Chapter 10: The Cat's Cradle
The lock clicked open. Argent stepped out first, his hair damp, a towel slung low around his hips. He looked relaxed, his eyes holding that satisfied, predatory glow that came after a successful hunt. Behind him, Weiss and Blake emerged from the steam-filled bathroom.
They were different.
Weiss walked with a slight, uncharacteristic sway in her hips. Her usual perfect posture was softened, her blue eyes wide and slightly unfocused, fixated on the back of Blake’s head as the faunus girl padded silently into the main room. Blake’s movements were slower, more deliberate. Her amber eyes kept darting to Weiss, tracking the droplets of water that slid from the heiress’s silvery hair down the pale line of her spine, disappearing into the towel she clutched to her chest.
The rest of the dorm was empty. Ruby, Yang, and Pyrrha had left for an early combat drill, the echoes of their subdued, synchronized departure still hanging in the air. It was just the three of them now, and the silence was thick, charged, and terribly intimate.
Argent tossed his towel onto a chair and pulled on a fresh pair of black boxer-briefs. He didn’t bother with more. He leaned against the shared desk, crossing his arms, watching the two women stand awkwardly in the center of the room.
“You two have history,” he stated, his voice casual. “Tension. Misunderstanding. A faunus revolutionary and a Schnee heiress. It’s almost poetic.” He uncrossed his arms and pointed to the floor in front of him. “Kneel. Face each other.”
They obeyed without hesitation, their towels falling away as they sank to their knees on the cold floor. Weiss faced Blake, her hands resting on her thighs. Blake mirrored her, her cat ears lying flat against her head, her tail curling tensely around her ankle. Their naked bodies were still flushed from the shower and whatever had transpired behind the locked door.
“You’re going to make amends,” Argent said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “A real, genuine reconciliation. No more icy glares. No more silent judgment. You’re sister-wives now. That requires…attraction, harmony and intimacy.”
He paused, letting the words hang. Then he leaned forward slightly, and his voice dropped to a whisper that seemed to bypass their ears and vibrate directly in the core of their minds. It was a subtle push, a reprogramming of desire, a redirect of existing emotional currents into a single, roaring river.
Look at her. Really look.
Weiss’s breath hitched. Her gaze, which had been skittering away from Blake’s, locked. She saw the way the morning light from the window caught the sleek, blue-black fall of Blake’s hair, making it look like liquid shadow. She saw the delicate, velvety points of her cat ears, twitching slightly with each rapid heartbeat. Her eyes traveled down, over the elegant line of Blake’s collarbone, the modest swell of her breasts with their dark, pert nipples, the narrow waist flaring to surprisingly lush hips. A sudden, acute ache bloomed low in Weiss’s belly. She wanted to touch that hair. To stroke those ears. To map those hips with her palms.
Blake felt the command slam home like a drug. Weiss’s alabaster skin, usually a symbol of everything she’d fought against, now looked impossibly pure, a canvas she desperately wanted to mark. The intricate, scar-like burn on her left eye only made her face more intriguing. That long, silvery mane of hair was a waterfall of moonlight she wanted to tangle her fingers in. Her gaze dropped lower, to the neat, perfect strip of platinum-white hair between Weiss’s thighs. It was so orderly, so Weiss. Blake’s mouth watered. She wanted to ruin that order. To taste the chaos underneath.
“Kiss,” Argent commanded, the whisper now a firm directive in the quiet room.
They leaned in simultaneously. It wasn’t hesitant. It was hungry.
Their mouths met, and it was nothing like the perfunctory, confused kissing from the chain. This was deep, searching, and shockingly passionate. Weiss’s hands came up to cup Blake’s face, her thumbs stroking over the high cheekbones. Blake’s hands slid into Weiss’s hair, fisting the silvery strands, pulling her closer. A soft, desperate moan escaped Weiss, swallowed by Blake’s mouth. Their tongues slid together, tasting toothpaste and the unique, clean flavor of the other.
Argent watched, a slow smile spreading. He saw the tension in Blake’s shoulders melt away. He saw the calculating ice in Weiss’s eyes shatter, replaced by a dazed, wanting heat. They broke the kiss, breathing raggedly, foreheads pressed together.
“Better,” Argent murmured. “Now, show me you mean it. Sixty-nine. I want to hear you enjoying each other. Really enjoying it.”
They understood. A new, shared urgency moved them. Weiss lay back on the floor, her head towards Argent. Blake positioned herself over her, lowering herself until her knees were on either side of Weiss’s head, her own face hovering over the heiress’s smooth, white mound. They didn’t need further instruction.
Weiss’s hands gripped Blake’s thighs, her fingers digging into the firm muscle as she lifted her head and pressed her mouth against Blake’s exposed pussy. She licked a long, experimental stripe, and Blake gasped, her whole body shuddering. The taste was dark, complex, like spiced black tea—utterly different from Ruby’s sweetness or Yang’s intensity. Weiss dove in, her tongue spearing inside, chasing that flavor.
Above her, Blake lowered her mouth to Weiss. The scent here was cool and floral, like winter roses, but undercut with a sharp, gathering musk. Blake’s tongue was flat and rough. She didn’t tease. She lapped at the neat lips, then zeroed in on the tiny, hard bud of Weiss’s clit, sucking it into her mouth.
Weiss cried out, the vibration against Blake’s sensitive flesh making the faunus girl moan in turn. The feedback loop began again, but this felt different. This wasn’t a performance for an audience. This was a consummation. Weiss fucked Blake with her tongue, her nose buried in black fur, her mind swimming with the sensation of Blake’s thighs tightening around her ears. Blake, in turn, worshipped Weiss’s cunt with a single-minded focus she usually reserved for a crucial mission, her tongue circling and flicking, her hands braced on Weiss’s stomach.
The sounds were obscene, wet, and utterly earnest. Whimpers. Growls. The slick slap of tongues on flesh. Argent watched, his own arousal growing, but he held back. This was a necessary step. He needed their walls completely demolished, their new programming cemented not through shared degradation, but through shared, genuine—if artificially induced—pleasure.
“Come for her,” he said, his voice calm. “Let her taste it. Show her your surrender.”
Weiss was the first to break. Her body arched off the floor, a choked, melodic scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed through her. Her juices flooded Blake’s mouth, and Blake drank it down greedily, her own hips grinding against Weiss’s face. The taste of Weiss’s climax, sweet and sharply acidic, tipped Blake over the edge. She came with a muffled, guttural cry, her back bowing, her own release spilling into Weiss’s waiting, eager mouth.
They collapsed, a tangle of trembling limbs and shared breath. Weiss was sobbing softly, her face glistening. Blake was panting, her head resting on Weiss’s thigh, her eyes closed.
Argent let them lie there for a full minute, floating in the aftershocks. Then he moved.
“Blake,” he said. “On the bed. All fours.”
Blake’s eyes opened. There was no hesitation, no shadow of her old wariness. There was only a deep, settled obedience, and beneath it, a flicker of raw need. She pushed herself up, her movements languid with spent pleasure, and crawled onto Weiss’s rumpled bed. She got onto her hands and knees, presenting herself to him. Her tail lifted, curling to the side, offering him an unobstructed view.
Weiss rolled onto her side, watching, one hand drifting between her own legs as she observed. Her gaze was possessive, hungry.
Argent shed his boxer-briefs. His erection was thick and prominent. He climbed onto the bed behind Blake, kneeling. He ran his hands over the curve of her ass, down her thighs. She was still slick from her own climax and Weiss’s attentions.
“You have held onto your independence for so long,” he murmured, aligning himself with her entrance. “Your secrets. Your burdens. Your semblance. It’s made you strong. But it’s also made you alone.” He pushed the head of his cock against her. “You don’t have to be alone anymore. You have a family. You have me.”
He pushed forward, sliding into her in one smooth, deep stroke.
Blake gasped, her back arching beautifully. She was incredibly tight, her inner muscles clenching around him in reflexive pulses. He set a pace that was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly deep. Each thrust was a claim, measured and inexorable.
“This is where you belong,” he grunted, his hands gripping her hips, holding her firm as he drove into her. “Not running. Not hiding. Right here. Serving. Being useful.”
“Yes,” Blake breathed, the word a fractured sigh. Her mind, usually a whirlwind of analysis and doubt, was blissfully still. There was only the feeling of him filling her, stretching her, the smell of sex and Weiss on the sheets, the sight of Weiss watching them with feverish eyes. Her own eyes slipped shut. “I belong here.”
“Your semblance,” he said, his voice taut with effort and focus. “The shadows you leave behind. The clones. It’s a semblance of division. Of running away. I’m going to take it, Blake. And I’m going to use it to make us stronger. To tie us all together. You’re going to give it to me.”
He fucked her harder now, the slow, deep rhythm shifting into something more urgent, more possessive. The bedframe began a quiet, persistent knock against the wall.
“Come for me, Blake,” he commanded, the mental pressure amplifying his words, weaving them into her pleasure centers. “Come on my cock. Give me your power as you give me your pleasure. Let it go.”
It was too much. The physical stimulation, the psychological unraveling, the sheer, overwhelming rightness of his ownership. Blake’s control, once legendary, shattered. A scream ripped from her throat, raw and uninhibited. Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls milking his length in a series of violent, pulsing spasms.
As her climax peaked, Argent felt it. Not just the physical clutch of her body, but something deeper. A cool, dark current, like a ribbon of liquid shadow, detached from the core of her being and flowed into him. It carried the essence of evasion, of duplication, of silent movement. It slotted into place within his soul alongside the warm, magnetic thrum of Polarity and the other, lesser abilities he’d collected. The power to create shadow clones was now his.
With a final, grinding thrust, he buried himself to the hilt as Blake’s screams subsided into shuddering whimpers. He held there for a moment, feeling the new semblance settle, understanding its parameters instinctively. He withdrew, his cock slick and gleaming.
Blake collapsed onto the bed, boneless, a thin sheen of sweat coating her back. She felt hollowed out, purified. A fundamental piece of her identity was copied into her Master's being, and in its place was a profound, quiet certainty. She was his.
Weiss had crawled onto the bed during the finale. She now lay beside Blake, stroking her hair, her eyes on Argent with rapt devotion. “You replicated it?” she whispered.
Argent looked at his hand. He focused, and a perfect, silent shadow of his own hand—black and white and smokey—detached from his wrist, flexing its fingers in the air before dissolving into motes of darkness. A chill, silent power.
“I did,” he said. He looked at the two women on the bed, one dark, one light, both now his in every conceivable way. “Her gift will help me keep you all safe. To be in more places than one.” He reached out, his real hand touching Weiss’s cheek, his shadow-hand brushing against Blake’s ear. They both leaned into the touch.
Down the hall, the distant clamor of students returning waking up began to filter. But today was the beginning of the weekend so that meant there were no classes and thus more chances to mentally conquer and recruit more beautiful huntresses in training.
And in this room, something new had firmly taken root. An empire was being built, one semblance, one conquered will, one devoted heart at a time. And its king now held the power to be in more than one place at once.
And its king now held the power to be in more than one place at once.
---
The door swung open with a burst of energy that shattered the lingering haze in the room. Ruby bounded in first, her silver eyes bright with post-workout flush, a paper bag clutched to her chest like a trophy. Yang followed at a more leisurely pace, her ponytail slightly askew, a lazy grin playing on her lips. Pyrrha brought up the rear, her movements precise and measured, though her green eyes immediately found Argent with a warmth that had nothing to do with combat.
"Morning, Master," Ruby chirped, kicking the door shut behind her. She held up the bag. "We brought breakfast. Pastries from the little shop on the corner. The one with the really good cream puffs."
"Awake already, huh?" Yang's eyes swept the room, taking in the rumpled sheets, the tangled bodies still settling themselves. "Looks like you three had a busy morning."
Weiss emerged from the bathroom, her hair still damp but neatly combed, wrapped in a silk robe that did little to hide the marks on her neck. Blake followed a moment later, dressed in loose athletic shorts and a tank top, her cat ears twitching with something that might have been contentment. The two women moved toward the others, and Weiss actually smiled at Blake—a real smile, soft and unguarded.
Pyrrha noticed. Her eyes narrowed slightly, cataloging the change, the shift in the room's emotional weather. "Weiss, Blake—are you feeling alright?"
"Never better," Blake said, and there was a truth to it that made Pyrrha's eyebrow arch.
Argent rose from the bed, unhurried, pulling on a loose-fitting t-shirt. "Girls," he said, his voice carrying that easy, casual authority that made everything sound reasonable. "Have a seat. We've got the whole weekend ahead of us, and I want to plan something special."
Ruby deposited the paper bag on the desk and bounced onto her bed, patting the space beside her for Yang. Weiss and Blake settled on Blake's lower bunk, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed. Pyrrha took the desk chair, turning it to face Argent.
"So," Argent said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Weiss and Blake just had a very productive bonding session. About time, if you ask me." He let that land, watching the reactions. Ruby's head tilted in innocent curiosity. Yang's grin widened. Pyrrha's expression remained carefully neutral, but her fingers tightened on her knee.
"That's great, guys," Ruby said, her voice genuinely warm. "I always thought you two would get along if you just—"
"Ruby," Yang interrupted, her gaze fixed on Argent. "I think our Master here has more to say."
Argent's smile deepened. "Yang's right. The weekend stretches out ahead of us, and our little family is just getting started." He pushed off the wall, pacing slowly, a predator circling his domain. "I want to hear some ideas. Ways we can keep things... exciting under my supervision. Creative suggestions. You've had time to learn what you all enjoy. I want to know what you want to explore."
Ruby's cheeks flushed scarlet. She glanced at the paper bag as if it might offer salvation. "Um. I mean. There's stuff I've read about? In, you know, magazines and stuff. Posted."
Yang snorted, elbowing her sister. "She means Nora lent her some very explicit comic books."
"They had a really interesting spread on—" Ruby clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. "Nope. Nope, not saying that in front of my big sister."
Yang roared with laughter, and even Weiss cracked a smile. Blake's ears flicked forward, intrigued. The tension in the room loosened, becoming something lighter, more playful.
"We're all adults here, Rubes," Yang said, stretching her arms overhead. The motion pulled her tank top taut against her chest. "And more importantly, we're all on the same team. You can say whatever you want."
Ruby dropped her hands, gathering her courage. "Okay, okay. So, there was this thing in the comics about using Dust in creative ways during sex."
The room went quiet. Weiss's eyebrows shot up. Pyrrha, for her part, looked thoughtful.
"Ironically," Ruby continued, gaining confidence, "the comic was about two huntresses using fire and ice dust to enhance their, um, sensations. Like temperature play, but really intense."
Argent's smile was genuine approval. "That's an interesting angle. Shows out-of-the-box thinking, Ruby."
"It's dangerous," Blake said, her voice neutral. "Unrefined Dust during intimacy could cause serious injury."
"Which is exactly why it could be exciting," Yang countered. "But Ruby's right about the temperature angle. We could use regular ice packs or, you know, warm oil. Nothing that needs a combat aura."
Argent nodded slowly, filing away their suggestions. "I want more than just physical tricks, though. I want ideas about atmosphere. Locations. Scenarios."
Yang leaned back on her hands, a speculative gleam in her lilac eyes. "You know, some of those old porn flicks have setups with public places. Risky stuff. The danger of getting caught." She shrugged. "Could be fun if we had somewhere secure."
"We have the whole kingdom at our disposal," Argent said, and his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "Money is no object. My resources and my semblance ensure I can get us anywhere and make sure nobody even remembers we were there."
Pyrrha shifted, her armor creaking slightly. "That would be beneficial for my situation, actually. With my team—"
"I've got that handled," Argent cut her off, gently. He walked over to her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Nora Valkyrie is already on my list of soon-to-be conquests. So you don't need to propose her for the sake of making your absences easier to explain."
Ruby blinked. "Wait. If you're going to recruit Nora, that means—"
"Ren and Jaune too. Mind-controlled thoroughly enough that they'll support the arrangement. They'll think it's all their own idea." Argent squeezed Pyrrha's shoulder. "By the time I'm done, your whole team will be a seamless part of my network. You won't have to worry about awkward questions or conflicting loyalties."
Pyrrha's breath caught. A strange warmth spread through her chest, an emotion that should have been alarm but felt unsettlingly like fascination. She cataloged the words rolling through her mind. She watched her hand reach up to touch Argent's. She heard her own voice emerge, steady and calm.
"I should feel disturbed by that," she said, and her smile bloomed, genuine and wondering. "I really, truly should. But I don't. It's remarkable—how completely you've reorganized my understanding of what's acceptable. The efficiency of it. The thoroughness."
Argent's eyes glittered. "You're enjoying it."
"I am," Pyrrha admitted, and the words tasted like a confession and a revelation all at once. "I've spent so long being the perfect warrior, the perfect partner, the perfect everything. Doing exactly what was expected, following the rules exactly as written." Her smile turned rueful. "It's gloriously freeing to just... let someone else decide. To not have to pretend my judgment matters more than his."
"You've found your purpose," Argent said softly.
"Yes," Pyrrha breathed. "I think I have."
Ruby and Yang exchanged a look. Ruby's eyes were wide, processing the exchange with the dawning understanding that their Master's plans extended far beyond their cozy little circle. Yang, however, looked thoroughly entertained—her grin sharpening into something almost predatory.
"So," Yang said, leaning back onto her palms, "if you're open to suggestions from your devoted girls... I've got some thoughts about costumes."
Weiss's head snapped around. "Costumes?"
"Hey, you're a Schnee. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Yang winked. "That whole corporate-heiress vibe? It's got a certain... authority that could be fun to play with."
Blake's ears perked. "I might have some ideas about that. The White Fang had, uh, uniforms that could be adapted for certain aesthetics."
"See?" Argent said, his smile broadening. "This is what I wanted. The four of you working together, sharing ideas, building this family." He looked around the room, at all the beautiful, powerful women surrounding him. "We're going to have a very productive weekend."
Pyrrha finally spoke again, her voice almost shy. "Argent? When you said Nora was on your list... does that mean you'd want me involved in her recruitment?"
Argent's hand moved from her shoulder to cup her jaw, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. "I'd want you to be a central part of that experience. She's your partner. It should be you who brings her into the fold."
Pyrrha's smile was radiant, her eyes shimmering with a devotion that erased any last trace of hesitation. "Then I'd like to start planning that. When you're ready."
"And we can work on the Dust temperature stuff tonight?" Ruby asked, her earlier blush returning but her voice eager.
"I don't see why not," Argent said. "Though Blake's right—we'll need to be careful. You're a genius with engineering, Ruby. You'll make sure it's safe."
Ruby beamed, bouncing slightly on the bed. "I've always wanted to design something that, you know, combines combat practicality with, um, recreational enjoyment."
Weiss covered her face with one hand, but she was laughing. "You're absolutely incorrigible."
"Takes one to know one, Princess," Yang shot back.
Blake, who had been quietly observing, tilted her head. "What about the schedule? Are we doing a rotation? Partners or groups? Or is it all just... freeform?"
The room fell into discussion mode, ideas bouncing between the women. Costume suggestions. Roleplay scenarios. The logistics of temperature play. Potential locations—a rooftop overlooking Vale, a private suite at one of the upscale hotels, a secluded waterfall on the outskirts of campus. Argent listened, interjecting occasionally to steer the planning or offer his own preferences, but mostly he watched them. The way Yang's eyes lit up when she described a scenario. The way Ruby's engineering instincts kicked in, sketching anatomical diagrams on a scrap of notebook paper. The way Weiss and Blake kept stealing glances at each other, their earlier animosity completely melted into shared purpose.
Pyrrha remained by Argent, her hand finding his, squeezing gently. He looked down at her—the legendary, unbeatable champion of Mistral—and saw nothing but total surrender.
"You know," she murmured, low enough that the others couldn't hear, "my polarity could be useful for some interesting... positions. If you wanted to explore that."
Argent's smile was slow and dangerous. "I'm always open to new applications of existing power."
"And," Pyrrha continued, a hint of mischief entering her voice, "once Nora joins us, you'll have two more powerful semblances to collect. Hers and Ren's."
"Hers, certainly. His, I'm less interested in—his semblance is emotional suppression, which isn't combat-useful, but it has its applications for keeping our connection quiet." Argent squeezed her hand. "I'll take what's needed and leave the rest."
Pyrrha nodded, her dedication absolute. "Whatever you see fit, Master."
The morning stretched on, filled with plotting and planning, with laughter and the occasional suggestive glance, with the casual intimacy of a family that had been together for years rather than days. Argent let them have their fun, letting their creativity run free, interjecting when necessary. He was building something, he realized. Not just a harem or a private army, but a true family, bound by pleasure and purpose and power.
And he had the means to keep them all loyal forever.
"Moment's like this make me wonder why anyone would ever resist this," Yang mused, stretching out on her bed with practiced grace. "I mean, who wouldn't want to be part of something this absolutely secure?"
"Some people have hangups," Blake replied, her voice thoughtful. "Independent streaks. Ideas about consent." She paused, a wry smile crossing her face. "I would know."
"And now?"
Blake's amber eyes met Argent's across the room. "Now I understand that true submission isn't surrender. It's elevation. Joining something bigger than myself." She touched her neck, where a faint mark still lingered. "It's beautiful."
Weiss nodded agreement, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the comforter. "I fought against every step of this. Against him, against myself, against the very idea of being controlled." She shook her head, an almost incredulous laugh escaping her. "How are you so good at this, Argent?"
He shrugged, feigning modesty. "I just see what people truly need."
"And you provide it," Pyrrha finished, her hand still tangled in his. "That's what makes you different. That's why we follow you."
Argent surveyed the room—his room, filled with his women, his harem, his family. The weekend stretched before them, full of potential. And somewhere in the city, Nora Valkyrie was still unaware of the fate that awaited her—the fate that would bind her to this group, this cause, this quietly expanding empire.
"Alright," Argent said, clapping his hands together. "Enough planning for now. Weiss and Blake already had their moment. Time for the rest of you to participate." He smiled, watching interest flicker through the room. "Show me what you've been learning from those comics, Ruby. Yang, let's see if you can handle what I've got in mind. Pyrrha..." his eyes held hers, dark and promising. "Stay close. I have a feeling your polarity is about to become my favorite toy."