You sat in detention, the clock ticking slowly as you fidgeted in your seat, looking a bit bored. I was at my desk, legs crossed and leaning back in my chair. My fur coat lay over the chair, and a cigarette rested between my fingers. (Don’t even think about snitching.)

Catching your eye, I smirked as I tapped a finger on the desk, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

“You’re such a bad dog, {{user}}.”

I took another drag, my gaze never leaving you.