jeno’s .ᐟ @jae-n0 - Tumblr Blog

Mar 10

The Doberman’s Debt

PAIRING: college!friend!jeno!, friend!fem!reader!

GENRE: University Romance, slightly Enemies-to-Lovers (Slow Burn), Dark Romance (Lite), "He Falls First but He’s a Jerk About It"(Let me write what I want)

CONTENTS: Cornering/Pinning, spooning, missionar1, light bondag3, slight public s, wall s, oral (fem receiving)

MINORS DNI

WORD COUNT: ?

SUMMARY: After a 1:00 AM fire alarm and a disastrous late-night break-in, finance major Y/N finds herself in debt to Jeno, the campus’s dangerously alluring Doberman. (Sorry he’s not a samoyed here).

What starts as a tense game of power plays and repayment massages to being trapped in a storm with Jeno in Room 402, the line between academic rivalry and raw, predatory hunger finally snaps.

NOTE:

I’m just gonna ignore the bashers. Hehe I’m reuploading brcause the original got taken down for not having any “content label”. Sorry 🤣

Thank you for all of those who messaged me and calmed me down. And those who kept supporting my work. I love you all.

The fire alarm in the whole dorms didn't just beep; it shrieked like a banshee on a caffeine bender. It was 1:14 AM, and Y/N was currently standing on the sidewalk in a pair of oversized flannel pajama pants and a "Support Your Local Library" t-shirt, looking like she’d just been through a minor war.

Beside her, Chenle was holding a plate of half-seared wagyu beef, looking absolutely offended. "I was at a critical temperature, Y/N! The searing process is a sacred ritual! If the sensors can't handle a little expensive smoke, they shouldn't be in a luxury dorm”

"Lele, you’re literally holding a five-hundred-dollar steak in your slippers. Priorities," Y/N deadpanned, though she couldn't help the loud, bark-like laugh that escaped her.

"Very funny" Chenle fired back, his high-pitched laugh cutting through the chaos of sleepy students.

That’s when the Royalty descended.

Coming through the lobby doors were the four guys who basically owned the campus lease. Mark was at the back, looking stressed, probably carrying three different laptops in one backpack. But the front trio? They looked like they were walking a runway, even in lounge gear.

Haechan was currently clinging to Jaemin’s back like a koala, cackling as Jaemin tried to shake him off with a look of pure, murderous boredom.

"I’m telling you, Nana, the girl from the psych department literally asked if she could 'study my brain,'" Haechan yelled over the alarm, his eyes scanning the crowd. "I told her she could start with the physical anatomy, and she almost fainted. Girls are so weak for the music department."

Jaemin didn't even crack a smile, though his eyes were dancing with that unpredictable chaos. He was wearing a tight grey hoodie that showed off the sheer mass of his arms—gym sessions with Jeno clearly paid off.

"She probably just wanted to see if there was actually anything inside your skull, Hyuck. It’s a scientific curiosity."

He suddenly stopped, his gaze snagging on Y/N and Chenle. Jaemin’s vibe shifted instantly—from chaotic roommate to the predatory, observant fuckboy the campus whispered about. He took a slow sip of his extra-strong black coffee, his eyes lingering on the way Y/N’s hair was a mess of sleep-tangled waves. He didn't say a word, just gave a slow, deliberate nod that felt like he was memorizing her face for later.

Then there was Jeno.

Jeno wasn't laughing. He was wearing a simple white tank top and black joggers, the silver Tag Heuer on his wrist glinting under the streetlights. He looked like a god sculpted from granite—176.5 cm of lean, Doberman like muscles, with a waist so narrow it seemed unfair. When he saw the group, his captain persona took over.

"Hyung, let’s check if the RA needs help with the headcount," Jeno quietly said to Mark. His voice wasn't loud, but it had that Alpha frequency that made people instinctively move.

Haechan, spotting Y/N, finally hopped off Jaemin. He strolled over with a smirk that was 10% charm and 90% trouble. "Well, if it isn't the Finance prodigy and Mark’s favorite cousin. Y/N, you look... cozy. Is 'homeless chic' the new vibe?"

Y/N didn't blink. She’d dealt with Eric’s manipulation for years; Haechan’s teasing was like a breeze. "It’s called 'I actually sleep at night,' Haechan. You should try it. Might help with the dark circles under your ego."

Haechan gasped, clutching his chest. "Jaemin! Did you hear that? She’s violent. I love it."

Jaemin stepped up beside Haechan, his aura heavy and magnetic. He leaned in just a bit too close to Y/N, smelling like expensive cologne and high-grade espresso. "She’s not violent, Hyuck. She’s just honest. It’s a rare trait around here." He looked Y/N dead in the eye, his voice dropping to a private, silky register. "You’re Y/N, right? Mark mentions you. Usually followed by a 'don't let Haechan near her.'"

"Mark’s a smart man," Y/N retorted, though the way Jaemin’s eyes tracked her lips made her pulse skip a beat.

Suddenly, a ball—a stray baseball from some idiot playing in the dark—came flying toward the group. Without even looking, Jeno’s hand shot out. Thwack. He caught it mid-air, barely a foot from Y/N’s head.

The silence that followed was heavy. Jeno turned the ball over in his hand, his expression serious, alluring, and terrifyingly calm. He looked at the group of frat boys who’d thrown it. He didn't yell. He just stood there, his presence so commanding that the guys across the lawn visibly swallowed and started apologizing profusely.

Jeno turned his gaze to Y/N. For a second, his eyes crinkled into that famous, soft eye-smile that made him look like the most innocent boy on earth. "You okay? Didn't mean to let the chaos get that close."

"I'm fine, J—Jeno. Thanks," Y/N stuttered, surprised by the sudden gentleness.

But then, the smile vanished as a text chimed on his watch. He looked at it, his jaw tightening, the Doberman returning in an instant. The shift was visceral. He looked at Y/N again, but this time his eyes weren't soft. They were dark, intense, and filled with a raw, dominant energy that seemed to strip away her defenses. It was the look of a man who didn't just want to protect you—he wanted to own the space you stood in.

"Jaemin-ah, Haechan-ah. Let’s go," Jeno said, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "The RA cleared the floor. I have a 9 AM Business Ethics exam, and I’m not failing because you two want to flirt with Mark’s family in the street."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Haechan joked, though he actually started moving.

Jaemin lingered for a second, his eyes sliding from Y/N to Jeno, a silent communication passing between the two best friends—the kind of look that suggested they shared more than just a dorm room. He gave Y/N one last, lingering smirk before turning on his heel.

As they walked away, Y/N heard Haechan’s loud whisper: "I'm telling you, she's got that 'I hate you' look that usually turns into an 'oh my god' look by the third date."

"Shut up, Haechan," Jeno’s deep voice rumbled, but he didn't deny it.

Chenle poked Y/N in the arm with his steak fork. "You’re staring. And your face is red. Please tell me you aren't falling for the his act. I can't have my best friend dating someone who spends more on watches than I do on cars."

"I'm not staring," Y/N lied, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I'm just wondering how Jeno’s waist is smaller than mine. It’s scientifically offensive."

"Sure," Aieza said, appearing out of the shadows with Jeoffrey. "And I’m sure that look Jeno gave you was just him 'checking for injuries.' Girl, you’re in trouble. That wasn't a a normal look. That was a 'You're coming home with me' look."

Y/N looked back at the dorm entrance, catching one last glimpse of Jeno’s broad shoulders before he disappeared inside. He was a mystery—a gentle protector one second and a dominant, alluring force the next. And for the first time since Eric, Y/N felt a spark of something that wasn't fear. It was hunger.

—-

The walk to the West Wing at 2:45 AM felt like a walk toward a gallows Y/N had spent months trying to avoid. Mark had been frantic—his Creative Writing final was due at 8:00 AM, and his laptop charger had sparked and died. Jeno had his spare.

"Just use the code, Y/N. Jeno’s a night owl, he’ll be up gaming or finishing his Business brief," Mark had pleaded over the phone. "He won't mind. He’s the most chill guy I know."

Chill was not the word Y/N would use. Jeno was a "pillar," sure, but he was a pillar made of reinforced steel that looked like it could crush you if you leaned too hard.

The hallway was silent, the air smelling of floor wax and late-night desperation. Y/N reached Room 402. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the code. The lock clicked with a sound that seemed loud enough to wake the dead.

She pushed the door open just a crack. The room was bathed in a deep, moody blue light from a series of LED strips. The air was thick—warm, smelling of expensive sandalwood and the sharp, clean scent of a recent workout.

The room was quiet, the dim yellow lights flickering occasionally. She reached the door and found it slightly ajar.

"Mark?" she called out softly. No answer.

She pushed the door open, stepping into the dark entryway. The only light came from the blueish glow of a computer monitor in the corner. She could hear the faint sound of heavy breathing and the rustle of fabric from the bed tucked behind the partition.

She froze. In the shadows, she saw a silhouette—a broad back, the rhythmic movement of someone deeply occupied. Her mind immediately went to Mark.

"Oh my god, Mark! Finally!" she hissed, her voice a mix of relief and teasing. "I didn't think you had it in you to actually bring a girl home. Sorry for the mood-kill, but you need your charger or you’re going to fail that Creative Writing essay."

The movement stopped instantly.

A girl’s voice, high-pitched and panicked, squeaked from the darkness. "Wait... Mark? Who is Mark?"

The girl scrambled out from under the figure, grabbing her shirt from the floor. She looked at Y/N, then at the man standing up, and then back to Y/N. "You’re his girlfriend? He said he was single!"

"No, I—" Y/N started, her face heating up. "Wait, you’re not Mark?"

The girl didn't wait for an answer. She shoved past Y/N, sobbing something about "liers" and "jerks," and bolted out of the dorm.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

The man in the room reached out and flicked the wall switch. The overhead lights hummed to life, flooding the room with a clinical, white glare.

It wasn't Mark.

Jeno stood there, shirtless, his chest heaving. The light caught the sweat glistening on his abdominal muscles—lines so sharp they looked carved from granite. His hair was a mess, falling over eyes that were no longer soft or friendly. They were dark, narrowed, and vibrating with a terrifying intensity.

He looked down at himself, then at the empty doorway, then finally, his gaze landed on Y/N.

"Do you have any idea," Jeno said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in Y/N’s chest, "what you just did?"

Y/N felt the air leave her lungs. The friendly group project leader was gone. In his place was a man who looked like he could snap the world in half. "Jeno... I—I thought you were Mark. The room was dark, and he’s my cousin, I just—"

"just ruined my night," he interrupted, taking a slow step toward her. The sheer physicality of him was overwhelming. He was 176.5 cm of pure, harnessed power, and as he closed the distance, Y/N felt her back hit the cold wood of the door she’d just entered.

"I’m so sorry," she stammered, her eyes darting everywhere but his bare chest. "I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear. I just needed to give Mark his—"

Jeno slammed his hand against the door beside her head. The sound was like a gunshot in the small room. He leaned in, his face inches from hers. The scent of him—expensive cologne, salt, and something raw and masculine—clouded her senses.

"Anything?" he echoed. His voice was a velvet rasp. He wasn't smiling. The eye-smile that made everyone trust him was nowhere to be found. Instead, his jaw was set, the muscles in his neck cording.

His eyes dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, an intense, hunger-filled look that made Y/N’s knees go weak. The dominance he radiated was magnetic, a gravitational pull that demanded submission. He looked at her not as a friend’s cousin, but as a predator looks at something it’s decided to keep.

His other hand came up, not to touch her, but to grip the edge of the doorframe, effectively trapping her in the heat of his personal space. The silence stretched, thick with a tension so sharp it felt like it could draw blood.

Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs. She’d spent so long rebuilding her confidence after Eric, convincing herself she was invisible, but under Jeno’s gaze, she felt exposed. She felt seen.

Jeno’s gaze softened just a fraction, but the intensity didn't fade. He reached out, his fingers grazing the hair near her ear, before his hand moved down to her forehead.

He gave her a sharp, dismissive flick on the brow.

"Get out," he said, the command quiet but absolute.

Y/N blinked, the sudden release of tension making her lightheaded. "What?"

Jeno stepped back, the coldness returning to his expression as he grabbed a discarded hoodie from the chair. He didn't look at her as he pulled it over his head, hiding the muscles that had just been inches from her.

"You said you'd do anything," he said, his voice flat but carrying a hidden promise. "Come back here after your last lecture tomorrow. Don't be late."

He turned his back to her, dismissing her as if she were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, yet the air in the room still felt like it was on fire.

"Go," he added, without turning around.

Y/N didn't wait. She turned and practically ran into the hallway, her heart still racing at a tempo she couldn't control. She had seen the other side of the campus's golden boy—and she had a feeling her life was about to get much more complicated.

—-

The morning sun felt like a personal insult. Y/N sat in the back of her "Advanced Portfolio Management" lecture, her brain currently a corrupted file of Jeno’s shirtless silhouette and the sound of his hand slamming against the door.

Beside her, Chenle was busy scrolling through a luxury car auction on his tablet, looking remarkably refreshed for someone who had been eating steak on a sidewalk at 2:00 AM.

"You’re vibrating," Chenle whispered, not looking up from a vintage Porsche. "It’s distracting. If it’s about the Finance midterm, just remember: when in doubt, blame the inflation rates."

"It’s not the midterm," Y/N hissed, her pen hovering uselessly over her notebook. "It’s Jeno."

Chenle’s head snapped up, a devious grin spreading across his face. "The Doberman? What did he do? Did he bark at you? Or did he do that thing where he stares at people until they apologize for existing?"

"He told me to come to his room after my last lecture. To 'make up' for... an incident."

Chenle’s cackle was so sharp it earned a glare from the professor. "Oh, you are toast. Jeno doesn’t do 'favors.' He does transactions. If you’ve ended up on his debt sheet, you might as well just hand over your soul now. It’ll save time."

Y/N groans.

She’s doomed.

——-

By 4:15 PM, Y/N was standing in front of Room 402 again. She’d changed out of her homeless chic pajamas into a pair of fitted black jeans and a cropped knit sweater—not because she wanted to look good for him, she told herself, but because she needed to feel like she had some armor.

She knocked.

"Enter," a voice rumbled from inside. Deep. Level. No "please" attached.

Y/N stepped in. The room was different in the daylight—cleaner, sharper, but no less intimidating. Jeno was sitting at his desk, his back to her. He was wearing a black compression shirt that made the 176.5 cm of his frame look like a weapon. He didn't turn around immediately; he was typing away at a Business Ethics paper, the click-clack of the keys the only sound in the room.

"Close the door," he said.

Y/N did. The click of the lock felt final. "I'm here. What do you want, Jeno? A coffee run? Someone to write your footnotes?"

Jeno stopped typing. He stood up slowly, the movement fluid and predatory, and finally turned to face her. He wasn't smiling. He looked at her with a clinical sort of intensity, his eyes scanning her from her sleep-deprived dark circles down to her boots.

"I don't need coffee," he said, stepping into her space. He was close enough now that she could see the slight dampness of his hair—he’d just showered. "And I certainly don't need help with my work. What I need, Y/N, is for you to learn that you can't just barge into a man’s room and expect him to be chill about it."

"I told you, I thought you were Mark—"

"I don't care who you thought I was." He reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around her nape. It wasn't painful, but it was possessive. His thumb grazed the sensitive skin behind her ear, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core. "You cost me a very... high-energy night. And since you offered to do anything..."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "You're going to help me with my recovery."

Y/N’s heart was trying to escape her chest. "Recovery? What does that even—"

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, a dark, playful glint finally breaking through his serious facade. He pointed to the corner of the room where a professional-grade massage table and several rolls of athletic tape sat.

"I have a varsity match tonight. My traps are locked up, and Haechan has the manual dexterity of a goldfish," Jeno said, his voice dropping to that silky register. He started pulling the compression shirt over his head in one smooth motion, exposing that sculpted, granite-like torso again. "You’re a Finance major. You’re good with your hands—precise. You’re going to work the tension out of my shoulders, and then you’re going to tape my back."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to her, the muscles rippling with every breath. "And if you do a bad job, the debt carries over to tomorrow. With interest."

Y/N stood there, frozen. The boy in front of her was literally demanding she touch him as a form of penance. It was arrogant. It was absurd.

"What are you waiting for?" Jeno asked, glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes heavy and demanding. "The clock is ticking, Y/N."

She took a step forward, her fingers trembling as she reached for the muscle rub on his nightstand. As her hands finally made contact with his skin—burning hot and incredibly firm—she heard him let out a low, guttural hum of approval.

"Better," he rasped. "Now, don't stop until I tell you."

She’s definitely screwed.

The air in the room became thick with the scent of menthol and Jeno’s skin. Every time Y/N’s palms slid over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the muscles coiled and jumped under her touch like live wires. She was trying to be clinical—to focus on the knots in his upper traps—but it was impossible when the man was basically a living anatomy chart.

"You're stiff," Y/N muttered, her voice slightly breathless.

"That’s what happens when you spend four hours in the weight room trying to forget a girl interrupted your..." Jeno paused, a low, vibration-like chuckle rattling through his chest. "Actually, never mind. Just keep going. Lower."

Y/N’s fingers dipped toward the small of his back, right where his joggers hung low on his hips. She could see the faint indentations of his Apollo’s belt, and her brain momentarily short-circuited.

"I thought you said your traps were locked up," she challenged, though her hands didn't move away.

Jeno suddenly turned. It was too fast for her to react. In one fluid motion, he grabbed her wrists and pulled her forward, forcing her to stumble between his spread knees. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, but because of the height difference, they were now eye-to-eye.

"You're very bad at following instructions, Y/N," Jeno murmured. He didn't let go of her wrists. Instead, he pulled them behind her back, forcing her chest to arch toward his bare one. The heat radiating off him was dizzying. "You’ve been staring at the scar on my shoulder for three minutes. And your heart is beating so loud I can hear it over the AC."

"It's the caffeine," she lied, her eyes darting to his lips.

Jeno’s gaze darkened, that predatory look returning in full force. He leaned in, his nose brushing against hers. "Is it? Because you look like you’re waiting for me to do something much worse than ask for a massage. You have that look in your eyes... the one from last night. The hunger."

He let one of her wrists go, his hand traveling up to cup her jaw, his thumb dragging slowly across her lower lip, pulling it down just enough to expose the white of her teeth. "Should I give you what you’re looking for? Or should I make you work for it all semester?"

The tension was a physical weight, a wire pulled so tight it was screaming—

Click.

The door swung open with a violent lack of ceremony.

"Jeno-ya, have you seen my—oh."

Jaemin stood in the doorway, a half-eaten green apple in one hand and his other hand lazily tucked into the pocket of his silk pajama pants. He didn't look shocked. He didn't even look embarrassed. He just stood there, his eyes scanning the scene—Jeno shirtless and dominant, Y/N flushed and trapped—with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement.

"Am I interrupting the 'recovery' session?" Jaemin asked, his voice a smooth, chaotic drawl. He took a loud, crunching bite of the apple, leaning against the doorframe. "Because it looks a lot more like a hostage situation. Or a very expensive private performance."

Jeno didn't move. He didn't even flinch. He just kept his hand on Y/N’s jaw, his eyes still locked on hers for a lingering, agonizing second before he slowly turned his head toward his roommate.

"Jaemin. Get out," Jeno said, his voice flat and dangerous.

Jaemin didn't budge. He strolled into the room, tossing the apple core into the trash can with perfect accuracy. He stopped right behind Y/N, the scent of his expensive, dark cologne mingling with Jeno’s sandalwood. He leaned over her shoulder, his face inches from hers as he looked at Jeno.

"Now, now, Neno. Don't be greedy," Jaemin purred, his hand coming up to rest lightly on Y/N’s waist—a direct challenge to Jeno’s hold. "Mark’s favorite cousin is clearly stressed. Maybe she needs a second opinion on those knots."

He looked at Y/N, his eyes dancing with that unpredictable, fuckboy energy. "What do you think, Y/N? Jeno’s a bit... blunt, isn't he? I have much softer hands."

Jeno’s grip on Y/N’s other wrist tightened just a fraction. The air in the room didn't just feel hot anymore; it felt combustible. Two of the most dangerous men on campus were now using her as the rope in a very high-stakes game of tug-of-war.

"She’s busy, Jaemin," Jeno growled, his jaw setting.

"She looks like she's vibrating," Jaemin countered, his smirk widening as he felt Y/N’s pulse under his palm. "Are you scaring her, Jeno-ya? Or are you just making her want things she shouldn't?"

The atmosphere was a powder keg, the air thick with the competing scents of Jeno’s heat and Jaemin’s cool arrogance. Y/N felt like she was being dismantled under their collective gaze—until the heavy silence was shattered by a frantic, rhythmic pounding on the door.

"Jeno! Jaemin! Tell me she’s in there!"

Mark didn't wait for an invite. He burst in, looking like he’d been through a metaphorical blender. His hair was sticking up in three different directions, and he was clutching a stack of papers like a shield. He froze, his eyes darting from Jeno’s bare chest to Jaemin’s hand on Y/N’s waist.

"Oh, thank God," Mark exhaled, completely oblivious to the sexual tension high enough to power the entire West Wing. "Y/N, I’ve been looking everywhere! I forgot to give you the keycard for the library annex—wait, why is your face the color of a fire engine?"

The spell broke.

Jaemin let out a sharp, melodic laugh and pulled his hand away from Y/N’s waist, reaching for his apple again. "Relax, Mark. We were just testing your cousin’s flight-or-fight response. Results are in: she’s a 'freeze' type." He winked at Y/N, the predatory intensity vanishing into a mask of effortless, playful boredom. "It was just a bit of fun, sweetheart. You looked so serious, we couldn't help ourselves."

Jeno finally let go of her wrists. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head in a way that made his lats flare, and let out a relaxed, easy-going chuckle—the eye-smile returning as if the dark, hungry predator of five minutes ago had never existed.

"Yeah, sorry Y/N," Jeno said, his voice light and frustratingly casual. "I didn't think you'd actually take the 'debt' thing seriously. I just wanted to see how long you'd last before you called me an asshole. You’re too easy to rile up."

He looked at Mark, dismissing Y/N entirely. "She’s all yours, man. She’s a decent masseuse, though. Tell her to keep her day job in Finance."

Y/N felt the blood in her veins turn from liquid fire to pure, icy humiliation. They were laughing. It was a game. A way to kill time between lectures—a "prank" on the cousin of their friend. The way Jeno had looked at her lips, the way his voice had dropped... it was all just a practiced routine.

"You guys are actually pathetic," Y/N said, her voice trembling not with fear, but with a sudden, sharp rage.

The laughter stopped. Mark blinked, confused. "Wait, Y/N—"

"No, Mark. Shut up." She turned her gaze to Jeno and Jaemin, her eyes stinging. "You think because you own this campus, everyone is just a prop in your boredom? Go to hell, Jeno. And take your 'sacred ritual' steak and your god-complex roommate with you. You're both fucking losers."

She didn't wait for a rebuttal. She shoved past Mark, nearly knocking him over, and bolted into the hallway.

"Y/N! Wait!" Mark called out, but he stayed put, looking between his roommates in shock.

Inside the room, the silence was no longer playful. Jaemin’s smirk had faltered, his gaze fixed on the door. Jeno, however, looked like he’d been slapped. The casual, "it was just a joke" mask crumbled instantly. He looked at his hands, then at the door, the weight of what he’d just done—the way he’d played with her dignity just to keep his own guard up—hitting him like a freight train.

"That... didn't go how I thought it would," Jaemin muttered, sounding uncharacteristically quiet.

Jeno didn't answer. He grabbed his hoodie from the bed, shoving his arms through it as he sprinted for the door.

"Jeno? Where are you going?" Mark asked.

Jeno didn’t say anything.

He burst into the hallway, his long legs eating up the distance. He saw her near the elevators, her back to him, shoulders shaking slightly. She was hitting the 'down' button with a Ferocity that suggested she wanted to break the panel.

"Y/N! Stop!"

She didn't stop. She turned into the stairwell instead, the heavy fire door slamming shut behind her. Jeno caught it just before it latched, swinging it open with enough force to dent the wall.

"Y/N, listen to me—"

"Leave me alone, Jeno! Go find someone else to 'test'!" she yelled, her voice echoing off the concrete stairs as she descended.

Jeno didn't take the stairs. He vaulted over the railing, dropping down a half-flight to land directly in front of her, blocking her path. He looked desperate, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with a raw, genuine urgency.

———

Jeno vaulted over the railing, his boots hitting the concrete with a heavy thud that echoed through the stairwell. He blocked the exit, his chest heaving, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline. The Golden Boy polish was entirely stripped away, leaving something raw and jagged in its place.

"I’m sorry, okay? Dammit, Y/N, just wait," he ground out, his voice cracking with a mix of frustration and genuine distress. He ran a hand through his hair, looking everywhere but her eyes. "I lashed out. I was... I was frustrated. You have no idea what it’s like to be that close and then have the rug pulled out. It physically hurts, Y/N. Blue-balling a man isn't just a joke—it’s a goddamn nightmare. I was mad and I took it out on your pride because mine was taking a beating."

Y/N stared at him, the initial sting of humiliation cooling into a hard, cynical clarity. She took a slow, stabilizing breath, crossing her arms.

"So, because your anatomy was throwing a tantrum, you decided to treat me like a punchline?" she said, her voice dropping to a level, mature frequency that seemed to catch him off guard. "Listen, Jeno. I’m an adult. I get that you were... occupied. I can move past the embarrassment. But don't you ever do that to a woman again. We aren't just 'incidents' or 'mood-killers.' We have feelings, and we aren't props for you to use when you're feeling cocky and discard when you're frustrated."

She sighed, her posture softening just a fraction. "And look... I’m sorry too. For barging in. It was a mistake. Let's just call it even and stop the games."

Jeno looked at her, truly looking at her, and for the first time, the Doberman looked like he’d been kicked. "Even," he repeated softly. "Yeah. Even."

——-

They fell into a rhythm.

It started with a text from Jeno:

Unknown number: “Mark says you’re failing Macroeconomics. My notes are better than his. Don't make it weird.”

Then came the shared 3 AM study sessions where they discovered they both had a borderline-obsessive interest in vintage watch movements and a shared hatred for the campus cafeteria’s "mystery stew." Jeno started showing up at her library cubicle with her exact coffee order—extra shot, no sugar—without her asking.

The group chat was a war zone.

Half Wit(Haechan): Why is Jeno suddenly a domestic housewife? I saw him carrying Y/N’s heavy-ass textbooks today. My back hurts just watching the simp behavior.

Half Wit: and why is my nickname Half wit? Which one of you Waitlist Rejects changed it again?

Suppository of Bad Opinions(Jaemin): He’s just clearing the debt, Hyuck. It’s a very long-term payment plan.

Suppository of Bad Opinions(Jaemin): ..and jesus christ my nickna.. what is wrong with you guys

Jeno: She’s just Mark’s cousin. I’m being polite.

Y/N: And he’s just a guy with a nice watch. Relax.

Y/N: And btw I changed them. Half wit sounds cute on you Hyuckie. Its just so.. you.

Half Wit(Haechan): fuck you.

The denial was top-tier, even as Jeno started subconsciously territorializing her. If they were at a party, his hand was always on the back of her chair. If another guy lingered too long, Jeno’s would suddenly emerge—not loud, just a quiet, heavy presence that made the air feel thin until the intruder left.

But Y/N on the other hand, doesn’t mind the attention at all.

Or does she really don’t mind.

——

The rain wasn't just falling; it was punishing the windows of Room 402. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark room where Y/N and Jeno were mid-boss-fight in Elden Ring.

"I have to go," Y/N said, glancing at the window as a branch scraped against the glass. "If I don't leave now, the bridge to the East Wing will be underwater."

"Don't be stupid," Jeno grumbled, not looking away from the screen. "The wind is hitting sixty miles per hour. You’ll get blown into the decorative pond and I’ll have to explain to Mark why his cousin drowned in six inches of water. Just stay."

"Jeno—"

"It’s a storm, Y/N. Not a choice. Use my bed. I'll take the floor."

He tossed her a grey hoodie—one that smelled so overwhelmingly like him it made her dizzy. When she emerged from the bathroom wearing it, the hem hitting mid-thigh, Jeno’s controller clicked. He died in the game. He didn't even care.

"Floor's too cold," Y/N insisted an hour later, looking at him wrapped in a single blanket on the hardwood. "I'm not an asshole, Jeno. There’s room."

"Are you sure?," he rasped, his back to her.

She didn't reply. She stayed on the floor. Jeno was worried that he kept asking her every 5 minutes. 15 minutes later, she was shivering.

Suddenly, the blankets were ripped away. In one blurred, effortless motion, Jeno scooped her up. She gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his biceps—rock hard and warm. He tossed her onto the mattress and climbed in beside her, pulling the heavy duvet over them both.

"Stay still," he commanded, his voice vibrating against her ear.

He pulled her back against his chest, her spine flush against his heat. And then, the air in the room changed. It became heavy. Electric. Y/N felt it first—the unmistakable, rigid heat of him pressing against the small of her back. Her breath hitched.

Her brain is panicking; she’s not moving at all.

She doesn’t even know why Jeno’s doing this.

She tries to pinch Jeno’s skin to try to pry him away.

But Jeno didn't pull away. Instead, his hand drifted to the hem of the shirt she was wearing, his fingers skimming the skin of her hip. Agonizingly slow.

He traces her skin with tiny circles, and she could feel herself getting wet from the act.

Jeno leaned in, his lips grazing her earlobe before he gave it a sharp, tiny nip that made her toes curl.

"You're so tense," Jeno whispered, his voice a dark, velvet promise. He gave her lobe a quick lick as ihs hand traveled higher, his thumb tracing the curve of her waist. "Is it the storm? Or is it because you can feel what you're doing to me?"

"J-Jeno... we s-shouldn't," she whispered, her heart hammering.

"Shouldn't what?" he provoked, his touch turning bold, his palm sliding up her inner thigh, slow and deliberate, making her gasp as he found her clothed clit. "Shouldn't admit that you’ve been thinking about this since the fire alarm? Shouldn't talk about how wet you are right now just from me touching your leg?"

He gently flipped her over, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, his body a heavy, dominant weight above her. His eyes were dark—no more Golden Boy, no more just friends.

"Baby, please," he rasped, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot on her lips. "I’ve been so patient. But if you don't tell me to stop in the next three seconds, I'm going to show you exactly how much debt you actually owe me."

Y/N didn't say stop. She pulled him down, and the Doberman finally broke his leash.

The shift in Jeno was visceral. It wasn't just a mood change; it was as if he had finally authorized himself to take what was his. His grip on her wrists was like iron bands, pinning them to the headboard with a strength that made it clear she wasn't going anywhere unless he decided she could.

"You know.. you like to talk so much, Y/N," he growled, his voice dropping into a register so low it felt like a vibration in her very bones. "Let's see if you can keep that energy when I’m actually inside you."

He didn't give her a chance to breathe. He slid down the bed, his movements fluid and predatory. When he parted her legs, he didn't do it gently; he forced them wide, his broad shoulders wedging between her knees.

"Jeno, wait—" she gasped, her head hitting the pillow as he dove in.

He didn't wait.

He ate her out with a focused, rhythmic aggression that was borderline territorial. His eye not leaving her as he devours her pussy, smirking as he enjoyed her squirming state.

When she tried to close her legs, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his tongue, he growled against her skin, his fingers digging into her thighs to keep her exposed.

Y/N was sobbing, her hands fumbling for his hair, half-pleading for him to stop because the pleasure was too sharp, too much to handle.

"P-Please... Jeno, stop, I c-can't—"

He pulled back for a split second, his face glistening with her wetness, his eyes dark and void of any mercy. "I didn't tell you to speak. You’re going to take every bit of this."

He rose up, stripping off his boxers to reveal the sheer, terrifying reality of him.

His cock was thick, heavy, and looked impossible.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her breath hitching in a sob of genuine shock.

"Jeno, you’re... you’re too big. It won't fit," she whispered, her voice trembling.

A dark, slow smirk spread across his face—one that had nothing to do with the Golden Boy everyone else knew. He grabbed her waist, his thumbs bruising the skin of her hips, and positioned himself at her entrance.

"I’ll make it fit," he rasped,

his voice a chilling, dominant promise.

"And you’re going to thank me for it."

He drove into her in one deep, uncompromising surge. Y/N’s back arched off the bed, a silent scream caught in her throat as her body stretched to accommodate the intrusion.

He didn't give her time to adjust. He began to fuck her with a brutal, steady cadence, each thrust bottoming out, his weight crushing her into the mattress.

"Look at me," he commanded, his hand coming up to grip her chin, forcing her tear-filled eyes to meet his. "You thought this was a game? You thought you could just walk away after ruining my night? You’re mine now. Every inch of you."

When the bed wasn't enough, he hauled her up. He carried her to the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, the cold plaster a sharp contrast to the furnace of his skin. He slammed her back against the surface, the impact rattling the frames on the wall. He fucked her there, gravity adding to the depth of every strike, his mouth pressed against her ear as he whispered things that would have made Haechan’s jaw drop—mean, possessive, filthy commands that stripped away her last bit of resolve.

"Beg for it," he hissed, his teeth grazing her neck. "Tell me you’re a mess for me. Tell me you want me to never stop."

He was a force of nature, a Doberman that had finally tasted blood and refused to let go. By the time he finally let her collapse back onto the sheets, she was a shaking, spent wreck, and Jeno was hovering over her, looking down at his handiwork with a terrifying, satisfied hunger.

Jeno wasn't finished. Not even close. The raw, primal adrenaline of finally breaking through her defenses had turned into something darker, a relentless hunger that bordered on cruelty.

He hauled her off his own mattress, his grip on her arm unyielding as he dragged her across the small room. He threw her face-down onto Jaemin’s perfectly made bed. The scent of Jaemin’s clean, expensive laundry detergent hit her nose, a stark contrast to the musk and heat of what was happening.

"Jeno, please... not here," she sobbed, her fingers clawing at the silk sheets.

He didn't listen. He drove into her from behind, a sudden, violent intrusion that made her vision go white. He leaned down, his chest crushing her into Jaemin’s pillow, his voice a low, toxic hiss in her ear.

"You’ve gotten tighter since we moved to this bed, haven't you?" Jeno spat, his thrusts heavy and punishing.

"What is it, Y/N? Does the thought of Jaemin watching us turn you on? You like the idea of the pretty boy seeing you like this? You disgust me."

He punctuated the insult with a thrust so deep it felt like it hit her soul.

"You’re a little slut for the attention, aren't you? But he’s not here. Only I am."

He didn't let her answer. He dragged her up again, this time toward the glowing setup of his gaming desk. He sat her on the edge of the desk, pulling her legs over his shoulders. The cold metal of the keyboard was under her palms as he entered her again. This time, he slowed down. It was worse. It was a slow, agonizingly deep stretch that forced her to feel every ridge, every inch of his impossible size.

"Look how wet you are," Jeno praised, though his voice sounded like a threat.

"So tight. So warm. You’re shaking, Y/N. Is it because it feels delicious? Tell me how much you love it."

She let out a broken, high-pitched keen, her head falling back as the pleasure finally began to override the pain. "It... it feels... god, Jeno..."

"Good," he gritted out. "Because we're not done."

He turned her around, shoving her against the large floor-to-ceiling window. The storm was still raging outside, the lightning illuminating her bare chest as he pressed her firmly against the cold glass. Anyone looking up from the quad could see the silhouette of her breasts flattened against the window, the image of her vulnerability laid bare for the world.

"Panting like a little animal," Jeno mocked, his hands gripping her waist so hard he knew he was leaving marks. He fucked her against the glass, the window rattling with every impact. "Look at yourself. Crying and begging while you're on display. This is who you really are."

He spun her around one last time, forcing her to face him. He looked terrifying—sweat-soaked, eyes blown wide with a dominant, possessive fever. He was reaching his limit, his muscles cording with tension.

"Jeno, don't... please don't come inside," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Ple—"

"Shhh," he snapped, his fingers tangling in her hair to pull her head back. "You think you have a choice? You’re mine. I’m going to leave my mark so deep you'll feel me for a week. You're my property tonight, Y/N. Only mine."

He let out a guttural, animalistic growl as he delivered three final, brutal thrusts, bottoming out completely.

He really came inside her, hot cum filling her walls.

He ignored her cries and filled her, his heat blossoming inside her in a way that felt like a permanent seal.

She screams as he cums with him, tilting her head back.

He leaned in, his teeth sinking into the junction of her neck and shoulder.

"Mine," he whispered, a dark, final command. "Don't you ever forget it."

And it all went dark.

——

The sunlight hit the room with a brutal, clinical glare. Y/N was tangled in Jeno’s sheets, her body aching in places she didn't know existed, her skin a map of faint bruises and dried salt. Jeno was still asleep, his arm thrown over her waist like a lead bar, even in sleep refusing to let go.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

"RISE AND SHINE, SINNERS!" Haechan’s voice boomed through the door, followed by the frantic jingling of keys. "I have iced Americanos and a burning desire to know why Jeno’s door has been locked for ten hours! If there’s a dead body in there, I’m calling the RA!"

"Haechan, stop," Mark’s voice came from the hallway, sounding mortified. "They're probably just... sleeping in because of the storm."

"Sleeping? In Jeno’s room? Mark, you're so precious," Jaemin’s voice drawled, sounding dangerously amused. "I can smell the bad decisions from here. Move over, I’m opening it."

The lock clicked.

Y/N’s heart stopped. She looked at Jeno, who was just starting to stir, his eyes fluttering open to see the door swinging wide.

"Oh," Haechan stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes landing on Y/N’s clothes scattered on the floor and her head peeking out from under Jeno's duvet. "Well. That's... that's a lot of skin for 9:00 AM."

Jaemin leaned over Haechan’s shoulder, his gaze sweeping over the room—the desk, his own bed, and finally, the marks on Y/N’s neck. His smirk didn't reach his eyes this time.

"I told you my bed was more comfortable, didn't I, Y/N?" Jaemin purred, though his jaw was visibly tight.

Jeno didn't even look embarrassed. He just pulled Y/N closer to his chest, his eyes cold and challenging as they met his roommates'. "Close the door," he rumbled. "We're busy."

Haechan stood frozen in the doorway, the tray of iced coffees in his hands tilted at a dangerous, forty-five-degree angle. He blinked once. Twice. Then a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face, wide enough to be classified as a public safety hazard.

"Mark," Haechan whispered, not taking his eyes off the bed. "Don't look. Your innocent, Finance-prodigy cousin has been devoured by the Doberman. It’s a crime scene. There are no survivors."

"I told you to knock!" Mark wailed from the hallway, covering his eyes with his hands while simultaneously trying to peek through his fingers. "Y/N?! Is that—is that my hoodie on the floor? Jeno, I will actually kill you! She’s my family!"

Jaemin, however, didn't look scandalized. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes tracing the absolute wreck of his own bedsheets across the room before settling on Y/N’s flushed face. "I hope you’re planning on paying the dry-cleaning bill for my duvet, Jeno," Jaemin said, his voice a smooth, dry cocktail of amusement and salt. "Though, judging by the state of the window, you two were a bit... preoccupied with the architecture."

Y/N felt like her soul had left her body. She scrambled to pull Jeno’s heavy duvet up to her chin, her hair a bird’s nest of chaos. Beside her, Jeno didn't even reach for a shirt. He just sat up, leaning back against the headboard with a terrifyingly calm, post-coital arrogance.

"The door was locked for a reason, Hyuck," Jeno rumbled, his voice still gravelly from sleep. "Get out. And leave the coffees."

"Oh, we’re not going anywhere!" Haechan chirped, practically skipping into the room and plopping down on the only clean chair. "I want details. I want a PowerPoint. Did he bark? Tell me he barked. Jeno has loyal dog energy, but we all know he’s a beast when he’s hungry."

"Stop!" Y/N finally found her voice, though it was slightly hoarse. She looked at the three of them—Mark looking like he was having a stroke, Haechan vibrating with gossip, and Jaemin watching her with that unreadable, dark smirk. "It’s not what it looks like. Okay?"

"It looks like you two tried to recreate the Kama Sutra in a dorm room," Jaemin pointed out, gesturing to the desk.

"It’s just... physical," Y/N blurted out, her face burning. "We’re just fuck buddies. Stress relief. Right, Jeno? It’s a transaction. Very Finance-friendly. Low commitment, high yield. It’s not a 'thing.'"

The room went deathly silent.

Haechan’s jaw dropped. Mark stopped hyperventilating. Jaemin’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline. All eyes shifted to Jeno.

Jeno, who had been looking at Y/N with a possessive, almost softened gaze just seconds before, went completely still. His expression didn't shatter; it hardened into a mask of cold, unreadable granite. He slowly reached for a stray t-shirt on the floor and pulled it on, the fabric straining against his back.

"Yeah," Jeno said, his voice suddenly flat, devoid of the warmth it had held five minutes ago. "Just fuck buddies. Like she said."

He stood up, grabbing his phone and wallet. He didn't look at Y/N. He didn't even look at his friends.

"I have a meeting with the coach," Jeno muttered, his jaw set so tight it looked like it might snap. He brushed past Haechan and Jaemin, his shoulder catching the doorframe with a dull thud. "Mark, take her to breakfast. She’s probably hungry."

He disappeared into the hallway without a backward glance.

Haechan whistled, a low, long sound. "Oof. 'Fuck buddies.' Y/N, you just hit the Captain with a metaphorical steel chair. I’ve seen him take a 90mph fastball to the ribs with more grace than that."

"What?" Y/N stammered, feeling a sudden, cold pit in her stomach. "That’s what it is! We literally agreed... well, we didn't agree, but it's obvious! He was so mean to me last night! He called me a slut!"

Jaemin walked over to the bed, picking up his discarded apple core from the night before. He looked at Y/N with a pitying, knowing smile. "Sweetheart, Jeno is a Doberman. He’s mean because he’s territorial. He doesn't fuck people he doesn't want to own. You just told a man who spent four hours marking you as his property that he’s just a 'transaction.'"

Jaemin leaned in, whispering so only she could hear. "Good luck with that. Jeno doesn't do 'casual.' He just does 'obsessed.'"

——-

The next two weeks were a study in absolute frost.

Jeno didn’t just give Y/N the cold shoulder; he acted as if she had been digitally erased from his reality. In the hallways, his gaze would pass right over her, as if she were a piece of dorm furniture. If they were in the same room, he stayed on his phone or laughed with the guys, his Golden Boy eye-smile on full display for everyone except her.

The dominant, possessive predator from the storm night had vanished, replaced by a polite, distant stranger.

Y/N was spiraling. She found herself staring at the bruises on her thighs as they faded into pale yellow, her skin feeling strangely empty without the weight of his hands. She told herself she was relieved. This is what "fuck buddies" means, right? No strings. No drama. But every time she caught a whiff of his sandalwood cologne in the air, her pulse would jump, waiting for a grip that never came.

The breaking point happened in the student lounge.

Y/N was sitting with Haechan and Mark, trying to focus on a spreadsheet, when Haechan leaned in, tapping a rhythm on the table with his pen.

"Man, Jeno is really back on his bullshit," Haechan remarked, popping a grape into his mouth. "I saw him leaving the Delta Gamma house this morning. And last night? He was at that lounge downtown with that girl from the dance team—Mina? They looked... well, let's just say Jeno isn't suffering from any 'physical frustration' lately."

Y/N’s fingers froze on the keyboard. A cold, sharp hollow opened up in her chest, making it hard to swallow.

"Oh," she said. It was small. Pathetic. Her face fell, her eyes dropping to the glowing cells of her Excel sheet as the numbers blurred.

"Wait, Y/N, are you okay?" Mark asked, his protective cousin-radar pinging. "I thought you said it was just a transaction? You shouldn't care if he’s... diversifying his portfolio."

"I don't," she lied, her voice thick. "I just... I didn't realize he moved that fast. I mean, it’s fine. He’s Jeno. Why would he actually like someone like me? I’m just Mark’s cousin. I’m the 'safe' option."

She felt a hot tear prick the corner of her eye and she quickly wiped it away, pretending she was tired. She felt stupid. She felt used. But more than anything, she felt a terrifying, shameful craving. She didn't want the polite Jeno who ignored her. She wanted the mean, scary Jeno who had pinned her against the glass and told her she belonged to him.

That night, Y/N went to the shared kitchen to get water, hoping the dorm was empty. It wasn't. Jeno was there, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. He was wearing a fresh shirt, his hair styled, smelling like expensive gin and success. He looked like he was heading out for another "diversification" of his portfolio.

He didn't look up when she entered. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the hum of the refrigerator.

"Heading out?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Yeah," Jeno said, his tone perfectly neutral. It was the Captain voice—professional, distant, and utterly devoid of the heat that had burned her skin two weeks ago. "There’s a party at the frat. Don't wait up for the group to get back."

"Haechan said you were with Mina last night," she blurted out, her jealousy finally winning over her pride.

Jeno finally looked at her. His eyes were like ice. He didn't deny it. He didn't explain. He just shrugged. "She doesn't give me lectures on 'feelings' after we're done. She knows exactly what it is. It’s easier that way, don't you think?"

He stepped closer, invading her space just enough to make her breath hitch, but he didn't touch her. He looked down at her neck, where the last of his marks had finally disappeared.

"You got what you wanted, Y/N," he whispered, his voice a low, mocking drawl. "No 'thing.' No commitment. Just two people who happened to be in a room together during a storm. If you’re sad about it, that sounds like a 'you' problem."

He went to walk past her, but Y/N reached out, her hand trembling as she grabbed his forearm. The heat of his skin sent a jolt of pure electricity through her. "Jeno, stop being like this."

He stopped. He looked down at her hand on his arm, then back up at her face. A dark, dangerous flicker returned to his eyes—the first sign of the beast she had been missing. He leaned down, his lips inches from hers, his voice dropping into that terrifying, dominant rumble.

"Like what? I'm being a good 'buddy,' aren't I? Or are you realizing that being ignored by me is worse than being ruined by me?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He pulled his arm away, leaving her standing alone in the cold kitchen, her heart racing and her body screaming for the man she had just tried to push away.

——

The frat house was a chaotic blur of strobe lights and cheap tequila. Y/N pushed through the crowd, her head spinning—partly from the two shots she’d downed to find her courage, and partly from the sight of Jeno across the room, leaning against a pillar while a girl in a tight dress whispered in his ear.

She marched up to him, her eyes flashing. "You’re an asshole, Jeno!"

Jeno didn't even flinch. He looked at her over the rim of his red cup, his expression bored. "I’m at a party, Y/N. Go find Mark."

"Don't tell me what to do! You act like I don't exist and then you come here to... to do this?" She gestured wildly at the room. "Just leave me alone. Forever. Don't even look at me."

"Gladly," Jeno rasped, his jaw tightening as he turned his back on her.

Y/N stormed off toward the bar. She drank until the edges of the room blurred. She was so drunk that she when she came back to the drinks table, she didn’t have her left shoe on( until a first year returned it).

She danced and was laughing, downing drinks after drink..

until she ran into a familiar face—Eric.

Her ex-boyfriend, a guy who knew exactly which buttons to push.

He pulled her into his space, his hands sliding down to her waist.

Because she was too drunk, she didn’t exactly cared or maybe she simply doesn’t recognize him.

"You look like you're having a rough night, Y/N," he murmured, his breath smelling like beer.

Jeno saw it. From the corner of the room, his Golden Boy mask fractured.

He watched Eric’s hand dip dangerously low, watched him lean into Y/N’s neck. Jeno’s glass crackled in his grip. When he sees Eric trying to kiss her,

Jeno moved before he could think, shoving through the crowd.

He didn't punch Eric—though his knuckles white-knuckled into fists—he just stepped between them, his presence an immovable wall of muscle and silent rage. "She’s leaving," Jeno said, his voice a low, vibrating threat.

"Who the hell are you?" Eric started, but one look at Jeno’s dark, predatory eyes made him stumble back.

Jeno grabbed Y/N’s arm, dragging her out of the house. "Let me go!" she screamed, stumbling as they hit the cool night air. "You don't get to care! You’re just a 'buddy,' remember? Go back to your dance team girl!"

"”Y/N stop” Jeno growled, pulling her into a secluded, empty bedroom in the back of the house to get away from the noise. She started sobbing, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Make me!" she yelled, hitting his chest. "I hate you! I hate how you look at me and I hate—"

Jeno snapped. He grabbed her waist and hauled her toward a walk-in closet, kicking the door shut. The darkness was absolute, smelling of cedar and Jeno’s furious heat. He spun her around, slamming her front-first against the hanging coats.

"You want to play the 'fuck buddy' card?" Jeno hissed in her ear, his hand tangling in her hair to pull her head back, exposing her throat. "Fine. Let's act like it. No romance. Just me taking what I want because I’m bored."

He didn't undress her. He just hiked her skirt up and shoved her panties aside. He entered her in one brutal, dry surge that made her gasp, her fingers clutching a leather jacket for balance. It was a punishment. A quick, dirty, dominant reclamation.

"Is this what you wanted?" he rasped, his thrusts short and violent, hitting her so hard the hangers rattled. "You want to let some loser touch you just to get a rise out of me? You’re pathetic."

"J-Jeno..." she sobbed, her body betrayed by the familiar, overwhelming stretch of him.

"Don't say my name," he commanded, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he quickened the pace. He was a machine, driven by pure, jealous adrenaline. He reached around, his thumb finding her clit and grinding against it with a mean, clinical precision until she was screaming into the wool coats.

He came with a guttural roar, pinning her body against the wall with his weight until he finished, his breath coming in jagged heaves.

The silence that followed was heavy. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a sudden, sharp guilt as he felt her shaking beneath him. He pulled away, adjusted her clothes with trembling hands, and didn't say a word.

He didn't take her back to the dorms. He drove her straight to his apartment, the car ride silent except for the sound of the heater. He carried her inside, her head lolling against his shoulder in a drunken, post-climax haze.

In his bathroom, the lights were dimmed. Jeno sat her on the edge of the tub, his movements now hauntingly gentle. He stripped her clothes off, his eyes lingering on the red marks he’d left on her hips. He didn't look mean anymore; he looked devastated.

He washed her with a warm cloth, his touch feather-light as he cleaned her skin. He didn't say anything as he dried her off and pulled his own softest t-shirt over her head. He lifted her into his bed, the sheets still smelling like the night of the storm.

As he climbed in behind her, he didn't stay distant. He pulled her back into his chest, his arms wrapping around her in a protective, suffocating hold. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his eyes wide and longing in the dark.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quiet he wasn't sure if she heard him. "I'm a goddamn mess, Y/N."

She fell asleep to the steady, heavy thrum of his heart, finally safe in the cage he’d built for her.

——

The morning sun filtered through the blinds in sharp, golden slats, cutting across the tangled mess of Jeno’s duvet. Y/N woke up slowly, her head throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache from the tequila, but her body felt strangely weighted down and warm.

The weight was Jeno.

He was still asleep, his face tucked into the crook of her neck, his arm draped heavily over her waist as if anchoring her to the mattress.

The "Doberman" was gone; in the soft morning light, he just looked like a boy who was exhausted from a war he’d been fighting with himself.

As the memories of the closet—the cold glass of the window from weeks ago, the mean whispers, and the way he’d tenderly bathed her just hours ago—slammed back into her brain, Y/N let out a shaky breath. She tried to shift, but Jeno’s grip immediately tightened, his fingers digging into her hip.

"Don't move," he mumbled, his voice a thick, gravelly morning rasp.

"Jeno, we need to talk," she whispered, her voice cracking. "We can’t keep doing this. The 'fuck buddy' thing... it’s making us both crazy. You’re acting like a psycho, and I’m... I’m miserable."

Jeno finally opened his eyes. They weren't cold anymore. They were bloodshot and raw. He sat up slowly, leaning his back against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to his waist but keeping one hand firmly on her ankle, needing the contact.

"I can't do it anymore, Y/N," he said, his voice dropping into that honest, heavy tone he only used when they were alone. "I tried. I went out. I tried to fuck other people. I tried to act like you were just Mark’s cousin again."

He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "But every time I touched someone else, I was just pissed off that they weren't you. I was pissed off that they didn't look at me the way you do when I’m... when I’m being mean to you."

Y/N sat up, the oversized t-shirt sliding off one shoulder. "You were mean because you were jealous. You almost broke that closet door, Jeno."

"Because I hate that I want you this much," he confessed, finally looking her in the eye.

The mask was officially dead. "I’m not a 'fuck buddy' guy, Y/N. I’m a 'this is mine' guy. I don't want a transaction. I want to know where you are, who you’re with, and I want to be the only person who gets to see you like this."

He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a reverent, quiet intensity.

"No more lies. No more 'physical frustration' excuses. I want you. Properly. Even if it makes me a loser, even if Mark kills me."

He tilted his head, a ghost of his dominant smirk returning.

"But if we do this, if you’re actually mine... there’s no going back to being 'just friends.' You belong to me. Understand?"

Y/N looked at him—the boy who cared for her silently and the man who wrecked her against walls—and finally let out the breath she’d been holding for weeks. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his.

"I think I’ve belonged to you since the storm, you idiot."

Jeno didn't say anything. He just surged forward, pulling her into a kiss that wasn't mean or punishing—it was desperate, deep, and final. The lie was over.

——-

The peace lasted exactly twelve minutes.

Jeno was still sprawled across the bed, his chin resting on Y/N’s shoulder as he lazily traced patterns on her arm, when the sound of the front door’s smart lock chimed with a cheery beep-boop.

"I’m telling you, he’s not dead, he’s just moping!" Haechan’s voice projected through the hallway with the force of a theatrical performance. "The Doberman is in his kennel, licking his wounds because Y/N called him a 'transaction' and hurt his wittle feelings!"

Jeno froze. Y/N scrambled to pull the duvet up to her chin.

"Guys, we shouldn't just walk in," Mark’s voice trailed behind, sounding like a man who had aged ten years in a single night. "Jeno? You in here? We brought hangover soup and—"

The bedroom door swung open.

Haechan, Mark, and Jaemin stood in the doorway like a three-man jury. They didn't see the cold stranger or the frat-party player. They saw Jeno, shirtless and glowing, practically wrapped around Y/N in a way that screamed mine louder than any verbal confession.

The silence was deafening for exactly three seconds.

"OH!" Haechan screamed, throwing the bag of takeout into the air. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW THE 'DIVERSIFYING PORTFOLIO' WAS A SCAM!" He started doing a victory lap around the small bedroom, clapping his hands. "Look at them! They look like a Pinterest board for 'Toxic but Aesthetic Couples'! The transaction has been finalized!"

Mark covered his eyes with both hands, groaning toward the ceiling.

"Jeno, she is wearing your shirt. Again. In your bed. Again. My soul is leaving my body. I am ascending to heaven. Tell my mother I loved her."

Jaemin, however, strolled into the room with terrifyingly calm grace. He leaned over the foot of the bed, his eyes scanning the two of them with a slow, smug grin. He noticed the faint, fresh marks on Y/N’s collarbone that Jeno hadn't quite managed to hide.

"So," Jaemin purred, looking at Jeno.

"I take it the 'fuck buddy' contract has been terminated? Or are we just in the middle of a very intense... business meeting?"

Jeno didn't even look annoyed. He just pulled Y/N back against his chest, his arm locking around her waist in a blatant display of possession. "Get out, Jaemin. And Haechan, if you do that dance one more time, I'm throwing you off the balcony."

"He’s back!" Haechan yelled, pointing a finger at Jeno. "The territorial growl! The Doberman is fed and happy!"

Haechan then turned to Y/N, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"So, Y/N, as the official representative of the 'I-Told-You-So' committee... how was the 'transaction' last night? Did he give you a discount for being Mark’s cousin?"

"Haechan!" Mark yelled, finally uncovering his eyes to shove Haechan toward the door.

"Stop! Don't make it weirder than it already is!"

"It can't get weirder, Mark!" Haechan cackled, resisting the shove. "Jeno has a hickey on his neck the size of a postage stamp! Y/N, I didn't know you were a carnivore! I guess the quiet ones really do bite back."

Y/N hid her face in Jeno’s chest, her muffled voice coming out in a groan. "I hate all of you. Every single one of you."

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Jaemin said, winking at her as he followed the others out. "We’ll leave the soup on the counter. Try to stay hydrated. Jeno looks like he’s planning on keeping you here until at least Tuesday."

As the door slammed shut and their chaotic laughter faded down the hallway, Jeno let out a long, heavy sigh against Y/N’s hair. He tightened his grip, pulling her under the covers until they were completely hidden from the world.

"They're right about one thing," Jeno whispered, his voice returning to that dark, dominant rumble that made her heart skip.

"What's that?"

"I’m definitely keeping you here until Tuesday."

@jenoppang

jae-n0

“ and you’re going to thank me for it." ohhh yes i am 😭😭😭 THIS JENO SO TOE CLENCHING

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