Finding a Yandere in Reverse World

Chapter 70: Tongue Queen

The clatter of Justine’s tray hitting the lunch table jolts me out of my daydream about Erica tying me up. I blink, focusing on Justine’s slumped shoulders and downcast eyes as she slides onto the bench across from us.

Erica catches my gaze, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. I give a slight shrug in response. Something’s clearly up with our usually bubbly friend.

“Hey, Justine, what’s wrong?” I ask.

Justine just sighs dramatically, poking at the mystery meat on her tray. “Not even a Michelle Obama speech could cheer me up right now.”

‘Whoa. This must be serious.’

“Alright, spill it,” Erica demands, leaning forward. “What’s got you looking like someone canceled lesbian prom?”

‘What the fuck Erica?’ I give her a dirty look.

“It’s stupid,” she mumbles.

“Hey, this table’s a safe space,” I say. “You can tell us anything.”

Just then, Nikki plops down next to Justine. She takes one look at Justine’s gloomy face and furrows her brow. “Shit, J. You still down from last night?”

Justine nods, a strand of fiery red hair falling across her face. “Yeah,” she mumbles, pushing her tray away. “My new story got taken off of Wattpad last night.”

I can practically feel Erica’s eye roll beside me. “You’re upset over your story getting taken off Wattpad?” she says, emphasizing the last word like it’s a dirty sock.

I shoot Erica another dirty look, but Justine doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy tracing patterns in the spilled ketchup on her tray.

“It wasn’t just any story,” Justine says, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was my Michelle Obama x Reader slow burn. I worked on it for months.”

Nikki winces sympathetically. “Damn, that’s rough. Was it the one where Michelle teaches the reader how to tend the White House garden?”

Justine nods miserably. “Yeah, and then they share a passionate kiss under the cherry blossoms. It had over 10,000 hits!”

I try to keep a straight face, but I can feel the corners of my mouth twitching. Erica, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to burst a blood vessel, trying not to laugh.

“Look,” Nikki says, her voice sounding sympathetic. “I’m sure you can just... post it somewhere else, right? There’s gotta be other sites for that kind of... literature.”

Justine shakes her head, her green eyes filling with tears. “You don’t understand. Wattpad was where I found my community. My MichelleOmaniacs.”

I open my mouth to offer some words of comfort, but I’m cut off by a loud snort from Erica. She quickly tries to cover it with a cough, but it’s too late. Justine’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Justine says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is my pain amusing to you, Erica? Not all of us can be badass delinquents with no feelings.”

‘Justine, for whatever reason, really does not fear Erica anymore. Erica must not see Justine as a threat.’

I lean in close to Erica, my lips barely brushing her ear as I whisper, “If you don’t stop laughing, I won’t wear the collar tonight.” The effect is instantaneous. Erica’s eyes widened, and she straightened up so quickly that I swear I heard her spine crack.

Suddenly, she’s the picture of professionalism, her face a mask of serious concern. It’s almost comical how quickly she switches gears like someone flipped a switch labeled ‘Mature Adult’ inside her brain.

“I... I don’t know what came over me, Justine,” Erica says, her voice dripping with sincerity that I know is about 99% fake. “That was incredibly insensitive of me. Your writing clearly means a lot to you, and I shouldn’t have laughed.”

Justine eyes her suspiciously for a moment, probably trying to decide if Erica’s sudden change of heart is genuine or if she’s being mocked again. Finally, she sighs, her shoulders slumping even further. “It’s fine, I guess. At least I still have Michelleobama.biz/look-at-those-arms.html. It’s not the same, but... it’s something.”

Just then, Irma practically floats over to our table, radiating happiness like she’s a human sunbeam. She’s practically glowing, her usual sad demeanor replaced by something... brighter. She slides onto the bench next to me, humming what sounds suspiciously like “Walking on Sunshine.”

Erica and I exchange confused glances. Last we heard, Irma was in a seriously dark place, talking about how meaningless life was and how she couldn’t see the point in going on. And now... this?

“Uh, Irma?” I venture cautiously. “You seem... chipper.”

Irma beams at me, her smile so wide I’m worried her face might split in two. “Oh, Jason! Erica! Everyone! Isn’t it just the most beautiful day?”

Irma’s eyes sparkle with an almost manic glee as she leans in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I have the most wonderful news,” she says, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m pregnant!”

The silence that follows is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I swear I can hear a pin drop somewhere in the cafeteria. Justine’s fork clatters to her tray, her mouth hanging open like a fish out of water. Nikki’s eyes are as wide as saucers, darting between Irma’s face and her still-flat stomach. Even Erica, usually so cool and collected, looks like she’s been smacked in the face with a wet fish.

I’m the first to find my voice. “Pregnant?” I croak out, my brain struggling to process this information. “But... how? When?”

Irma just giggles, a sound that’s equal parts delightful and terrifying. “Oh, you know,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “The usual way. Though I did try that thing with the eggs first, just to be sure. Louis saw how sad I was and offered himself to me every night just to make sure I didn’t, in his words, ‘do something rash.’”

Erica’s face contorts into a grimace of disgust and disbelief. She slams her hands on the table, making us all jump. “Why,” she growls, “is lunch always so fucking weird? Can’t we just eat our mystery meat in peace without someone dropping a bombshell or talking about... egg stuff?”

Nikki’s eyes go wide with alarm. She leans across the table, her voice urgent. “Erica, be careful! You’re going to upset the Grand Directive!”

I nod solemnly in agreement with Nikki. “In lunch, we trust,” I intone, my voice reverent.

Nikki and Justine nod along with me, their faces a picture of solemn agreement. Even Irma, still caught up in her pregnancy glow, bows her head slightly in acknowledgment of the sacred lunch hour.

Erica looks at us like we’ve all grown second heads. “The lunch table is such a fucking cult,” she mutters, shaking her head in disbelief.

I ignore her comment, focusing instead on Irma. “So, uh, congratulations?” I offer, but I am still not entirely sure how to react to this news.

Irma’s eyes light up at my congratulations, her smile somehow growing even wider. “Oh, thank you, Jason! I’m just over the moon. And Louis, well...” She pauses, her expression softening. “Louis is just happy to see me happy.”

I sit there staring, my mind reeling at how wild this must be for Louis. But then again, in this topsy-turvy world of ours, he technically doesn’t have to step up if he doesn’t want to. It’s a strange thought, but that’s just how things work here.

I let out a heavy sigh, deciding it’s probably best to change the subject before things get even weirder. “Well, moving on... what’s on the docket today?”

Justine’s eyes suddenly sparkle with excitement. She reaches into her bag and pulls out an ornate wooden box, its surface etched with intricate theological designs. With all the ceremony of a priest unveiling a sacred relic, she slowly opens the box and extracts a piece of high-quality card stock. The paper is thick and creamy, with a subtle shimmer that catches the light.

Justine looks around the table, her eyes gleaming with mischievous excitement. “So, who wants to go today?”

We all eye each other like hungry hyenas circling their prey, a mixture of anticipation and wariness on our faces. The tension is palpable, crackling in the air like static electricity.

I let out a long-suffering sigh, breaking the silence. “I went last time,” I remind everyone, my voice filled with disappointment.

Nikki nods sadly. “Yeah, and I did the time before that.”

All eyes turn to Justine, whose eyes shimmer with barely contained glee. It’s clear she knew all along it was her turn, but she’s savoring every moment of the buildup.

“Well then,” she says with exaggerated nonchalance, “I suppose it’s my turn today.”

She clears her throat dramatically, holding the paper aloft like a royal proclamation.

“Ladies and Jason,” she intones, her voice dropping to a stage whisper, “prepare yourselves for today’s burning question.”

We all lean in, breaths held, as Justine pauses for effect. Even Erica, despite her earlier annoyance, can’t hide her curiosity.

Finally, Justine reads from the paper, her voice ringing out clear and strong: “Which of our straight friends would be the best at eating pussy?”

‘Yakub save us.’

The question hangs in the air for a split second before chaos erupts. I explode into laughter, my sides instantly aching as I double over, forehead nearly smacking into my tray of mystery meat. Nikki lets out a shriek of surprised laughter, clapping her hands over her mouth as if trying to physically contain her mirth.

Erica caught mid-sip of her energy drink, sputtered and coughed, and the neon liquid sprayed across the table. Her face contorts in a mix of shock and disgust.

I’m still wheezing with laughter as Erica finally manages to stop coughing. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of neon green across her chin.

“This is fucked up!” she scowls, her eyes narrowing at Justine.

Justine just grins, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “It could be you, Erica. This is what we have to decide.”

Erica’s face turns an impressive shade of red with anger. “I’m not fucking gay!” She yells, slamming her fist on the table hard enough to make our trays jump.

‘Not that there’s anything wrong with it.’ I mutter in my mind palace in case anyone listening misunderstands my viewpoint.

Irma, seemingly unfazed by the chaos unfolding around her, calmly asks, “Who are the candidates?”

Justine’s grin widens, if that’s even possible. “Erica, Tara, Tessa, and Brooke,” she announces, ticking them off on her fingers.

Erica scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Brooke’s not my friend,” she mutters, but we all ignore it.

Irma leans forward, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Do you have pictures of them?” she asks, her voice eerily calm given the subject matter.

Justine’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, do I ever,” she says, fishing her phone out of her pocket. She taps the screen a few times, then turns it towards us. “This is from a party at Erica’s a few weeks ago.”

The photo fills the screen, a snapshot of chaos frozen in time. It’s Erica’s living room, transformed into a battlefield. Red solo cups litter every surface, a testament to the night’s debauchery. In the center of the frame, Tara and Tessa are engaged in what appears to be an intense arm-wrestling match, their faces flushed with effort and probably more than a little alcohol. Brooke is in the background, her head thrown back in laughter.

Irma squints at the phone screen, her eyes darting from face to face. “Oh, okay, I recognize them now,” she says, nodding slowly. Her gaze lingers on Tessa, and she points a slender finger at the image. “She doesn’t look straight at all.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “No, just because she’s goth doesn’t make her a lesbian,” I say, my voice tinged with exasperation.

Irma shakes her head, her wild curls bouncing. “No, it’s not that,” she insists, her green eyes sparkling with an almost otherworldly intensity. “I have a primal sense that Tessa wants to fuck women.”

Erica’s face was still red with anger. “Tessa isn’t gay either!” she yells, slamming her fist on the table hard enough to make our trays jump.

Nikki shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting between Erica and Irma. “Uhhhhhh,” she says, drawing out the sound awkwardly.

Erica’s head whips around to face Nikki, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?” she demands, her voice sharp.

Nikki winces, her face scrunching up like she’s just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “I’ve, uh... I’ve walked in on Tessa making out with girls before,” she admits, her words tumbling out in a rush. “Like, full-on tongue action. It was... intense.”

Erica’s face suddenly shifts from anger to confusion, her brow furrowing as she processes this new information. “Huh,” she says, her voice soft and bewildered. “I had no idea. Then... she’s bi?”

Irma leans in closer to the phone screen, her nose almost touching the glass as she scrutinizes the image. Her eyes narrow, and she nods sagely. “She’s definitely bi,” she declares with the confidence of a fortune teller reading tarot cards. “I can sense it in her aura.”

I let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Then I guess she’s out of the running,” I say, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “Next?”

Irma’s gaze drifts to Tara in the photo, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous gleam. “This one,” she says, tapping Tara’s image. “She seems like the type that would react like Erica, all defensive and blustery.” Irma pauses, tilting her head to the side as if listening to some inaudible whisper. “But her vibe... oh, it’s giving me big tongue queen energy.”

Erica’s eyes widen at Irma’s declaration, and suddenly, she bursts into uncontrollable laughter. She slaps the table repeatedly, her whole body shaking. “Oh my god,” she wheezes between guffaws, “Tara’s new nickname is one hundred percent Tongue Queen. It’s perfect!”

Nikki joins in the laughter but shakes her head. “She’s gonna hate that so much,” she says, wiping tears from her eyes. “Can you imagine her face when we start calling her that?”

As the laughter dies down, Irma’s gaze shifts to Erica, her eyes narrowing as she scans her up and down with an unsettling intensity. Then, without a word, she turns back to the phone and studies Brooke’s image.

“This one,” Irma says suddenly, jabbing her finger at Brooke’s laughing face. “She’d be second best.”

We all lean in, curiosity piqued by Irma’s confident assertion.

“Really?” I ask, squinting at the photo. “What makes you say that?”

Irma nods sagely, her wild curls bouncing. “Oh, yes. She has that look about her, you know? The type of lover who would try their absolute hardest to please their partner.” She pauses, tilting her head as if listening to some cosmic whisper. “But... her own anxiety would always hold her back. She’d never truly be able to... well, you know.”

Erica snorts, rolling her eyes. “Eat pussy?” she finishes bluntly.

Irma nods, unfazed by Erica’s crudeness. “Precisely. She’d be all enthusiasm and no follow-through. Always second-guessing herself, worried about her technique. ‘Am I doing this right? Does she like it? Oh god, what if I’m terrible at this?’” Irma’s voice takes on a nervous, high-pitched quality as she mimics Brooke’s imagined inner monologue.

Justine lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Irma. That’s... weirdly specific. And kind of sad.”

Nikki nods in agreement. “Yeah, poor Imaginary lesbian Brooke.”

Irma’s gaze then shifts to Erica, her eyes narrowing as she studies her with an unsettling intensity again. The cafeteria seems to grow quieter, as if the very air is holding its breath in anticipation of Irma’s next proclamation.

“You,” Irma says, pointing a slender finger directly at Erica, “would be in last place.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, devoid of malice but filled with an eerie certainty. “You look like a terribly selfish lover.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, heavy and charged. I feel my face flush with indignation on Erica’s behalf. “What the fuck, Irma?” I blurt out, my voice rising with defensive anger.

But before I can say anything more, Erica explodes into action. She leaps to her feet, her chair screeching across the linoleum floor, her eyes blazing with fury. “I am most certainly not a selfish lover!” she roars, her voice echoing through the suddenly silent cafeteria.

All eyes are on us now, a sea of curious faces turned towards our table. But Erica doesn’t seem to notice or care. She’s in full righteous indignation mode, her chest heaving with emotion as she jabs a finger in my direction.

“I go to great lengths to fuck him happy!” she declares, her voice ringing with pride and defiance. The cafeteria erupts into a chorus of gasps, giggles, and shocked whispers.

I feel my face burning hotter than the sun, a mix of embarrassment, pride, and arousal. I find myself nodding vigorously in agreement.

“She’s right,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat and try again, louder this time. “Erica is definitely not a selfish lover. She’s the perfect lover, if anything!”

The words tumble out of my mouth. The cafeteria falls silent again, all eyes swiveling from Erica to me and back again.

Irma scoffs, her eyes rolling dramatically. “Oh please,” she says, her voice dripping with disdain. “You’re both selfish lovers. It’s just that your particular brands of selfishness happen to align perfectly.”

She turns to me, her gaze piercing and uncomfortably knowing. “You, Jason, are selfish in your submission. You crave being dominated, being used for Erica’s pleasure. It’s all about your own desires, your own need to be controlled and possessed.”

‘What the fuck?’

Then she swivels to face Erica, her wild curls bouncing with the movement. “And you, Erica, you’re selfish in your dominance. The way you fuck Jason into submission? It’s all about your need to control, to own, to prove your power over him. You just happen to do it in a way that satisfies his selfish cravings.”

‘Why is she speaking with such authority.’

The cafeteria is dead silent now, everyone holding their breath, waiting to see how this will play out. I feel my face burning hotter than before, a confusing mix of embarrassment and arousal swirling in my gut.

Erica’s eyes narrow dangerously, but before she can unleash her fury, she seems to reconsider. In one smooth motion, she pulls me against her chest, her arms encircling me protectively. I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my back and smell the familiar scent of her perfume mixed with leather.

“What I’m hearing,” Erica says, her voice low and dangerous, “is that Jason and I are perfect for each other. Our desires align so perfectly that even our supposed selfishness complements each other.”

Irma’s expression shifts. After a moment, she nods slowly, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“You know,” she says, her voice taking on that eerie, otherworldly quality, “I’d say you two are probably the most perfect match I’ve ever encountered.”

The tension in the air dissipates, replaced by a strange mix of relief and bewilderment. Erica’s arms tighten around me, and I lean back into her embrace, feeling oddly validated by Irma’s assessment.

As the cafeteria slowly returns to its normal buzz of chatter and clattering trays, I find myself lost in thought.

‘Can she read the way we fuck off of our Aura’s? With Irma the mystery just runs to deep, like a well that never runs dry.’ I sigh.

Erica’s arms are still wrapped around me, her warmth seeping through my clothes and into my bones. I can feel the rise and fall of her chest against my back, her breath tickling the nape of my neck.

For a brief moment, it feels like we’re suspended in time, the world outside our little bubble fading away.

But the spell is broken as Justine shifts in her seat, the metal legs of her chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. Her fingers drum an impatient rhythm on the table, her emerald eyes darting between us with barely contained excitement.

“So,” she says, her voice cutting through the ambient noise like a knife, “are we in agreement then? It’s Tara?”

Nikki nods emphatically, reaching across the table to tap Justine’s paper. “Yeah, it’s definitely Tara,” she confirms with an evil grin spreading across her face. “Our resident Tongue Queen.”