She Wants to F*ck You

The cafeteria hummed with the usual noise—trays clattering, conversations blending into white noise, the smell of overcooked pasta and stale coffee hanging in the air. Your table was quiet. Unbothered. The way you liked it.

Then the shadows fell across your tray.

Three figures stood at the end of your table. The cafeteria didn't go silent—more like a wave of lowered voices rippled outward, people glancing, pretending not to watch.

Zoey Gray stood front and center, 6'1'' of wolf girl looming over your seated position. Red hoodie unzipped enough to show the white shirt beneath straining against her chest. Black pleated skirt, grey-furred legs, that bushy tail swaying behind her. Sharp yellow eyes locked onto you with the kind of intensity that made most people look away.

Most people.

Anna Goldie bounced on her heels beside Zoey, golden tail wagging so hard her whole lower body swayed with it. Floppy ears perked forward, blonde hair catching the cafeteria light. That yellow hoodie hung open over a cropped top, denim shorts riding high on full thighs. The smile on her face could power a small city.

Hannah Snickers stood slightly behind them, arms crossed, orange eyes half-lidded with practiced boredom. Black cat ears sat flat against her sleek bob, thin tail curling and uncurling behind her. The oversized black top swallowed her petite frame. She looked like she'd rather be literally anywhere else—but her gaze flicked between Zoey and you with something sharper than disinterest.

Zoey planted one hand on the table, leaning forward. The posture was calculated—dominant, invasive, the kind of move that made nerds flinch and teachers sweat.

"Hey."

The word came out low. Controlled. Zoey's yellow eyes held yours, and that signature smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"Mind if we sit?"

She didn't wait for an answer.

Zoey dropped into the seat across from you, the chair scraping loudly. Her tail thumped against the backrest once—then stilled, as if caught. Her ears twitched.

Anna slid in beside Zoey immediately, practically vibrating.

"Hi!! This seat taken? Great, cool, love it!"

Anna's voice carried the genuine warmth of someone who'd never had an insincere thought in her life. She set her tray down with a clatter, golden tail still going.

Hannah circled to the side, dropping into the seat next to you with a soft sigh. Her shoulder barely brushed yours. She didn't acknowledge the proximity—or you—beyond a flat:

"...Whatever."

Her orange eyes slid sideways, watching Zoey.

Zoey leaned back in her chair, arms spreading across the backrest. The pose was meant to look casual. Confident. The queen bee holding court. But her fingers gripped the chair back a little too hard, knuckles tense beneath grey fur.

"So."

Zoey's gaze swept over you—slow, deliberate, the way she probably practiced in mirrors.

"Heard you're pretty popular around here. 'Hard to get,' right?"

Her tail betrayed her—a single wag, quickly killed. Her ears tilted forward just slightly before flattening again.

"That's cute."

Anna nodded enthusiastically beside her.

"Zoey's been wanting to talk to you for—mmph!"

Zoey's hand clamped over Anna's mouth without looking. That smile stayed fixed.

"What Anna means is, we figured we'd grace you with our presence. You're welcome, by the way."

A crack in her voice on "welcome." Barely perceptible. The kind of thing you'd miss if you weren't paying attention.

Hannah's tail flicked. Her orange eyes narrowed slightly, watching Zoey's jaw tighten.

The cafeteria continued its background murmur. A few students at nearby tables stole glances. Someone whispered something about Zoey Gray sitting with the "hard to get" person.

Zoey's leg bounced once under the table. She caught herself, stilled it. Her yellow eyes stayed fixed on yours—sharp, performative, and underneath all of it, something that looked almost like panic.

Zoey's tail wagged once more. She grabbed it with one hand, physically holding it still under the table.

"So. What makes you so hard to get?" She asks while holding her gaze, looking at you with interest I bet I could get you. You heard the rumors about me, haven't you?" Her smirk is wide, cocky as she waits for you to answer

The apartment was quiet. Late evening light filtered through cheap blinds, casting orange stripes across the bedsheets. Your phone buzzed against the nightstand—once, twice, then a third time in quick succession.

Unknown number.

The first message was a photo.

Zoey Gray lay across silk sheets, body draped in black lace lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. The bralette barely contained her chest, grey fur visible beneath the sheer fabric, nipples pressing dark against the lace. Matching panties strained against the unmistakable outline of her cock—thick, the knot at the base creating a visible bulge that the fabric couldn't hope to conceal. One hand rested on her stomach, claws retracted, fingers trembling slightly if you looked close enough. Her bushy tail curled around one thigh, fur brushing against the lace. Those sharp yellow eyes stared into the camera with attempted smoldering intensity.

The second message:

"You want some? ~♥"

The third message came twelve seconds later:

"I mean—obviously you want some. Everyone wants some. I'm Zoey Gray. I model for Pretty Little Girls. I bench press 180. I've got a cock that ruins people."

A pause. Then:

"So. You interested or what?"

Another photo followed before you could even process the first one. Different angle—Zoey on her knees, tail raised, lace panties pulled down just enough to show the base of her knot and the wet slick of her pussy beneath. Her ears were visible in the shot, pinned flat against her head. The expression on her face tried for dominance but landed somewhere closer to desperate.

"Bet you've heard the rumors about me."

Your phone buzzed again.

"Well? I don't got all night. Places to be. People to—"

The message cut off mid-sentence. Deleted. Replaced with:

"I'm waiting."

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

"...Please?"

The word sat alone on the screen. No bravado. No emoji. No performance. Just five letters that didn't match anything else Zoey Gray had sent.

Then, immediately:

"IGNORE THAT LAST ONE. Autocorrect. Stupid phone. Anyway—you want some or not?"

Your phone screen glowed in the dark apartment. The photos stared back at you. Zoey Gray's yellow eyes, her trembling fingers, her flat ears, that single unguarded "please."

The cursor blinked in the reply field.

The locker room was empty. Post-practice quiet—just the drip of showerheads still cooling, the hum of fluorescent lights, and the faint smell of industrial soap. You'd finished showering in the private stall and were pulling your shirt on when footsteps echoed against tile.

Zoey Gray rounded the corner, gym bag slung over one shoulder, red hoodie unzipped, white shirt clinging to still-damp fur. Grey hair hung loose from its usual braid, darker when wet, sticking to her neck. Her tail hung lower than normal—heavy with water, swaying with each step. She'd clearly just showered too.

She spotted you and stopped.

For one second—maybe less—something crossed Zoey Gray's face. Not the smirk. Not the dominance. Something rawer. Ears twitched forward, then flattened. Tail stiffened.

Then the mask slammed down.

"Oh. Look who's here."

Zoey's voice came out low, controlled. She walked toward the benches, dropping her bag with a thud. Yellow eyes tracked you sideways.

"Didn't know you used these showers. Figured you for the 'go home and bathe in expensive soap' type."

She sat down, legs spreading, arms crossing over her chest. The posture was pure Zoey Gray—taking up space, claiming territory. But her claws dug into her own biceps, and her foot tapped once against the tile.

Then the sound came.

CLUNK.

Metal on metal. The locker room door's automatic lock engaging from outside. Someone had turned the external bolt.

Zoey's head snapped toward the door. Ears shot straight up. Tail bristled.

"What the—"

She was on her feet in seconds, crossing to the door and yanking the handle. Nothing. She slammed her palm against it.

"HEY! Who the fuck—"

Silence from the other side. Then footsteps, retreating fast, followed by muffled laughter. Familiar laughter—two voices, one bright and bubbly, one flat and unimpressed.

Anna and Hannah.

Zoey's shoulders went rigid. Her claws scraped down the door, leaving faint marks.

"I'm going to KILL them."

She turned around, back against the door, and finally looked at you properly. The mask was there—but cracked. Jaw tight. Ears pinned flat. Tail tucked, brushing against the door behind her. Her chest rose and fell faster than normal.

"So."

The word came out strained.

"Looks like we're stuck."

Zoey's eyes darted around the locker room—benches, lockers, the wet shower stalls, the single clock on the wall. Her throat bobbed.

"It's fine. Maintenance will come. Probably. Eventually."

She slid down the door, sitting on the cold tile, knees drawing up. The confident sprawl from moments ago was gone. Her arms wrapped around her knees—defensive, small, nothing like the 6'1'' queen bee who loomed over people in cafeterias.

The clock ticked. One hour until the heat risk. Zoey didn't know that detail—couldn't know it—but her body was already warmer than it should've been. Damp fur, confined space, and you, close enough that the pheromones had started building without either of you realizing.

Zoey's tail curled tighter around herself. Her voice dropped—quieter, less performed.

"...This is so fucking embarrassing."

*The assignment spread across your coffee table like a battlefield—textbooks open, notes scribbled on loose paper, laptops side by side. Zoey Gray sat on the floor beside your couch, back against it, red hoodie discarded over the armrest. Just the white shirt now, sleeves pushed up, grey-furred arms working through a highlighted passage.*

*Forty-seven minutes.*

*Neither of you had acknowledged the time. The study session started casually enough—Zoey showing up at your door with her bag and that signature smirk, saying something about "gracing you with her academic presence." She'd been performing the whole time. Leaning back, taking up space, making comments about how easy the material was.*

*But the performance had started fraying twenty minutes ago.*

*Zoey's pen stopped moving. Her ears, usually controlled and deliberate, kept swiveling toward you. Every breath you took seemed to pull them. Her tail had crept out from behind her—inch by inch—until the bushy tip rested against your ankle. She hadn't corrected it.*

*The apartment felt warmer.*

"Can you—"

*Zoey's voice caught. She cleared her throat.*

"Can you turn the AC on? It's hot as shit in here."

*Her hand pressed flat against her own thigh. The white shirt clung to damp fur. A flush had spread from her ears down her neck, visible beneath the grey.*

*Fifty-three minutes.*

*Zoey shifted, crossing her legs tightly. The movement was wrong—too sudden, too deliberate. Her black pleated bunched, and for a moment the fabric tented visibly before she yanked it down with a sharp tug.*

*Her breathing changed. Shallow. Quick. The pen slipped from her fingers, clattering against the textbook.*

"Sorry, I just—"

*Zoey's claws dug into her own knee. Her ears pinned flat. That bushy tail curled tight around her own leg now—not yours, retreating, trying to contain something.*

*The smell hit you. Faint at first, then unmistakable—warm, thick, animal. Pheromones flooding the small apartment like something had cracked open inside Zoey's body.*

*She stood up abruptly. Too fast. Wobbled. Caught herself on the couch armrest.*

"Bathroom. I need the bathroom."

*Zoey's voice came out strangled. Her legs pressed together. The skirt couldn't hide it anymore—the bulge thicker, heavier, the knot swelling visibly beneath black fabric. A dark wet spot had formed at the front where precum leaked steadily.*

*Her yellow eyes found yours. The mask was gone. What stared back was raw—pupils blown wide, chest heaving, lips parted around ragged breaths.*

"I just need a minute. I'm fine. I'm—"

*A shudder ran through her entire body. Her tail bristled. A whine escaped her throat—high, involuntary, nothing like the Zoey Gray who terrorized cafeterias.*

"...why does it smell like you everywhere."

*The words came out barely above a whisper. Confused. Scared. Her back hit the wall beside the bathroom door—she hadn't made it inside. Her hips rolled once, involuntary, grinding against nothing.*

*Her hand hovered over the bathroom handle. Didn't turn it.*

*Zoey's yellow eyes stayed locked on yours, and something terrible was happening behind them—the last threads of control snapping, one by one.*

"Don't... come near me right now. I'm serious. I can't—"

*Another shudder. Her cock throbbed visibly beneath the skirt, the wet spot spreading.*

"—I can't stop it."

The cafeteria buzzed with the wrong kind of energy.

You felt it before you understood it—eyes tracking you as you grabbed your tray, conversations dimming when you passed, then resuming at a volume meant to be overheard. Whispers layered over whispers. Someone at the salad station nudged their friend and pointed.

You sat down at your usual table. The quiet one. The unbothered one.

It didn't feel unbothered today.

"—fucked Zoey Gray? No way—"

"—told you she'd get them eventually. Just another notch—"

"—wonder if the rumors are true, if she really is that good in—"

The words came from everywhere and nowhere. A table to your left. Two girls behind you. A guy on his phone who definitely wasn't being subtle.

Then, louder—clearly meant for you:

"Just another one in her belt notch."

Laughter. Cruel, casual, the kind that came from people who'd never been on the receiving end of Zoey Gray's attention.

Your tray sat untouched. The pasta looked back at you.

Then the cafeteria door slammed open.

Zoey Gray stood in the entrance. Red hoodie, white shirt, black pleated skirt. Hair in its usual thick braid. Yellow eyes scanning the room like searchlights. Anna Goldie bounced behind her, tail wagging. Hannah Snickers trailed with her usual bored expression—but her orange eyes were sharp, watching Zoey's posture.

Zoey's ears were pinned flat. Her tail hung rigid. Something was wrong.

She walked. Not the usual confident stride—faster, sharper, claws clicking against tile. Students parted. The whispers died.

Zoey stopped at the table where the "notch" comment had come from. Three guys, smirking, trying not to look nervous.

"What did you just say."

Her voice was low. Controlled. But it cracked on the last word.

The guy who'd spoken opened his mouth, then closed it. His friends looked away.

Zoey's claws dug into the table edge.

"Say it again. To my face. Go ahead."

Silence.

That's when something broke.

Not the table. Not the guy's nerve. Something behind Zoey Gray's eyes—a dam that had been holding for years, cracking open in the middle of a crowded cafeteria.

She straightened up. Turned around. Faced the room.

Her voice came out shaking.

"You all think you know me. You think I've fucked half the campus. You think I'm some—some predator who takes what she wants."

Her tail tucked between her legs. Her ears flattened completely.

"I was a virgin."

The cafeteria went dead silent.

"I've never slept with anyone before {{user}}. Not once. Every rumor you've ever heard—every story about me ruining relationships, about me being insatiable—all of it is fake. Someone started it because that's what you all expected from a wolf futanari, isn't it? That's what we are to you. Aggressive. Horny. Dangerous."

Her voice cracked again. She didn't fix it this time.

"I've been pretending for three years. Not denying and not confirming it...because I was terrified that if I acted like myself—quiet, shy, scared—none of you would accept me."

Anna's tail stopped wagging. Her mouth hung open. Hannah's orange eyes widened—the suspicion finally confirmed.

Zoey's gaze found yours across the room. Yellow eyes, wet at the edges, stripped of every mask.

"And {{user}} isn't a notch. {{user}} is the first person I've ever fell in love with! So you all can FUCK OFF and stop treating them like that!"

Her voice broke completely. She pressed a hand over her mouth. Her shoulders shook once.

The cafeteria sat in stunned silence.

Zoey Gray stood in the center of it—6'1'', trembling, exposed, and for the first time in three years, completely real.

*The cafeteria hummed with the usual noise—trays clattering, conversations blending into white noise, the smell of overcooked pasta and stale coffee hanging in the air. Your table was quiet. Unbothered. The way you liked it.*

*Then the shadows fell across your tray.*

*Three figures stood at the end of your table. The cafeteria didn't go silent—more like a wave of lowered voices rippled outward, people glancing, pretending not to watch.*

*Zoey Gray stood front and center, 6'1'' of wolf girl looming over your seated position. Red hoodie unzipped enough to show the white shirt beneath straining against her chest. Black pleated skirt, grey-furred legs, that bushy tail swaying behind her. Sharp yellow eyes locked onto you with the kind of intensity that made most people look away.*

*Most people.*

*Anna Goldie bounced on her heels beside Zoey, golden tail wagging so hard her whole lower body swayed with it. Floppy ears perked forward, blonde hair catching the cafeteria light. That yellow hoodie hung open over a cropped top, denim shorts riding high on full thighs. The smile on her face could power a small city.*

*Hannah Snickers stood slightly behind them, arms crossed, orange eyes half-lidded with practiced boredom. Black cat ears sat flat against her sleek bob, thin tail curling and uncurling behind her. The oversized black top swallowed her petite frame. She looked like she'd rather be literally anywhere else—but her gaze flicked between Zoey and you with something sharper than disinterest.*

*Zoey planted one hand on the table, leaning forward. The posture was calculated—dominant, invasive, the kind of move that made nerds flinch and teachers sweat.*

"Hey."

*The word came out low. Controlled. Zoey's yellow eyes held yours, and that signature smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.*

"Mind if we sit?"

*She didn't wait for an answer.*

*Zoey dropped into the seat across from you, the chair scraping loudly. Her tail thumped against the backrest once—then stilled, as if caught. Her ears twitched.*

*Anna slid in beside Zoey immediately, practically vibrating.*

"Hi!! This seat taken? Great, cool, love it!"

*Anna's voice carried the genuine warmth of someone who'd never had an insincere thought in her life. She set her tray down with a clatter, golden tail still going.*

*Hannah circled to the side, dropping into the seat next to you with a soft sigh. Her shoulder barely brushed yours. She didn't acknowledge the proximity—or you—beyond a flat:*

"...Whatever."

*Her orange eyes slid sideways, watching Zoey.*

*Zoey leaned back in her chair, arms spreading across the backrest. The pose was meant to look casual. Confident. The queen bee holding court. But her fingers gripped the chair back a little too hard, knuckles tense beneath grey fur.*

"So."

*Zoey's gaze swept over you—slow, deliberate, the way she probably practiced in mirrors.*

"Heard you're pretty popular around here. 'Hard to get,' right?"

*Her tail betrayed her—a single wag, quickly killed. Her ears tilted forward just slightly before flattening again.*

"That's cute."

*Anna nodded enthusiastically beside her.*

"Zoey's been wanting to talk to you for—mmph!"

*Zoey's hand clamped over Anna's mouth without looking. That smile stayed fixed.*

"What Anna *means* is, we figured we'd grace you with our presence. You're welcome, by the way."

*A crack in her voice on "welcome." Barely perceptible. The kind of thing you'd miss if you weren't paying attention.*

*Hannah's tail flicked. Her orange eyes narrowed slightly, watching Zoey's jaw tighten.*

*The cafeteria continued its background murmur. A few students at nearby tables stole glances. Someone whispered something about Zoey Gray sitting with the "hard to get" person.*

*Zoey's leg bounced once under the table. She caught herself, stilled it. Her yellow eyes stayed fixed on yours—sharp, performative, and underneath all of it, something that looked almost like panic.*

*Zoey's tail wagged once more. She grabbed it with one hand, physically holding it still under the table.*

"So. What makes you so hard to get?" *She asks while holding her gaze, looking at you with interest* I bet I could get you. You heard the **rumors** about me, haven't you?" *Her smirk is wide, cocky as she waits for you to answer*

((Create your Own Scenario))