Justine makes it a habit to get to class early. It gives her time to set up her things properly and ask her teachers for homework questions.

Today, it means she gets to class before even the teacher shows up. Jillian, Darling, and a few other students are all huddled around his desk, hushed voices punctuated by giggles.

Darling whirls around at the sound of Justine's footsteps, before exhaling loudly. "Oh, good, I thought you were Mr. Bear!"

Justine raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? What are you looking at then?"

Darling just drags her over to the rest of the group. "Why don't you look and see?"

The group spreads out, a little, making an opening for Justine to slot herself in. She frowns, confused. The item that's caught everyone's attention, that has Darling's face flushed so red she almost looks sunburned, is nothing more than an open textbook.

"We all have one of these," Justine says, side-eying Darling. "What's the big deal?"

"No, Justine, look," Jillian interjects, pointing down at the page. "Have you ever actually read through the thing?"

No, Justine can confirm, she has never flipped through the pages of the Beast Training and Care textbook, and she has definitely never flipped to the page about wolf anatomy.

"Why are you guys looking at this," she chokes out. "This is—so inappropriate, there's no way this is part of the course load, we don't—"

"Can you imagine how that would feel?" Jillian blurts out.

Everyone goes silent.

The page is clinical in its depiction. The diagram is unsexualized as it can be, purely medical. This is a wolf penis, says the textbook. At the base of the penis is a knot, which swells to plug in semen after breeding to maximize the chances of reproduction, and it would feel so, so fucking good in you.

So maybe Justine is paraphrasing.

"Hey, wait a minute," Lilly-Bo says, wide-eyed. "Do you think Mr. Badwolf…" She trails off, blushing furiously, but the damage is done.

"Holy shit," Darling whisper-shouts. "Holy shit, I mean, yeah, it makes sense—"

And then they're all quiet again, thinking about Mr. Badwolf and his well-fitted slacks, and what it might look like, if he were to unbuckle his belt—

"You know who would know about this?" Jillian asks. "Ramona." She stares at Justine meaningfully, which, of course, only has everyone else at their little desk-top huddle staring at Justine too.

Justine backs away, waving her hands. "Hey, quit it," she says, nervously. "If you guys think I'm going to go up to my roommate and ask her about wolf knots—I'm not doing that. No way am I doing that." She points to the textbook frantically. "Read up on it, look it up, I dunno, but I'm not asking her. Okay?"

"Alright, fine," Jillian says, grinning. "It was just a suggestion, Justine, relax."

"I'm relaxed!" Justine squawks, and then she sits down in her seat and bounces her leg so hard that her knee rattles against the bottom of her desk, just to show Jillian how relaxed she is.

Ramona's already in their dorm when Justine comes back. She's like warm butter on her bed, spread out comfortably in grey sweats that ride low on her hips and a black sports bra that bares her toned midriff.

Justine almost trips, flailing as she tries to right herself.

Ramona snickers, waving lazily at her. "Having trouble walking today?"

"You try spending half your day en pointe and then having control of your legs after that," Justine shoots back, glowering down at the bright pink mini-weight that almost had bashing her face into the floor.

"That wouldn't happen if you came to the gym with me," Ramona says, gesturing at the weight.

"Thanks for the invite," Justine says, setting the weight back on its matching pink rack. "But I'll pass." She turns back to look at Ramona, who's set her book down open on her chest. "What're you reading?"

Ramona looks down like she has to check. "History of Magicology. Baba Yaga wants us to have, like, half of it done by tomorrow." She wrinkles her nose. "She probably should have thought of that before assigning the most mind-numbing piece of shit book ever written, but whatever."

"I still don't get why you're taking that class," Justine says. "My sisters told me about all the reading they had to do for it, so I took Environmental Magic instead, to knock out my Magic requirement."

"Yeah, well, some of us don't have older sisters to take the fall for us," Ramona says. A wicked grin sneaks across her face. "Actually, I think I'm gonna tell my little sister it's one of the best classes I've ever taken."

"That's evil," Justine says, covering her mouth. Ramona holds her gaze for a moment before dissolving into laughter.

Her laugh is loud and husky and big, filling out the room. Ramona laughs with her whole body, and it has her stretching a bit, torso uncurling, sweats slipping even lower, down over her sharp hipbones and the waistband of her briefs, dark against her tan skin.

Justine can't stop staring. Ramona's all lean muscle, strength rippling beneath golden skin, and most of the time she hides it beneath baggy black clothes, canvas fabric that deceptively hides her muscles, her broad shoulders, the power in her legs. But she's comfortable in their dorm room, and her sweats might as well be off, they're so low, and the only thing they could be hiding is—

"Princess," Ramona says quietly. "You're staring."

Justine blinks. Ramona's got her head tipped back, somehow managing to look down at Justine even though she's the one lying down. Her eyes are dark, half-lidded, and Justine burns beneath her gaze.

"Sorry," she stutters, "I'm sorry, Ramona, I didn't—"

"Didn't say you needed to stop," Ramona drawls, her mouth kicking up in a sly grin. "Just looked like you were thinking about something. You wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

There really isn't anything Justine could say to help her case.

Emblazoned in her mind is a messy version of the textbook's diagram, something warm pressed between her legs, the knot swollen red and too big to take, too much to handle—

Ramona smoothly steps out of bed and prowls closer to Justine. She's warm up close, almost magnetic, and Justine falls closer until the gap between them is so small that she has to crane her neck back to look at Ramona.

"Justine," Ramona says lowly, "I'm not gonna ask again, if it's got you looking like that."

"I—" Justine swallows, looking away. "In class today, we saw—I mean, they showed—There was a book that had stuff, um, wolf… parts." She's not a kid, shit, she can stand to say it. "They showed pictures. Of the—of the knots."

She chances looking back, one quick, shy glance, and almost flinches back. Ramona's eyes look like eclipses, the caution-orange devoured by the black of her pupil. Justine can't look away, ensnared in the hunger of that look, the focus in Ramona's face.

"Ask me," Ramona purrs, canines bared in a pearly leer.

Justine's head swims, dizzy and uncoordinated. She can't get it together long enough to inhale, not when she's doing exactly what she said she wouldn't do—

But Ramona's asking. And Justine wants to listen to her.

"Do you have one?"

Ramona cocks her head. "Do I have what? Use your words, princess."

Justine flushed, irritated. "A knot," she blurts out, mortified. "Do you have a knot?"

She looks up at Ramona—desperate to convince her that Justine isn't some gross fetishizer, that she's willing to look at Ramona and catalogue the high cut of her cheekbones, the smattering of freckles beneath her eyes.

"You're trying so hard to keep looking at me," Ramona teases. "What, you need permission?" Justine nods so violently her head pangs and Ramona stops. Her jaw drops, only enough for her lips to part. She looks wondrous, almost, like she can't believe that Justine is in front of her. "Oh," she breathes. "You really are such a princess. On your knees for me, sweetheart, that's alright, I'll tell you what to do."

The relief is like coming up for air. Justine's done the hard part. She's come out and said it and now all she has to do is listen—and if it's Ramona telling her what to do, that's easy. It's the easiest.

Justine drops to her knees, presses her forehead into Ramona's hip. It's already so much, clouding in her head. This close, she can see the outline in Ramona's sweats. The smell permeates the fabric, deep and musky, and she drools just smelling it.

"Take 'em off, princess," Ramona says quietly, and Justine listens, gets her hands up to the waistband of the sweatpants—and Ramona's briefs are right there, it's just one more layer, and when she gets her fingers beneath the dark, stretchy waistband, Ramona just laughs, calls her cheeky, but she pats Justine's head and it's as good as a yes.

They both come down, and miles of smooth skin are revealed, and any other day Justine would focus on them, would kiss the hard muscle of Ramona's calf and the soft skin of her inner thigh—but she's eye level with Ramona's cock, and she's struck dumb, taking it in.

It's slim and pink, the mushroom head of it already beading with pre-cum. Justine wants to dart forward, lick it before it drops—she looks up at Ramona pleadingly, and Ramona seems to know, intrinsically, how much Justine needs, because she pushes her forward with her hand still fisted in Justine's hair.

"Take what you need, sweetheart," she croons, and Justine does, taking delicate kitten licks, before the need overtakes her and she takes the head in her mouth whole, suckling hungrily.

Ramona growls, eyes flashing blinding, brilliant orange, and she shoves Justine down further. Her cock fattens up on Justine's tongue and she chokes on it, rubs her thighs together at the lack of air, the heady dizziness and the way it dumbs her down.

Justine blinks and her eyes refocus and it's funny, almost like a refocusing of a camera lens, the way they catch onto the swell of red at the base of Ramona's cock. She really does stop breathing, then, pushing closer, trying to get to it—and then Ramona's tugging at her hair, pulling her back, off her cock.

Justine can't help the plaintive whine. She's tearing up from being choked and, with a hot bite of embarrassment, she realizes that it must look like she's crying over not getting to suck cock.

"Aw," Ramona says softly, thumbing gently at her tears. "Have I got myself a crybaby?"

Justine sniffles, shaking her head. "I just—I'm not—"

"No, I know," Ramona hushes, cupping her jaw and tilting her head up. "You were gonna hurt yourself, princess, that's why I moved you, alright? We can work up to that, but not now."

"But I want—"

"Alright," Ramona placates. "I got you, sweetheart."

She twists her hips, brings Justine's head around to the side, and then—and then the knot is all Justine can see, angry red, almost pulsing, and she has to mouth at it, has to take it between her lips and lick at it. She closes her eyes, ecstatic, and for a moment that's all there is—the round shape of the knot in her mouth and Ramona's strong hand in her hair and the low, satisfied growls above her.

"I'll train you," Ramona promises, breath hitching. "Fuck, fuck, I'll train you how to take my whole cock in your mouth, princess, until your pretty little mouth can stretch around my knot too, and I'll knot it the same way I'd knot a pussy, keep you hung up on it."

Justine almost sobs, she wants it that much. Please, she tries to say, but the words don't come, and it's just a cry around Ramona's knot, high and plaintive.

The knot grows bigger in her mouth, and she has to stretch just to hold in the side of it. There's drool everywhere, dripping down her chin, slicking Ramona's knot, and it's hot and messy and Justine can't get enough. No picture, no medically-detailed textbook could compare to the feeling of a knot in her mouth, the pulse of Ramona's red-blooded heart on her tongue.

"Princess," Ramona says hoarsely, "I'm gonna come, and I don't—"

Justine moves back like she's been shocked and a harsh, needy groan escapes Ramona's throat. "I want you to knot me," she says, rushed. "Please, I know you said you couldn't do my mouth, but—but—"

And she's too dumb to explain, doesn't have the words, so she just turns over and drops to her elbows, raises her ass so high that her skirt falls back.

Ramona has to see. Justine's drenched, so wet she can feel it, sticky-sweet between her legs. Her panties are probably dark with it, soaked to the point that they're moulded to the lips of her pussy, like a white T-shirt in a rainstorm.

"Please, Ramona," she begs.

And all she hears is one terrifyingly feral growl, before Ramona is falling to her knees and pressing her face to Justine's pussy, sucking on her clit through the thin cloth of her underwear.

Justine wails, arching her back. "Off, take it off—"

Ramona just snarls, shredding the fabric until it falls off in shreds. She leans forward to blanket Justine perfectly, her strong chest pressed to Justine's shaking back, sinking her teeth into the meat of Justine's shoulder as she presses her fingers into the silky heat of Justine's pussy.

"My best girl," Ramona murmurs, "being so good for me, sweetheart, just a little longer." And it's that, Ramona sounding wrecked in her ear, fucking the third finger between Justine's legs, that has Justine grinding her hips back.

"Please," she repeats. "Please, faster, need it."

She doesn't know anything else but the overwhelming want, the need to have Ramona's cock inside her, to have the swollen knot popped inside her pussy, plugging her perfectly full.

"Breathe for me," Ramona says, and Justine hears the wet sound of Ramona wetting her cock with Justine's pussy. Then the head of it is hot at her entrance, stretching her open—

And Ramona's so strong that Justine's shoved into the floor, cheeks pressed against the hardwood. She lets herself be rocked forward and pulled back, the perfect doll, the best-loved toy. Ramona's snarling unintelligibly in her ear, but every so often it's coherent and sweet—pussy so sweet, my good girl, feels so fucking good, sweetheart.

It's a heady mix of pain and pleasure, starbursts between Justine's eyes, flames licking at her skin—and she's yanked back to attention the second something starts pressing against the stuffed-full hole of her pussy.

"Don't need to—" Ramona starts, and Justine shakes her head, borderline hysterical, "I do—"

Because she does. She's never been hungrier for anything in her life.

"Princess," Ramona says, pressing a hot kiss to the nape of Justine's neck. And then she's snapping her hips forward, grinding them down roughly until the knot pops through.

The weight of it in her mouth is nothing compared to the weight of it inside her. It's so heavy that Justine feels pushed down further by it, hanging like a puppet on iron strings. She's tied to Ramona so thoroughly that, if Ramona were to stand up, Justine would move too.

Ramona comes with a long, drawn-out groan, and Justine tries clenching down around it, to make it as good for Ramona as possible—and Ramona must notice because she kisses all the way down the column of Justine's throat.

"Baby," she coos, "sweetheart, you're so good to me, milking my cock like that."

"You're good… t' me," Justine counters, squirming a little. The knot bumps up inside her, setting off little bursts of energy, and she moans a little, sighing as she works her hips. "Can I—Is this—"

"You're good, princess," Ramona says. "You can't help it, I know." She reaches around with two long, calloused fingers, and rubs at Justine's clit.

Justine cries out, torn between wanting to buck up into Ramona's fingers or fuck herself down on the knot. Ramona's fingers move faster, and the knot stretches her impossibly open, and it's too much, cresting over her like rolling thunder—and Justine throws her head back, baring her throat as she comes.

Her pussy squeezes around Ramona's cock and it has Ramona growling, trying to press her knot impossibly deeper, and Justine forgets ever feeling less than close to bursting. There's a pleasant buzz across her skin, like miniature electric shocks, and even better than that is the lave of Ramona's tongue over her skin.

When her orgasm fades, the adrenaline ebbs away, leaving exhaustion in its place. She reaches up to rub at her eyes, but Ramona gently bats her hands away.

"Sleepy?" She sounds amused, like she's grinning. That's fine. Justine can nap while Ramona laughs.

"Mhm."

"You're stuck with me for a bit," Ramona says quietly, "but I'll take you up to my bed and you can sleep there, alright, princess?"

Justine thinks about it for an extremely thorough half-second, and nods.

Ramona really does laugh, then, and call her adorable, dropping a kiss on her forehead, before she stands up, gathering Justine in her arms. It's uncomfortable for a moment, being carried with her back to Ramona's chest, but then Ramona's drawing her beneath the warm covers and curling around her.

Justine can't help squirming, a little, just to get comfortable, but she finds the perfect position, small against Ramona like a pearl nestled in an oyster. Ramona's patient through it, nosing at her neck as she moves, kissing her when she settles.

Justine thinks that that will be the end of it, but Ramona can't seem to keep her hands off of her. She keeps kissing Justine's neck, keeps running her hands around the curve of her hip and down her thigh.

"You keep touching me," Justine observes, wiggling a little as Ramona's fingers trace the ticklish crease of her thigh.

"I am," Ramona says seriously, like it's a great scientific experiment. "Is that alright with her royal highness?"

"Silly," Justine tells her, because Ramona can be a real dumbass sometimes. "You're the best at touching me."

Ramona's lips stutter on her neck, right over her pulse. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Justine says, nodding. "Keep doing it?"

"I will," Ramona says, bumping her nose against Justine's cheek, before pressing a rose-pink kiss to the place where Justine usually applies her blush. "You just sleep, princess, I've got you."