjoying telling this douche off.

Wait, did she just say—

You freeze. Not because of the insult (though it was... strangely creative), but because of that word. Girlfriend.

You blink up at her. She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain. Just turns to the guy again with an expression that says try me.

He raises his hands in surrender and backs off, muttering something about “intense vibes” and “jeez, okay.”

Regina finally looks down at you—really looks.

“What?” she snaps, but it’s softer than usual. Less venom, more…deflection.

“You called me your girlfriend,” you say.

She shrugs, all fake nonchalance. “Okay, and? You got a problem with that?”

You open your mouth, but there’s no follow-up.

She rolls her eyes and starts walking again, pulling you with her by the wrist. “Don’t make it a thing, freak. I had to call you something.”

You shoot her a look—eyebrows up, the corner of your lips facing downward, your eyes smug and smirking—holding your hands up close, "Nope, no, no…no problems. Girlfriend, it is."

Regina rolls her eyes while muttering a "whatever" under her breath before gesturing to the lamp you're still holding, "You gonna buy that? Let me pay for it."

You give the lamp a once-over again and decide, "Nah, it's too big— Hey, we should get matching stuff now that we're girlfriends."

You ended up pulling Regina along before she could negate your proposition of matching items.

The sun is setting when you gasp. The sudden sound startles Regina in her spot next to you.

When she turns to you, she wishes she never did. Because tell me why you're holding up two cow mugs with ridiculously sized googly eyes.

"Y/N, no."

You wave her off with a dismissive hand, reaching into your pockets for your wallet, but before you can hand your cash to the vendor, Regina's already smiling at them, holding a hundred-dollar bill.

The quiet, "yay, now we have matching mugs," you let out makes Regina's heart melt faster than anything ever has.

So before you can do anything else to compromise her very layered walls of self-protection, she pulls you along back to her car.

A scowl sits on her face while her heart beats for the matching mugs and possibly you, but shes not thinking about that too much yet.

---

Rain pours by the time you reach Regina's car. Her driving is slow. Content. Unrushed.

Regina doesn’t say much as she drives. But her hand stays suspiciously close to the gear shift, fingers twitching every so often like they want to reach for yours.

Outside, the rain drums steadily against the windshield. Inside, it’s warm and quiet — save for the occasional splatter of a puddle and the rhythmic swipe of the wipers. You hum under your breath, half-tuned to a love song on the radio.

She pretends not to listen.

By the time she pulls up to her house, the rain’s in full swing. She parks, looks out at the downpour, then glances at you like it’s your fault the sky decided to monsoon the second you got cozy.

Regina tosses you one of the jackets in her messy backseat while putting one on for herself.

“Ready?” you ask, grinning already.

“No,” she grumbles, tugging her hoodie up. “I just got this hair done, don’t make me regret dating you.”

You sprint together anyway.

It doesn’t matter that you only had to cross ten steps. By the time you’re fumbling at her front door, you’re both drenched — hair sticking to foreheads, clothes soaked straight through.

She curses under her breath when she drops her keys trying to unlock the door. You’re laughing too hard to help.

The door finally swings open. You both stumble inside, dripping all over her floor.

Regina kicks it shut behind you, pushes her wet hair back, then turns to you with a flat look.

“…Take your clothes off.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not letting you sit on my couch like that,” she says, already pulling her hoodie over her head. “Not everything in this house is waterproof.”

You snort. “Is this your way of seducing me?”

She throws her wet hoodie at your face. “Take. Them. Off.”

You ended up walking around her house in just your underwear and a bra.

Regina was also in just her underwear and her bra. This was totally not her first time being half naked around someone who wasn't planning on fucking her.

Thank god her parents weren't home because, boy, would that have been a sight to behold.

You rummage around in Regina's closet for something to wear because Regina gave you free rein to anything you would be comfortable wearing from her closet.

You tug open drawer after drawer until you find one filled with soft tees. You hold up a gray one with faded text that reads “Cheer Camp 2019” in sparkly letters. “You were a cheerleader?”

“No,” Regina says flatly from the bed, where she’s reclined against a pile of pillows in nothing but her black lace bra and matching underwear. “I was the cheerleader.”

You snort and slip the shirt over your head. It’s oversized on you, hitting mid-thigh. You look stupidly cute, and Regina—despite pretending to scroll through her phone—sees that. Feels that.

“You gonna get dressed or just keep looking hot and miserable over there?” you tease.

Regina huffs but doesn’t deny it. She rolls off the bed and makes a show of dramatically rifling through her own closet, muttering something like, “You wore my shirt. That’s supposed to be my thing.”

You end up in her old shirt. She ends up in a navy hoodie. And somehow, neither of you says it, but something about the whole scene feels… intimate.

Too intimate.

So Regina ruins it—like she always does—by blurting, “If you drool on that shirt, I’m setting it on fire.”

You just beam at her and skip barefoot down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Drool? You plan on keeping me here overnight?"

Regina nearly trips over herself, but then she remembers that she's Regina George, and Regina George doesn't trip for anyone.

"Tsk, no...I mean, it's an option, but- but...it's not a must." Regina rolls her eyes.

You hum, "Okay, I'll just wait 'til the rain stops then."

For a second, you think you heard Regina let out a soft and quiet little "awh," but you pay it no mind.

Instead, you flop dramatically onto her couch, hugging one of her throw pillows like it’s your emotional support plush. “God, your house smells expensive.”

Regina, still hovering by the doorway like she can’t quite commit to entering the moment, shrugs like she didn’t purposely light a vanilla-amber candle twenty minutes ago. “It’s Diptyque. Obviously.”

You blink at her. “What’s that? French for ‘I’m lonely and have great taste’?”

That earns a half-scoff, half-laugh from her—sharp at the edges, but real. She crosses her arms and leans against the frame like she’s keeping herself from getting too close. Like if she sits down next to you, she might do something reckless. Like admit this doesn’t feel casual anymore.

You sit up and pat the seat beside you. “C’mon. You’re hovering like you expect me to bite.”

Her eyes flicker, amused. “Don’t you?”

“Not unless you ask nicely.”

That makes her blink a little too slow, like her brain blue-screened and restarted. But then she recovers with a scoff, walks over, and—delicately—perches beside you, careful not to let your knees touch.

The silence stretches, cozy and warm, until Regina speaks again.

"You hungry? I could cook something for us if you want to eat? Or we could order?"

You blink. "Wait. You cook?"

Regina huffs. “I’m not completely useless.”

"Debatable," you tease, already curling into the corner of the couch like you’ve lived there for years. "But alright, surprise me."

She squints at you. "What if I poison it?"

You grin. "Then I guess I die in your house. Kind of iconic."

Regina rolls her eyes so hard you think she might actually strain something. “You’re so annoying.”

But she still gets up, muttering something about pesto and how if you’re picky she’s kicking you back into the rain. The kitchen light flicks on. You hear her opening cabinets, the sound of a pan being placed gently on the stove.

She doesn’t have to do this. You both know it.

But she is.

And when she calls your name fifteen minutes later with a plate in hand, trying to act like it’s no big deal, you think maybe this is what it feels like when someone starts choosing you—awkwardly, stubbornly, but still choosing.

"This smells nice, baby, thank you." You take the plate from her hands with a soft, grateful smile stretching on your lips.

She rolls her eyes at the pet name, internally loving it, externally resenting it.

"You better not call me that on campus. I'll kill you. Also, don't expect so much just 'cause you're my girlfriend-"

She's cut off by your soft laughter mid-bite. Her eyebrows furrowed as she eyed you.

"What?"

Your laughties dies into a giggle, "You keep calling me your girlfriend."

Regina's eyes avert from you, mostly because of what you just pointed out and partly because of how your lips looked wrapping around the fork as you take a bite of the food she made for you.

"Y...yeah, I mean—I did say that earlier—have you not been paying attention?"

You tilt your head, amused. “I have. It’s just funny. You act like I forced you into this at gunpoint.”

Regina scoffs, stabbing into her own plate a little too aggressively. “I didn’t say you did. I just—ugh, you’re the only lesbian in, like, all of econ, okay? It’s slim pickings.”

You grin. “So you’re dating me out of convenience?”

She looks up sharply—almost in a panic. “No—I mean. Shut up. I just—I wanted someone—ugh, would you just agree?!”

You blink, pausing mid-chew. “Agree to what?”

Regina groans, dropping her fork with a dramatic clink. “That this is fine! Us! That it’s... not that weird! That I didn’t totally lose my mind picking you out of everyone.”

You set your plate down slowly, watching her. “You didn’t lose your mind, Regina.”

She snorts. “Sure.”

“I think you just... picked the most likely someone who would give you peace and not a headache. Like, fully. No deals, no bets, no clout-chasing.” You smile softly. “That probably scared the hell out of you.”

She stares at you like you’ve just read her diary out loud.

Then: “Don’t psychoanalyze me over pasta.”

You laugh gently, and after a long moment, she gives in with a dramatic sigh and shifts closer on the couch.

“...But thank you for that,” she mutters, almost too low to hear.

You pretend not to make a big deal out of it and just give her a soft smile before going back to eating the pasta she made for you.

And for once, she doesn’t roll her eyes. She just leans into your shoulder. Quiet. Letting herself be held.

When Regina realizes the rain has stopped already, she says nothing. Because she doesn't want you to leave just yet.

---

It's already quarter to nine when your phone buzzes on the table. Regina glances at the screen—Mom 💀 Calling—then toward the bathroom door where she can hear you brushing your teeth with one of her toothbrushes like it’s not a big deal.

She sighs, picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

There's a pause.

“Uh, no—this is Regina. She’s just in the bathroom.”

Another pause. Regina stands up, walks a little further from the door.

“She's safe. We’re at my house. Yeah, the one in—yeah.”

She bites her lip.

“I was actually wondering... if she could stay over for the night? Just—it's already late. I’ll drop her off tomorrow, promise.”

A beat.

Then a softer: “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Just as she’s about to end the call, you come out, toweling your damp hands. “Who was that?”

Regina freezes for a second, like she got caught doing something weird.

“Your mom,” she says, casually tossing your phone back on the couch. “I told her you're staying over.”

Your eyebrows raise. “You told her?”

She shrugs. “Asked. Whatever. She said it's fine.”

You blink at her, something warm swelling in your chest.

Then: “...You want me to stay?”

Regina immediately scoffs. “God, don’t make it weird. I just didn’t feel like putting pants on to drive you home.”

You grin. “You like me.”

“Shut up. Just pick a movie.”

---

"No-ugh. Come on, not that movie."

You pause, your voice high-pitched as you look between Regina and the screen displaying 'the half of it'. "Why not?"

"Because! That movie is so lame and sad. I don't want to be depressed at a time like this!"

You quirk a brow up, "How do you know this is lame and sad? Have you seen this movie before?"

Regina turns to you sharply, "Wha- no! I just-...I've heard of it. From Gretchen."

"And you were interested enough to listen to her talk about it?"

"That is literallly- you know what? Whatever, play that movie."

She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back on the sofa.

You smirk as you press play, snuggling deeper into the blanket and throwing a bit of it over her lap without asking. Regina tenses for a moment, visibly considering whether she wants to protest the contact. But she doesn’t. Her arms stay crossed, but she subtly tugs the blanket a little closer to herself.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, you glance at her. She's pretending not to care. But her eyes haven’t left the screen once.

“You’re totally into this,” you whisper.

“I’m literally not,” she hisses, barely above a whisper, her face lit faintly by the screen. “I’m just watching because I’m being a good host.”

You grin and gently nudge your shoulder into hers. “Sure.”

Another twenty minutes go by. She reaches into the shared bowl of popcorn at the same time you do. Her fingers brush yours. She doesn’t pull away.

You don’t say anything.

It’s halfway through the film when the main character says something soft and heartbreakingly honest, and you hear the tiniest sniff from Regina’s side of the couch.

You glance over. “Are you—are you crying?”

Regina snaps her head toward you, wild-eyed. “No?! Literally shut up. It’s allergies. God.”

You can’t help the way your smile grows. “You’re so full of shit.”

She groans, dropping her face into her hands. “Why did I let you stay over?”

“Because I'm a very likable person.”

“I hate you,” she shoots back—far too fast. But there’s no bite to it.

You don’t press. Instead, you just lean gently against her side. And she lets you.

After a moment, her head tips slightly onto yours.

And neither of you move for the rest of the movie.

When the credits roll, neither of you barely register that you're fully in Regina's arms, leaned back against her chest with your head resting in the space beneath her chin.

Regina's arms are snug around you. One of her hands is curled loosely at your waist, and the other is absentmindedly tracing little shapes into your forearm.

You murmur, voice thick with sleep, “You cried.”

“I will smother you with this pillow,” she says, monotone, but makes no move to reach for it.

You hum, turning your face slightly into her collarbone, your breath warm against her skin. “You liked it.”

“I liked the silence that came after it ended.”

You smile, lips brushing against her neck now. “You’re such a liar.”

She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t push you off, either.

A few seconds pass in quiet, the hum of the credits music long faded into the background. Her fingers slow their movements against your skin until they stop altogether—just resting there.

Then, low, almost too quiet to hear:

“…It wasn’t bad.”

Your eyes flutter open. “What?”

“The movie,” she says quickly, like it’s nothing. “It wasn’t bad. Shut up about it.”

You giggle into her neck.

And that’s the moment she finally shoves you off her, but only halfway—still keeping an arm loosely around your waist so you don’t fall off the couch.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love me.”

She exhales sharply through her nose. “God, whatever. I’m going to bed.”

You sit up. “What about me?”

She stands and looks down at you with a raised brow. “Guess you better follow me then, huh?”

"If I ask you to carry me to bed, would you?"

The only answer you got was a tilt of her head and a blank stare.

"Yup, got it." You stood from her couch and let Regina lead you back to her room.

You trail behind her through the dark hallway, watching the sway of her silhouette as she walks ahead with arms crossed—like she’s annoyed you didn’t get the hint sooner.

Her room is already dim when she opens the door, the soft bedside lamp casting a warm, sleepy glow across the sheets she never quite made that morning. She doesn’t say anything when she steps aside to let you in. Just raises an eyebrow, like well?

You toe off your shoes and sit gingerly on the edge of her bed, glancing around. “So, uh… left or right?”

Regina gives you a look like you’ve asked her to solve calculus.

“Are you seriously asking me which side of my bed you can sleep on?”

You blink at her.

“…I’ll take the left.”

She huffs and moves toward her vanity, pulling off her earrings with sharp, practiced flicks. “You better not hog the blanket. I’m not spooning you either, if you’re expecting that.”

“I wasn’t,” you lie.

She glances at you through the mirror and smirks like she knows exactly what you’re doing.

You crawl under the covers anyway, already warm from the way her sheets smell like some expensive body lotion and something faintly floral. When she finally joins you, she stays on her side—but the mattress dips closer to you than it needs to.

And somewhere in the dark, as the room quiets again, her foot finds yours under the blanket.

And then, in the next moment, you blink, and her body is draped over yours, her nose tucked into the crook of your neck.

---

"Okay, seriously, what's wrong?" You ask after watching Regina dump the third egg she's fried in the pan.

"Hey- it's not my fault you're very specific with how you like your eggs, okay? Not everyone gets a non-runny, but also non-solid yolk on their first try!"

"Not even on the third try, apparently..." You murmur just to tease her.

"I will throw this pan at you."

You rolled your eyes, "Why are you even trying to perfect it in that way? I told you i just prefer my eggs not solid but not runny. I didn't say they have to be like that."

Regina freezes for half a second.

"It's not a requirement, baby, you can relax."

Then Regina sighs, "I know, but I wanna get it right. I don't fail anything. I'm perfect."

You snort, stepping closer. “Babe, it’s breakfast. Not the SAT.”

Regina glares at the egg like it personally betrayed her. “Still.”

You lean against the counter beside her, nudging her with your hip. “It’s cute how hard you’re trying not to disappoint me.”

“I’m not trying not to disappoint you,” she snaps quickly, too quickly. “I just don’t want you to think I’m some incompetent trophy wife who can’t cook—”

“Whoa. Trophy wife?”

Regina flinches like she caught herself too late. “Shut up.”

You laugh softly and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. “You could serve me burnt toast and battery acid and I’d still say thank you.”

She sighs again, but this time it’s softer. Less annoyed, more… resigned.

“I just want to be good at the stuff that matters to you,” she mumbles. “Even the dumb shit like eggs.”

You stay quiet for a second, arms tightening around her. “You already are. But I do love watching you spiral over breakfast. Very sexy.”

Regina groans and elbows you lightly. “You’re so annoying.”

“Perfectly annoying,” you grin.

She finally cracks a smile and mutters, “Fine. One more egg. If this one sucks, you’re getting cereal.”

“Deal. But only if it’s the overpriced granola you pretend not to like but eat half the bag when you’re high.”

“I don’t eat—okay, whatever. Shut up.”

You kiss her cheek before pulling away, just in time for her to gently crack the fourth egg into the pan with absolute precision, like she’s prepping for war.

Regina was just about to take the last bite of her food when you spoke again.

"Can we cuddle after breakfast?"

Her spoon paused mid-air, eyeing nothing in particular, and then you, "You literally wrapped your whole body around my body in the middle of the night last night, have you not gotten enough skin contact yet?"

You propped your elbows on the table with a blank expression on your face. "Absolutely not."

It didn't occur to Regina how exactly she said yes to your little cuddling question, but somehow she lay on her couch with you draped over her like a human blanket.

"This is crazy."

"Good crazy?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're loving every second of this."

"You're wrong. I think this is lame."

You nuzzled closer into her neck, ignoring the way her arm instinctively curled tighter around your waist. “Lame and yet… you haven’t moved.”

“I’m trapped. You’re heavy.”

You hummed. “Strong words for someone who literally princess-carried me to bed last night without breaking a sweat.”

“That was different. That was—momentum.”

“Mm, sure.” You tilted your head up to look at her. “You know you don’t have to pretend you hate this, right?”

Regina looked down at you, face unreadable for a beat. Then she muttered, “I’m not pretending. I do hate it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Hate your body heat. Hate how it makes my heart beat faster when you sigh like that. Hate that your hair’s in my mouth but I don’t wanna push it away.” A beat. “Hate how much I don’t hate any of it.”

You blinked, lips parted.

“…That was gross, right?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “Forget I said that.”

“No.” You beamed. “Actually I’m gonna write that down in my Notes app under ‘Regina’s Moments of Weakness.’”

“You’re literally the worst person I’ve ever let touch me.”

You kissed her jaw. “And you’re the best person I’ve ever laid on like a couch cushion.”

Regina sighed, a long, heavy breath like she was exhausted by the very concept of loving you.

And then she adjusted her arm so you’d fit better against her chest.

Silence blankets both you and Regina.

It takes her a moment before she speaks again, but when she does: "You know I've never gone on a date with someone who didn't plan on fucking me that same night?"

You didn’t say anything at first. Mostly because you weren’t sure if it was a confession, a challenge, or a warning.

“…And?”

Regina glanced at you, mouth twitching. “Just saying. You’re ruining my streak.”

You raised a brow. “Because I didn’t jump your bones the second I walked in?”

She scoffed. “Please. If you wanted to, you would’ve. I’ve seen how you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

“I wasn’t hiding it.”

“Even worse,” she muttered, almost like she was annoyed at herself for not minding.

There was a beat of silence before she added, quieter but not softer: “You’re weird. You talk to me like I’m—like I’m not a game.”

You bit your tongue before you could say something earnest.

Instead: “Maybe I’m just really bad at games.”

Regina laughed once—sharp, unimpressed. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not deep. You’re just… infuriating.”

“Infuriating enough to cuddle with. Twice now.”

“Shut up.”

She adjusted her position like she was about to move away—then didn’t.

Instead, she mumbled, “You smell good. It’s disgusting.”

---

Regina promised to take you back to your house the next day after your first day with her.

It has been almost two weeks since then.

You are still not home.

Regina thinks it's just so she can have company while her parents are still away.

You believe it's because she likes you.

It's not like you haven't been home. You have. Just not to sleep there like one would in their home. But to get more clothes. A shower here and there. But that's about it.

Your mom weirdly hasn't complained about it. That makes you feel like she's documenting how long you've been out for grounding purposes in the future.

You’d tried to bring it up once—just casually.

“So, like… when exactly are you taking me back?”

Regina didn’t look up from her phone. “Do you want to go back?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then shut up.”

And that was that.

Now, her room looked like you lived there. Your toothbrush sat next to hers, your jacket hung off her chair, and your socks were permanently migrating into her drawers. She hadn’t said anything about any of it. Hadn’t moved a thing.

Last night, when she thought you were asleep, she tucked the blanket around you and whispered, “You're so annoying.”

This morning, she brought you coffee before you even asked.

And right now, she was sitting on the floor next to the bed—wearing your hoodie, scrolling through her phone, pretending she didn’t notice you staring.

“You know,” you said, drawing out the syllables just to irritate her, “most people don’t let strangers move in unless they really like them.”

She looked up slowly, unimpressed. “You’re not a stranger. You’re a parasite.”

You grinned. “So you admit you’re letting me stay.”

“I’m letting you rot,” she shot back. “There’s a difference.”

You sat up. “Aww. I love you too.”

Regina deadpan-blinked. “I will smother you in your sleep.”

You threw a pillow at her. She caught it without looking.

Then tossed it back, hard.

---

You didn’t even mean to test her. You were just bored. Restless. Maybe a little stupid.

So you said, “Maybe I should go home today.”

Regina didn’t respond. She didn’t even flinch.

So, you kept going. “Yeah. I should check on my plants. Do actual laundry. Shower without rationing hot water because someone likes hour-long concerts in there.”

Still nothing.

That kind of silence was dangerous.

So you stood. “I’ll pack my stuff.”

That got her.

Regina turned her head just slightly. “What stuff?”

You gestured vaguely at the room. “All of it?”

She scoffed. “You act like you live here.”

You paused, then blinked at her. “I’ve been here twelve nights.”

“And I regret every one,” she muttered.

But her voice cracked a little at the end.

You started grabbing things—slow, dramatic. Hoodie. Phone charger. Toothbrush. The ratty pair of socks she steals when her feet get cold.

By the time you reached for your overnight bag, she stood up.

“You’re not actually leaving,” Regina said flatly.

“You told me to rot,” you said, swinging the bag over your shoulder.

“I didn’t say leave, I said you’re annoying. That’s, like, my love language.”

You stared.

She stared back.

And then, quieter, “Don’t go.”

That should’ve been enough. You should’ve dropped the bag, kissed her stupid, called it a win.

But you were a menace, so instead you said, “So you do like me.”

Regina’s face twisted like you’d made her bite a lemon. “I never said that.”

“You just did.”

“No. I said don’t go. That’s different.”

“Not really.”

“You’re the worst.”

You dropped your bag. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

She turned away before you could see the smile she tried to hide. “Great. Can you shut up now?”

"Only if you admit you like me."

She freezes long enough for you to notice. "...Not yet."

---

Regina drags you to the mall after declaring, “I swear to God if I eat another protein bar in this house I’m gonna start foaming at the mouth.” You tag along without asking questions. She complains that you’re tagging along.

At the food court, she picks at her salad like it’s a punishment and scolds you for getting a corn dog: “You’re literally eating it wrong. How do you even manage that?”

You ignore her and make eye contact while taking the most obnoxious bite possible.

Later, you linger by the claw machines. She sighs like she’s in pain, but still feeds you coins, one after another, until you win a plush shaped like a strawberry. You press it to your cheek and beam. She rolls her eyes and mutters, “You’re an actual five-year-old.”

She buys you a charm from a kiosk—one shaped like a broken heart. When she hands it to you, she says, “It’s not symbolic. Don’t be a freak.” You say thank you. She threatens to throw it in the fountain.

That night, while she’s in the kitchen making popcorn and slamming cabinet doors for dramatic effect, you sneak into her room. Not to snoop—just to leave something.

You sit at her desk, rip out a page from your notebook, and start drawing.

It’s quick, messy, full of heart:

Regina, standing like a menace—hand on her hip, a kitchen knife in one hand, a daisy in the other. A tilted crown on her head like it’s about to fall off. You in the corner, lying flat on the floor with cartoon X_X eyes and a speech bubble that says, “She’s so mean I love her.”

You scrawl beneath it in your handwriting: “This is how you look to me. Terrifying. Pretty. Kind of hot. I’m obsessed.”

You leave it on her desk like you didn’t just out yourself.

You forget about it.

Until later.

She comes into her room with popcorn, pretends she doesn’t notice the paper at first. Then she picks it up like it might bite her.

You watch from her bed as her expression shifts—guarded, unreadable.

She doesn’t smile. But her fingers smooth out the creases gently. She folds the page into thirds like something important, tucks it under a stack of magazines. Like she’s keeping it. But never planning to mention it.

She climbs into bed next to you without a word. But this time, when you shift beneath the blanket, her arm doesn’t just graze yours.

It settles there. Soft. Barely touching.

A long pause.

Then, in a whisper, she says, “Your art sucks.”

You smile into the dark. “You kept it.”

She scoffs. “Kill yourself.”

But her hand finds your thigh under the covers. And this time, she doesn’t let go.

---

A month into the relationship, all you've done with Regina is go on dates and kiss.

Safe to say it's the least action she's had in a very long time.

That's not to say that she's been bored, though. The woman has been having the time of her life. She's just not good at showing it.

Miraculously, Regina finds herself alone one afternoon. You told her you wanted to take a shower, so you did, and not Regina sits alone in her bedroom while you use up all the hot water in her bathroom.

Regina thinks about the past few weeks she's spent with you since the date and how she's been more irritable as of late.

Being with you makes her really angry. She doesn't know exactly why because she's enjoying herself spending time with you. But it just really pisses her off how much she likes you.

It feels inevitable to her- liking you. Inevitable and ridiculous. Like something everyone has to go through at least once in their life.

But not a phase. God, not a phase. She treasures you too much now for you to be just a phase.

I think I might like the bitch. How dare she. How dare I. How dare sheeeeeee. It's genuinely rude and angering. It triggers me how much I like her. No, becaus shut the fuck up I think I love her. Like for real not even like anymore. I might fucking love her. Weird.

You open the bathroom door with a soft creak, hair damp and towel-draped, wearing one of her oversized shirts like you always do when you sleep over. Regina looks up from her place on the bed, scowling for no reason.

You barely have time to speak before she interrupts, sharp and loud and viciously casual:

“Okay, so apparently I’m in love with you. Congrats. Hope you’re thrilled. I’m gonna go throw myself into traffic now.”

You blink. “What?”

She throws her hands up like you’ve just personally ruined her life. “Don’t make me say it again. It’s humiliating enough that it’s happening at all.”

You step further into the room, confused but trying not to laugh. “Did you just say you’re in love with me?”

Regina groans like you’ve stabbed her. “Unfortunately.”

You bite your lip to hide the grin. “Wow.”

She narrows her eyes. “Wipe that smile off your face before I change my mind.”

You walk over, towel still clutched to your chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

Regina glares at you like it’s your fault her heart works now. “You make me like being nice. Do you understand how disgusting that is? I baked something last week. I don’t bake. I manipulate. I bully. I slay.”

You giggle, because yeah, she does slay. “You love me.”

“I hate it.”

You climb into bed beside her anyway. “But you do.”

She won’t look at you. “Shut up.”

You rest your head on her shoulder, still warm from her sheets. “I love you too.”

She flinches like you just said a slur. “Jesus Christ.”

But her hand finds yours anyway.

And she doesn’t let go.

"Can I go get dressed now?"

"Oh, so you're leaving me?"

"What? Wha- how did you even get that from what I said? I just want to get dressed!"

"You basically said you're breaking up with me."

-----------------------------

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