Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

As the night wears on, we find ourselves sprawled across the living room, our luggage neatly stowed away in our room. The tension from earlier has dissipated, replaced by a lazy, anticipatory energy. The crash of waves provides a soothing backdrop, occasionally punctuated by the clink of ice in glasses and the soft crackle of burning paper.

Brooke perches on the edge of an armchair, her posture rigid and her eyes darting nervously around the room. “Let’s not get too rowdy, okay?” she pleads, her voice tinged with anxiety. “It’s only our first night, after all.”

Tessa, lounging on the plush sectional, merely smirks in response. With practiced ease, she produces a perfectly rolled joint from seemingly nowhere. The flame from her lighter dances in her gray eyes as she lights up, taking a long, deep drag. As she exhales, tendrils of fragrant smoke curl around her like a ghostly embrace.

“I’m gonna get so fucked up,” Tessa declares, her usual cool demeanor giving way to a hint of mischief. She passes the joint to Erica, who’s curled up next to me on the loveseat.

Erica eyes the offering for a moment before shaking her head. “Nah, I think I’ll just stick to drinking tonight,” she says, reaching for her glass of whiskey instead.

I find myself eyeing the joint, curiosity and a touch of rebellion swirling in my chest. “Can I hit it?” I ask.

Erica turns to me, her eyebrows raised in mild surprise. But then a slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes twinkling with amusement, and... is that pride? “Sure,” she says, her voice warm with affection.

I reach out for the joint, my fingers tingling with anticipation. Just as I’m about to hit it, Erica’s hand darts out, snatching it away. Her playful smile morphs into a scowl, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Wait a second,” she growls, her voice low and dangerous. “Tessa’s lips were on this last. You hitting it would be like kissing her. That’s cheating.”

The realization hits me like a bucket of ice water. My eyes widen, and I jerk my hand back as if the joint had suddenly burst into flames. “You’re right,” I stammer, feeling my face flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Brooke watches this exchange with a mixture of confusion and relief painted across her features. Her brow furrows as she tries to process what just happened.

Tara, however, isn’t content to let the moment pass. She sits up straighter, her blue streak falling into her eyes as she fixes us with an intense stare. “You know,” she begins, her voice dripping with faux concern, “your relationship isn’t exactly what I’d call healthy. All this possessiveness and-”

“Relax, Tongue Queen!” I blurt out, cutting her off mid-sentence. The nickname slips out before I can stop it, a gift from Irma we all are thankful for.

The effect is instantaneous. Tara’s face contorted with rage, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson that clashes spectacularly with her blue hairstreak. “I told you to stop fucking calling me that!” she shrieks, her voice rising to a pitch that makes everyone wince.

The room erupts into chaos, with Tara’s shriek still echoing off the walls. Nikki and Justine are doubled over, desperately trying to hold back their laughter. Their faces are turning red with the effort of holding back.

Erica pulls me closer, her body shaking as she buries her face in my shoulder to muffle her laughter. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my neck, each giggle sending a shiver down my neck.

Even Tessa, usually so composed, is chuckling softly. Her gray eyes sparkle with amusement, though there’s a hint of confusion in them too. It’s clear she’s enjoying the moment but doesn’t quite understand the joke.

Brooke, looking utterly bewildered, glances around the room. Her brow furrows as she takes in the scene of hysterical laughter surrounding her. “Tongue Queen?” she asks, her voice a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Justine, still fighting back giggles, manages to catch her breath long enough to respond. “It’s something Irma came up with at lunch about a month ago,” she explains, wiping tears from her eyes.

Brooke’s confusion only deepens. “Irma?” she repeats, her voice rising slightly in pitch.

Justine rolls her eyes, her fiery red hair catching the light as she tosses her head back. “The egg girl,” she says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Her tone suggests that everyone should know exactly who she’s talking about.

But Brooke is even more lost now. Her eyebrows knit together, forming a deep V between her eyes. “Egg girl?” she echoes, her voice tinged with growing annoyance. The laughter around her is starting to grate on her nerves, and being out of the loop isn’t helping.

The confusion on Brooke’s face only serves to fuel the laughter in the room. Nikki is now gasping for air, her athletic frame shaking with each suppressed giggle. Justine has given up trying to hold back and is now cackling openly, her green eyes sparkling as her hand lands on Nikki’s arm. A true sign of camaraderie.

As the laughter continues to fill the room, I can’t help but notice the way Nikki and Justine seem to gravitate towards each other. Their shoulders are touching, hands brushing against each other as they try to regain their composure. The air between them seems to crackle with an unspoken energy, and I find myself imagining all the possibilities.

‘Is this it? Is this the trip they finally get together?’ My heart beats fast as I see this awesome chance to ship my favorite OTP.

My mind races with scenarios - maybe they’ll end up sharing a blow-up mattress tonight, or perhaps a moonlit walk on the beach will lead to a romantic confession. I can almost see it now as they-

Suddenly, I feel Erica’s breath hot against my ear. “Leave them alone,” she whispers, her voice low and knowing. “Focus on me instead.”

I turn to her, my eyes wide with annoyance. “But they’d be so cute together,” I whisper back, unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

Erica sighs, shaking her head slightly. “You’re such a fujoshi,” she murmurs, her tone annoyed.

I bristle at the accusation, my brow furrowing. “It’s not like that,” I insist in a hushed tone. “They look like they could have real, true love.”

Erica’s eyes soften, and she leans in closer, her lips barely grazing my ear as she speaks. “Do they look like they’re capable of love like ours?”

Her words give me pause, and I find myself truly considering the question. I glance back at Nikki and Justine, then around at the rest of our friends. My gaze finally settles back on Erica, taking in the intensity of her eyes and the possessive curl of her arm around my waist.

“Our type of love isn’t for them,” I whisper back, realization dawning. “And I wouldn’t want it to be. What we have is... different.”

Erica’s eyes light up with a mischievous glint, her lips curling into a sly smile. She reaches for her glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the warm glow of the room’s soft lighting. With a graceful movement, she brings the glass to her lips and takes a generous swig, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she holds the liquid in her mouth.

Before I can react, she leans in, capturing my lips in a sudden, passionate kiss. The warmth of her mouth mingles with the burning heat of the whiskey as she parts my lips with her tongue, pushing the fiery liquid into my mouth. The taste is overwhelming, a heady mix of Erica’s familiar sweetness and the smoky burn of the alcohol.

Caught off guard, I inhale sharply, causing the whiskey to go down the wrong way. I pull back, coughing and spluttering, my eyes watering as the alcohol burns my throat. Erica’s expression shifts from playful to concerned in an instant.

“Let it out,” she says, her hand moving to pat my back firmly. Each thump sends a jolt through my body, helping to clear my airways.

As my coughing subsides, I can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance. The kiss, as unexpected and intense as it was, ended far too soon for my liking. Erica seems to read my thoughts, her eyes softening with understanding.

Across the room, Brooke watches our interaction with a frown? She quickly averts her gaze, reaching for her own drink and taking a long, deliberate sip.

Clearing my throat, I reach for my glass, raising it high. “Cheers,” I announce, my voice still a bit raspy. “Here’s to an amazing week ahead, and a big thanks to my awesome big sister for hosting us!”

Brooke’s face lights up at my words, a genuine smile spreading across her features. The tension in her shoulders seems to melt away as she raises her glass in response. “You’re welcome, Jason.”

“Cheers!” the room echoes, glasses clinking together in a symphony of celebration.

As I take a sip of my drink, I can’t help but feel a surge of warmth not just from the alcohol, but from the sense of belonging that surrounds me. With Erica by my side and my sister nearby, I know this week is going to be one to remember.

*****

As the night wears on, empty bottles accumulate on the coffee table like trophies of our revelry.

I’m sprawled on the loveseat, my head resting in Erica’s lap as she absentmindedly runs her fingers through my hair. The gentle touch makes me feel alive.

Tara, her hair now a disheveled mess, suddenly sits up straight, her eyes wide with drunken curiosity. “Hey,” she slurs, pointing an unsteady finger in my direction. “I got a question for you, Jason.”

I raise an eyebrow, bracing myself for whatever nonsense is about to spill from her lips. “Shoot,” I mumble, the word feeling thick and clumsy on my tongue.

Tara leans forward, nearly toppling off her perch on the arm of the sofa. “Is it true,” she begins, her voice dropping to what she probably thinks is a conspiratorial whisper but is actually just slightly less loud than her normal volume, “that boys make out with each other at sleepovers?”

The room falls silent for a moment, the only sound the distant crashing of waves and the soft clink of ice in glasses. Then, like a dam breaking, laughter erupts from every corner.

Brooke’s face turns a shade of red that would make a tomato jealous. “I would have never allowed that growing up!” she sputters, her voice a mix of horror and embarrassment.

I feel a surge of annoyance cut through my alcohol-induced haze. “Fuck no,” I snap, my words sharper than I intended. “Where’d you even get that idea?”

Tara shrugs as she blushes, nearly losing her balance in the process. “I dunno,” she mumbles. “Just heard it somewhere.”

I roll my eyes, pushing myself up to a sitting position. The room spins for a moment before settling. “Well, it’s bullshit,” I declare. “I don’t even have any guy friends other than Louis, and I hardly ever see him.”

At the mention of Louis’s name, Tara’s eyes light up with drunken sorrow. She lets out an exaggerated sigh, drawing out the sound. “Louuuuuis.”

“Speaking of Louis,” Nikki begins, her voice gentle but probing, “how are you holding up with the whole... you know, him getting Irma pregnant thing?”

The question hangs in the air like a delicate soap bubble, fragile and shimmering. Tara’s electric blue streak falls across her face as she tilts her head, considering the question.

Tara shrugs, the movement causing her to sway slightly in her drunken state. “Eh, it is what it is,” she says, her voice surprisingly nonchalant. “He still picks up if I call him, you know?”

The room seems to collectively hold its breath, waiting for more. Tara doesn’t disappoint.

“He says he really wants me to join his two girlfriends,” she continues, her words slurring slightly. “But I just... I don’t want that, you know?”

I find myself sitting up straighter, curiosity getting the better of me. “Then why do you keep calling him?” I ask.

Tara’s laugh is sudden, startling Brooke, who has nearly spilled her drink. “Because,” Tara says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Louis is a freak in sheet and wants to fuck as much as I do. It’s like having a good prosty on speed dial.”

The room falls silent for a moment as we process Tara’s blunt admission. Nikki, her eyes slightly glazed from the alcohol, leans forward, nearly toppling off her perch on the armrest. She steadies herself, then fixes Tara with an intense, if somewhat unfocused, stare.

“But Tara,” Nikki slurs, her words thick and syrupy, “do you... do you love him?”

The rhythmic crash of waves outside seems to grow louder in the silence, filling the room with its steady pulse.

Tara blinks slowly, her eyes unfocused as if she’s looking at something far beyond the confines of this beach house. “I... I don’t know,” she finally whispers.

“But wait,” I blurt out, my own words slightly slurred, “don’t the other girls consider it cheating? I mean, you’re fucking their boyfriend, right?”

Erica’s grip on my waist tightens. She doesn’t even want me saying the word ‘Cheating.’

To everyone’s surprise, Tara’s face splits into a wide, almost predatory grin. Her eyes, previously unfocused, now gleam with a mixture of mischief and defiance. “Oh, Jason,” she purrs, her voice dripping with drunken bravado, “Irma couldn’t give a fuck. That girl’s got her hands full with the baby drama. But Skye?” She pauses for effect, taking a long swig from her glass. “Skye definitely hates it despite giving her okay.”

She leans forward. “But you know what? If Skye wants more of him, maybe she should learn how to drain her man more properly instead of selfishly passing out after a few rounds.”

Erica’s eyes light up with drunken enthusiasm. “It’s true!” she exclaims, her words slightly slurred. “That’s why I always keep Jason’s balls drained. No way he’d ever cheat on me!”

My face flushes crimson, the heat spreading to the tips of my ears. “Erica!” I hiss, mortified.

But Erica’s on a roll now, gesticulating wildly with her drink. “I’m tellin’ you, it’s foolproof. Morning, noon, and night, I make sure those balls are as empty as can be. Right, babe?”

I sink lower into the couch, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Across the room, Brooke looks absolutely horrified, her eyes wide as saucers. She leans over to Tessa, whispering something urgently.

I look at Erica and speak my mind. “Even if my balls were to runneth over with cum, I’d never cheat. Never.”

Erica’s expression softens, and she reaches out to ruffle my hair playfully. “I know, baby,” she purrs, her eyes heavy-lidded and sultry. “You’re my good boy.”

The room spins slightly as I meet her gaze, lost in the intensity of her stare. The alcohol in my system amplifies every sensation, making Erica’s touch feel electric.

Tessa leans back, her gray eyes glinting with amusement as she responds to Brooke’s urgent whisper. “No, no,” she says, her voice low and measured. The words hang in the air for a moment before she continues, her gaze sweeping across the room.

“I don’t think Jason and Louis are anything like other boys,” Tessa muses, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. The shadows cast by her hood seem to deepen, adding an air of mystery to her words. “Most boys cum once and are done for the day, and they hardly even want sex to begin with.”

She pauses, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Your brother,” Tessa continues, fixing Brooke with an intense stare, “is a real nymphomaniac. A true rarity among men.”

The words seem to echo in the suddenly quiet room, the distant crash of waves providing a rhythmic backdrop to the revelation. Brooke’s face cycles through a range of emotions, shock, embarrassment, and finally, a grudging curiosity.

Erica, emboldened by the alcohol, pulls me closer, her arms wrapping around me possessively. I can feel the warmth of her body through our clothes, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against my back.

“Let’s stop embarrassing my good boy,” Erica purrs, her voice dripping with pride and desire. She holds me like a trophy, her eyes challenging anyone in the room to dispute her claim. “Yes, he’s special, but he’s all mine.”