You ever notice how, after the chaos dies down, the quiet that follows feels like the universe is loading its next punchline? As if whispering, don’t get comfy, you idiot, the joke’s still coming.
That’s exactly how it felt after the Elvina fiasco—everyone drifting apart, pretending nothing had happened, though half of us were still vibrating with leftover tension.
The next hour dragged by in that soul-crushing, clock-ticking calm only bureaucracy can weaponize. We were herded toward the front desk, that marble monstrosity carved with cherubs who looked like they’d been snorting pixie dust and giggling about our life choices.
Lines of fresh meat—new arrivals like us—snaked across the floor, each one twitching like they were one bad decision from bolting. Every few minutes, an attendant would materialize, bark a name, and pull someone through a side door like a magician with a grudge. I watched as they vanished one by one.
When my name finally slithered out of the attendant’s mouth—a thin woman with a porcelain mask and an accent sharp enough to circumcise a statue—she crooked a finger like I was a dog she’d already named Regret.
I gave the crew a lazy salute, mostly because I knew it annoyed Freya, and trailed after her.
We stopped in front of a pair of bronze-plated guards who looked like they’d been carved from solid irritation. Behind them stood a heavy wooden door, the kind of door that made promises you didn’t want them to keep. The attendant opened it without a word and motioned me inside.
The room was... charming, in the way a tax collector’s smile is charming after collecting his due. Every surface gleamed like polished guilt. The walls were lined with neat rows of metal collars dangling from hooks like trophies, resting next to tools that could double as medieval sex toys—clamps, rods, cutters, all so pristine they looked offended by the concept of blood.
In the center sat an old wooden chair, rotting with the faint stench of mildew.
The two guards took their positions at the entrance behind me as an older man shuffled forward. He wore spectacles and a white coat. His hair was silver, his beard neatly trimmed, eyes dull in that "I’ve seen too much" kind of way.
"Well," I said, crossing my arms and flashing my best grin, "either I’m here for registration or you’re about to give me the world’s kinkiest prostate exam. Which is it, pops?"
He didn’t respond. Not even a twitch. He just studied me for a moment, then turned away to a nearby table. I frowned. "Not a talker, huh? That’s fine, I’ll fill the silence. I’ve always wanted to meet a man whose personality was legally dead."
Still nothing. He reached for something. I saw the gleam of metal before I heard the clack of its hinges. Bolt cutters. Massive ones. My heart did a polite little somersault.
"Hey, whoa," I said, taking a step back. "If that’s about my haircut, I swear, I’ve already suffered enough—"
"Sit," he said, voice flat as cold steel.
I stared at him before complying with a quiet sigh. "Oh, we’re giving orders now? Should I bark too? Roll over? Maybe—"
Before I could finish, he grabbed my collar with the cutters—and with a single motion, snapped it open. The sound rang like a gunshot. The weight vanished from my neck, replaced by a strange, cold emptiness. I gasped, hand flying to my throat. The skin there felt raw, pale where the metal had rested for too long. For a moment, I thought I might float away.
And then, of course, he ruined it.
He stepped behind me, too quick for an old man, and before I could react, something cold clicked around my neck again. Thinner. Lighter. It shut with a precise snip that echoed through the room.
I blinked. "Wow. That was fast. You always collar people on the first date?"
Still no response. The man set the bolt cutters aside, scribbled something on a clipboard, and gestured to the guards.
"Oh, come on," I protested as they took me by the arms. "You can’t just ghost me after an intimate moment like that!"
They dragged me out anyway.
Deep down, though, I couldn’t stop the smirk tugging at my lips. Because this was it—the official mark. The collar wasn’t a shackle this time; it was a uniform. I’d been processed, catalogued, and ranked. Congratulations, Loona. You’re now a certified Drudgewhore. The name alone sounded like a curse whispered by a god with a hangover and a grudge.
When the rest of the crew emerged, we shared a collective exhale—the kind of weary sigh people release when they realize the world hasn’t quite murdered them yet. Freya rolled her shoulders; Malrick rubbed his wrists like the collar itched his sanity. Even Brutus, eternal mountain of calm, looked relieved, though he’d never admit it.
Iskanda’s voice cut through the air, crisp as a blade. "Anyone who’s injured, step forward. You’ll be going with him."
She pointed toward a long-faced man with deep blue hair and a cane, who stood like he’d rather be anywhere else. Renly and a few others drifted toward him. Brutus didn’t even flinch.
Iskanda arched an eyebrow. "You’re staying?"
Brutus nodded. "Someone’s got to keep an eye on him," he jerked his chin at me.
"Bold of you to assume that’s possible," I said, offering a sweet smile.
Somebody snickered behind us—Elvina, naturally. Her laughter sounded like a cracking wine glass. I ignored it. Barely.
Iskanda sighed, long and suffering. "Fine. The rest of you, follow me." She swept toward the grand hall at the far end of the room like a queen who’d misplaced her kingdom, and we followed like the world’s most dysfunctional ducklings. Quentin’s group trailed close behind, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exhaustion.
The corridors wound endlessly, a maze of gleaming marble and gold trim that screamed overcompensation. Every few turns, I glimpsed open doorways leading into barracks. Inside, rows of people sat on bunks. Some stared blankly, others whispered. I caught snippets of languages I didn’t know, laughter too tired to be real.
"Cheery place," I muttered.
Brutus grunted. "Better than the cells."
"Barely. At least the cells had ambiance."
Eventually, Iskanda stopped before a heavy wooden door bound in bronze. She swung it open with a theatrical flourish. "Welcome home."
The room inside was large, rectangular, and lined with double-stacked bunks. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and something sweet—incense maybe, trying hard to disguise the stink of too many people. The walls were draped with deep crimson banners, all stitched with the same sigil: a mask split down the middle by a crooked line. A symbol of duplicity, I guessed. How poetic.
"Charming," I said, stepping inside. "It’s like a military barrack had an identity crisis."
Brutus ducked through the doorway behind me, its frame creaking as if filing a complaint. He glanced around, then gave me a look that said, pick one and stay out of trouble. Naturally, I ignored that.
"Dibs!" I announced, grabbing Brutus by the hand like an enthusiastic child and skipping toward a bunk center-left.
He let me drag him—saints bless his patience—until we reached it. I clambered up the side with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel and stood tall on the mattress, hands on my hips. "Perfect," I declared. "From up here, I can survey my domain. Behold, the kingdom of mediocrity."
Brutus chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re insane."
"I prefer ’endearing.’"
As I spoke, movement caught my eye. Across the room, Elvina sauntered past, all smug smiles and swaying curls. She climbed up into the bunk directly opposite mine and sat with deliberate elegance. "Guess we’re neighbors," she said sweetly.
I felt a muscle in my jaw twitch. "Saints, you’re insufferable."
She leaned on one elbow, eyes glittering with mischief. "What’s wrong? Afraid I’ll steal your thunder?"
I plastered on a smile. "No, I just don’t like sleeping near things that bite."
Her laughter chimed through the room, soft and poisonous. "Oh, you’ll learn to love it."
Brutus snorted as he sat down on the lower bunk, the entire structure groaning under his weight.
"If this collapses, I’m suing," I warned.
"Fair," he muttered before flopping onto his back.
Iskanda took her position by the door. Her gaze swept over us like a teacher sizing up an especially disappointing class. "This will be your living quarters until you’re assigned placements," she said. "Seven days. You’ll report to the Spire at dawn every morning for orientation."
"Dawn?" I repeated, horrified. "That’s inhumane..."
"Six o’ clock sharp," she replied without sympathy.
Freya groaned from across the room. "You’re kidding."
"I never kid," Iskanda said flatly. "You’ll be trained, evaluated, and fitted for your new duties. Fail to comply, and you’ll be reassigned to sanitation."
Brutus perked up then. "What’s sanitation?"
She smiled faintly. "You’ll find out when you’re elbow-deep in regret."
That shut him up.
The rest of our crew settled in to the left, Quentin’s group off to the right. Our stacks of supplies were unpacked, blankets claimed, quiet chatter rippling through the room like an undercurrent. I collapsed cross-legged on my bed, watching dust motes dance in the lamplight. For a place built on opulence, it still had that same smell—sweat, fear, and a faint whiff of resignation.
"Try not to kill each other," Iskanda added before stepping back into the hall.
And just like that, the door sealed behind Iskanda’s heels and the room became a tomb of its own making.
A few agonizing hours dragged by, the kind of hours that felt like they’d been specially engineered to torment me on a spiritual level. I spent most of that time lying on my top bunk and staring pure venom at Elvina, who sat on hers like some smug, emerald-eyed gargoyle.
She’d accumulated worshippers now—a whole flock of giggling little harpies perched around her bunk, pointing at me as if I were some rare zoo exhibit. Their laughter echoed off the wooden beams, each snicker landing like a tiny dart in my already fragile sanity.
I sighed so hard my soul almost left my body, then flopped backward onto the thin mattress and tried to force myself into sleep. No luck. My brain wouldn’t shut up, my legs wouldn’t stop twitching, and every time I closed my eyes I heard Elvina’s stupid laugh like some cursed lullaby from hell.
Eventually the lanterns mounted along the walls flickered, dimmed, and were snuffed out by the building’s attendants, plunging the room into a murky half-dark.
One by one the others drifted off, their breathing evening out, with Brutus’s snoring quickly rising to a level that suggested he was actively trying to communicate with thunder gods.
I groaned into my pillow.
That was it. I’d given sleep a fair chance and it had spat in my face.
With a swift huff of defeat, I swung my legs over the bunk and hopped down, landing on the floor with the grace of a disgruntled cat.
Brutus stirred, eyes cracking open in the gloom. Before he could lurch upright, I swung my leg over and straddled his broad chest, the heat of his body seeping through my thighs like a forbidden promise. My finger pressed to his lips, slick with nervous sweat. "Shhh.
When he spoke, his voice came as a low rumble. "Loona, is this really the time to—"
"Shut up." I whispered, voice cracking raw and desperate. "I need this, now."
He didn’t argue, didn’t push me away. He simply exhaled, a slow, steady breath that ghosted warm against my skin.
My fingers fumbled frantically with his pants, buttons popping free in my haste, the fabric rough under my palms as I shoved it down just enough to free his cock.
It rose steady against my grip, thick veins pulsing like living rivers beneath his skin. I bit my lip until copper flooded my mouth, shoving my panties down in one frantic jerk, the lace shredding on my thighs before pooling at my knees.
Then I sank onto him, inch by torturous inch, the stretch burning sweet and vicious, my slick walls parting around his girth with a wet, shuddering moan that tore out of from my throat like a confession ripped from the soul.
The fullness hit me like a wave, overwhelming, perfect, every ridge and vein dragging against my sensitive insides until I was seated flush against him, balls pressed hot and heavy against my ass.
We ground together slow and filthy. There was no rush this time, just a deliberate, rolling rhythm that coiled tighter with each circle of my hips.
My slick coated every inch of him, warm and copious, dripping down his shaft in lewd little rivulets to pool at the base, soaking into the coarse hair there and making each slide obscene, messy, and addictive.
"Gods, I hate her," I gasped, my voice breaking on the words like fragile glass. "Elvina and her laugh, her face—she sees it. I know she does, every fucking flaw. Every crack I try to plaster over with jokes and eyeliner. Fuck, I can’t—"
The words hitched in my throat like they were too sharp to swallow.
"I miss Atticus," I said, surprising even myself with how small it sounded. "And Dregan too. Gods, I miss them so much. We went through hell to get here," I whispered. "And now we’re surrounded by people who walked in like it’s a resort reservation."
Brutus said nothing at first, just lifted his massive hands to cradle my face, palms rough from battles and calluses that scraped gently against my skin. His thumb brushed my lips then, tracing the plump curve before pressing in.
I melted into the touch, a sob catching in my throat as he slid his thumb past my teeth, slow and coaxing, filling my mouth with the taste of him—salt, sweat, and pure, unfiltered Brutus.
I whimpered around it, a broken, needy sound, before gripping him by the forearms and sucking hard, my tongue swirling greedily around the digit, lapping at every ridge and flavor until I was lost in it.
My back arched until my spine threatened to snap and still he pressed deeper, just enough to make my chest seize in exquisite panic, my lungs convulsing as I fought for air.
The smell of him flooded my lungs, thick and heady, until I was practically drunk on it, on the raw masculinity that anchored me in the chaos. The taste, the stretch of him inside me below, grounding me even as my head turned to mush. Fuck, it was too much to handle.
My body betrayed me in a rush of heat and ecstasy. I came without warning, a sharp, violent spurt that sent hot ropes of my release shooting across Brutus’s stomach in pulsing waves.
They painted his skin in thick glistening streaks that pooled in the ridges of his abs and dripped down the sides of his torso in shameful little trails.
I yanked off his thumb with a ragged gasp, strings of saliva connecting us for a heartbeat before breaking. My chest heaved wildly as tears blurred my vision into a haze of salt and release.
Then I collapsed face-first onto his chest, my heart hammering against his like a trapped bird frantic for escape. My sobs muffled into the damp fabric of his shirt.
He rubbed slow, tender circles at the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair with a gentleness that belied his size. His voice rumbled through me like thunder promising rain.
"Easy there, kid. Everything’s gonna be fine."
I looked up with wet eyes, lashes clumped and vision swimming. My voice came out small and shattered, laced with a love so fierce it hurt. "I love you."
I kissed him then, lips crashing together in a frenzy of need, teeth clashing with tongue in a battle for closeness. My tears mixed with spit in salty rivers that trailed down our chins.
We stayed tangled and sticky in the dim hush, breaths syncing, bodies conjoined in that intimate lock, until sleep dragged us under its merciful tide at last.