neoma

You told yourself to stay away. You should stay away. But something about him pulled you in, like a flame that dared you to touch it, knowing you’d get burned.

It had started with a glance. A lingering stare across the dorm, a smirk when your eyes met. Then a stolen moment in the cafeteria line, his fingers brushing against yours too deliberately to be an accident.

And now this.

The moment Thanos steps into the bathroom, you know you're in trouble.

Not the kind that comes from breaking the rules of the game.

The kind that comes from him.

“You know how easy it would be to get caught?” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. He locks the door behind him, the sound clicking through the small space like a death sentence. “Is that why you’re here, sweetheart? You like the risk?”

You swallow hard, heart slamming against your ribs. “No—”

“Liar.” His voice is smooth, dark, dangerous.

Then he moves—one hand slamming against the wall beside your head, caging you in. The heat radiating from his body is suffocating, his presence swallowing every bit of space between you.

“You’ve been watching me,” he muses, tilting his head, eyes sharp and hungry. “Thinking about me.”

You shake your head, but his fingers are already trailing up your thigh, slow, deliberate. Teasing.

“No?” His breath is warm against your skin as he leans in. “Then why are you trembling, baby?”

Your legs are shaking. Partly from fear. Mostly from something worse.

He knows it, too.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, dragging his lips along your jaw, barely touching, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?”

You should push him away. Should.

But when his fingers slip between your legs, grazing over the heat of your core through the thin fabric of your uniform, your body betrays you—hips jerking forward, chasing the contact.

Thanos smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

Your cheeks burn as he presses harder, the friction making your knees buckle.

“Say it,” he murmurs, teasing you with lazy circles. “Say you want me.”

Silence.

Then his hand disappears.

A strangled noise escapes you, frustration surging through your veins. He leans in close, his voice nothing but a whisper against your lips.

“Beg for it.”

Your pride screams at you to resist, but your body? Your body betrays you.

“…Please.”

Thanos grins, fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your face up until your eyes lock. “Good girl.”

And then he’s on you.

His mouth crashes against yours, claiming, devouring. His kiss is nothing short of ruthless, his tongue pushing past your lips, taking everything.

Before you can process it, he’s spinning you around—your chest hitting the cold tile, hands splayed against the wall.

Then you hear it.

The rustling of fabric. The slow, deliberate unzipping of his jumpsuit.

Your breath catches.

A second later, his hands are everywhere—yanking at your uniform, shoving it up just enough to expose you.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he murmurs, voice dripping with filth. His hand trails down your spine, teasing, sending a shiver down your back.

Then, without warning—his fingers slam inside you.

You bite your lip to muffle the moan, your body arching instinctively, pushing back against him.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice tight with control. “Take it, baby.”

His fingers pump into you, slow and torturous, stretching you open, teasing you to the edge. Every movement is deliberate, designed to make you fall apart.

“You like this, don’t you?” he rasps, pressing his chest against your back. His free hand wraps around your throat, his breath hot against your ear. “Like knowing anyone could walk in and see you getting fucked like a little slut?”

Your eyes flutter shut. Shame and desire war inside you.

But you don’t stop him.

You can’t.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his fingers slipping out, leaving you feeling empty.

Then—he’s there.

Thick. Hard. Pressing against your entrance.

A slow, agonizing push.

Then—he slams inside in one brutal thrust.

Your hands slap against the wall, a strangled gasp escaping your lips as he fills you completely, stretching you to the point of painful pleasure.

“Shhh,” he breathes, one hand clamping over your mouth. “Can’t have them hearing you, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t wait.

His pace is merciless—deep, hard thrusts that leave no room for thought, no room for anything but him. The sound of skin against skin, the low grunts he makes as he ruins you—it’s almost enough to make you forget where you are.

Almost.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” he groans, his grip on your hips bruising. “You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You nod—because you can’t deny it anymore.

Can’t deny the way your body reacts to him.

The way your walls tighten around him every time he buries himself to the hilt.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he pants, his rhythm stuttering as he loses control. “Gonna come for me?”

You nod frantically, body shaking.

Thanos grins. “Then do it.”

His hand snakes between your legs, fingers circling your clit in tight, fast motions. It’s too much—the pleasure overwhelming, tipping you over the edge with a silent scream.

Your body shatters, waves of euphoria crashing through you, leaving you boneless.

Thanos follows, his hips snapping against yours in a final, desperate thrust before he spills inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing.

Then, slowly, he pulls out, fixing your uniform like nothing happened.

“No one can know,” you whisper, voice still wrecked.

Thanos smirks, pressing one last possessive kiss against your jaw.

“They’ll know,” he murmurs. “Because next time?”

He chuckles, eyes dark with promise.

“You know, it’s freezing out here,” you said, stepping closer. The wind nipped at your skin, but you ignored it.

She glanced up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m used to it.”

You sighed, sitting down beside her. “That doesn’t mean you have to suffer through it.”

She didn’t respond right away, just watched the city below. You knew Sae-Byeok wasn’t one for words—not unless they mattered. But when she finally spoke, her voice was softer than usual.

“I like it here,” she murmured. “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

You nodded, understanding. Life had never been kind to her. She had spent so much time running, surviving, always looking over her shoulder. But here, in this moment, she could just be.

Still, she was shivering, and you noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly. Without thinking, you reached out and took her hands in yours, rubbing them gently between your palms.

She stiffened for a moment, surprised, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she watched you, her expression unreadable.

“You’re always cold,” you murmured, focusing on her hands. “You should wear gloves.”

“Maybe,” she said, tilting her head slightly. Then, after a pause, “Your hands are warm.”

You looked up, and for the first time in a while, she wasn’t guarded. There was something soft in her gaze, something fragile yet strong. You squeezed her hands lightly.

“Then I’ll just have to keep warming them for you.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but instead, she simply leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. The warmth between you was enough to keep the cold at bay.

You hadn’t expected Moon-Jo to show up at your door so late.

But there he was, smiling, eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You’ve been avoiding me," he said, voice smooth, teasing. "That’s not very nice."

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the door. "I—it's not that, I just—"

His gaze dipped lower, dragging over your bare legs, your oversized shirt. His nostrils flared slightly, his expression shifting into something more primal.

"You smell different."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Moon-Jo stepped forward, pressing a hand against the door, forcing you to step back. He slipped inside, shutting the door behind him. The air between you crackled with tension.

His fingers ghosted over your hip, his touch light but deliberate. "You're on your period."

Heat rushed to your cheeks. "Moon-Jo—"

He hummed, tilting his head, watching your reaction with quiet amusement. "Were you embarrassed? Is that why you stayed away?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but then his hand slid lower, fingers pressing over your lower belly. Gentle. Curious.

"You’re aching, aren’t you?" His voice dropped, turning softer, almost tender. "I can feel it."

You tensed, every nerve in your body suddenly on fire. His touch was so deliberate, so knowing.

"You don’t have to hide from me," he murmured. "I want you. Always."

Your breath came faster now. His fingers trailed higher, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing the warmth of your skin.

"But right now…" Moon-Jo leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. "Right now, I want to taste you."

A shiver ran down your spine. "You can’t be serious—"

He laughed—low, amused, utterly feral.

"Honey," he whispered, gripping your chin, tilting your face up to his. "You forget what I am."

And then he kissed you.

It was deep, consuming, filled with a hunger that made your knees weak. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up, palming your breasts, teasing your nipples between his fingers.

You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound greedily.

"Let me," he murmured against your lips, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands dragged down your sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

You hesitated. "Moon-Jo, I—"

He looked up at you, his pupils blown wide, his lips already parted in anticipation.

"Do you trust me?"

You did. And that was the problem.

But you nodded anyway.

His breath hitched, and then he was pulling your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion, exposing you completely.

You felt the heat of his breath against your inner thighs, the way he inhaled deeply, savoring your scent.

"Fuck," he exhaled, his fingers gripping your thighs, spreading you open. "You’re so pretty like this."

And then he licked a slow, teasing stripe through your folds.

A strangled moan tore from your throat. Your legs threatened to give out, but his grip tightened, holding you steady.

"You taste so good," he murmured, dragging his tongue over you again, groaning against your skin. "So rich. So sweet."

His mouth worked you open, tongue delving deeper, lips sealing over your clit and sucking, drinking you in like he was starving.

The wet sounds, the slick slide of his tongue, the obscene way he moaned against you—it was too much.

"Moon-Jo—fuck—"

He growled against your skin, sending vibrations through you. His fingers dug into your thighs, his pace relentless. He loved this. Loved the taste of you, the scent of your arousal mixed with the dark, coppery tang of blood.

He didn’t shy away from it. He embraced it.

And that alone sent you spiraling.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned, his hips grinding against nothing, desperate, needy.

"More," he breathed against your soaked flesh. "Give me more."

His tongue pushed deeper, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin, not quite biting, just teasing. Just reminding you of what he was.

And that—that—was what pushed you over the edge.

You came with a broken moan, thighs trembling, pleasure crashing through you in waves. Moon-Jo growled as you pulsed against his tongue, his grip unrelenting as he rode you through it, savoring every drop, every twitch, every little gasp.

Even when you tried to pull away, he didn’t let you.

"Not yet," he murmured, licking you clean, slow and thorough, sending aftershocks through your already-sensitive body. "I want all of it."

You whimpered, hands still tangled in his hair, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

Only then did he finally pull back, his lips and chin glistening with your slick and blood.

He licked them clean, his eyes locked onto yours.

"Perfect," he whispered, standing slowly, towering over you once more. His hands slid up your sides, his touch reverent, possessive.

"You’re mine now," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. "You know that, don’t you?"

Your body still ached, still trembled, but you nodded.

Moon-Jo smiled.

And then he kissed you again—deep and slow, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.