𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐚𝐳𝐞
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➙ Jeon Wonwoo x f! Reader x Kim Mingyu
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ➙ You're a top student in Professor Jeon Wonwoo’s class, but being brilliant doesn’t make you immune to distractions. Especially when one distraction is the infuriatingly perfect Kim Mingyu, your academic rival, and the other is your enigmatic, dangerous professor.
𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬 ➙ Forbidden Romance, Academic Rivals to ??, Professor x Student, Porn w/ plot, Mutual Obsession, Fluff
𝐖𝐂 ➙ 6.3k
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ➙ MDNI, explicit sexual content, explicit language, y/n is an adult take that in mind! sexual tension, mention of alcohol and party, oral sex (both f. and m. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), male masturbation, protected & unprotected sex, public place sex (in campus..), hickies/marking, dom! wonwoo, tease!mingyu, threesome, rough sex, mlm, voyeurism, slight-degradation, dacryphilia, click out immediately if not comfortable!
𝐀/𝐍 ➙ hellooo, this is actually my first time posting here hahaha so please don’t expect too, too much! this one’s for my friend who requested a minwon fic, and also for my other friend who introduced me to the world of tumblr fanfics 😚 thank you both for the push!! hope you guys enjoy reading!
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You hated group work. Especially in Professor Jeon Wonwoo’s AnaPhy class.
Not because of him — although his cool, unreadable face did things to your stomach that you’d never admit — but because of the fact that he always, always, paired you with Kim Mingyu. “Top students,” Professor Jeon said evenly as he laid down the stack of lab sheets, “should be able to push each other further.”
You wanted to argue. Mingyu wanted to smirk. And the rest of the class wanted to watch you both rip each other apart. Today was the musculoskeletal lab. Models of skeletons lined the benches, and half-dissected cadavers rested under white sheets on the side. The air smelled like chemicals and sterilizer, cold enough to raise goosebumps on your arms.
“Ms. L/N, Mr. Kim,” Professor Jeon’s low voice cut through the hum. “Identify the structures of the forearm. Correct labeling. Ten minutes.” He stood with arms crossed, glasses catching the light, his gaze sharp and expectant.
You swallowed, grabbing a marker, but Mingyu leaned in first. His broad shoulder brushed yours as he bent over the model. “Radius,” he said smoothly, sketching the line, “ulna. Distal ends here.” “Obvious,” you muttered, snatching the marker from his hand. “You didn’t even mark the styloid process. Sloppy.”
Mingyu tilted his head, grin tugging at his lips. “Careful. Your voice gets higher when you’re nervous.” You glared at him, heat climbing up your neck and noticed Professor Jeon’s eyes flick from your flushed face to the way Mingyu loomed over you. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he spoke.
“Correct her, if she’s wrong,” Wonwoo said calmly, but the edge in his tone was impossible to miss. “I would,” Mingyu drawled, leaning even closer, “if she ever was.” The marker squeaked under your hand as you labeled faster, sharper, determined to prove him wrong. Every muscle in your body was tight, every nerve lit up — not just from the rivalry, but from the way both men’s eyes seemed locked on you. One challenging, one unreadable.
When the timer beeped, you stepped back, chest heaving. Wonwoo approached silently. His presence was overwhelming up close, the faint scent of his perfume, the steady line of his throat as he looked over your work.
He traced the marker lines with a long finger. Paused at the carpal bones. Then at your messy handwriting. “Accurate,” he said finally. “But rushed.”
Your throat went dry. Mingyu smirked beside you. “Told you. Nervous.” You snapped, “At least I didn’t forget the styloid process.”
Professor Jeon’s eyes flicked between you two — sharp, assessing — before he set the sheet down. “Both of you stay after class,” he said simply. “We need to talk about focus.”
—
By the time the rest of the students filed out, your pulse was racing. Mingyu lounged against the lab bench like he owned it, stretching his long legs. You stood stiff, hands gripping your notes. Professor Jeon shut the door. The click echoed.
He turned, gaze steady, tone unreadable. “You’re brilliant students. But brilliance without discipline is wasted. If you’re too busy distracting each other-” “She’s distracting me,” Mingyu cuts in smoothly, eyes sliding over you with deliberate slowness.
Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me?” Wonwoo’s expression didn’t change. But the silence stretched a moment too long, thick enough to make your skin prickle. Finally, he adjusted his glasses. “Control yourselves. Or I’ll have no choice but to separate you.”
Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, like he knew separation would feel like punishment. Like he’d already seen too much.
The thing about Anatomy and Physiology was that it wasn’t just memorization. It was endless hours of tracing nerves, muscles, vessels, all of them winding through the body like maps you had to learn by heart. You hated that Mingyu always seemed one step ahead at all classes. He breezed through diagrams, scribbled answers in perfect handwriting, and then leaned back in his chair like it was nothing.
But after the lab incident, Professor Jeon’s words wouldn’t leave your head. Brilliance without discipline is wasted. So you did something you swore you wouldn’t: you booked an appointment during his office hours.
His office smelled faintly of coffee and the faint tang of old books. Dim afternoon light cut across the shelves stacked with models of the human skeleton, diagrams pinned neatly to corkboards. “Miss L/N,” Professor Jeon said when you slipped inside. His voice was calm, even, but his eyes lifted from his papers with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “What can I help you with?”
You swallowed. “The brachial plexus. I.. keep mixing up the branches.” A faint twitch of his lips. Not quite a smile. “Common mistake.” He stood, a tall frame unfolding with unhurried grace. “Sit.” You perched on the edge of the chair by his desk, heart hammering. He pulled a diagram from the shelf, leaning over you as he set it down. His sleeve brushed your arm.
Focus, you told yourself.
His finger traced the thick nerves branching down the arm. “Roots. Trunks. Divisions. Cords. Branches,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate. “Say it back.” You repeated it, stumbling once. His eyes flicked to yours, sharp, then softened, just slightly. “Good,” he said quietly. “Better.”
The room felt too warm. His presence was overwhelming: the subtle perfume, the steady tempo of his voice, the heat radiating from where he stood so close.
“Professor” you started, but your throat closed. “Yes?”
Your gaze caught on the line of his throat, the adam’s apple, the faint shadow of his jaw. You tore your eyes away, pulse racing. “Nothing.” For a heartbeat, silence. “You need to stop letting Kim Mingyu get under your skin,” he said, tone measured. “He distracts you.”
You bristled. “He doesn’t distract me.” His eyebrow lifted, skepticism etched in every line of his face. She’s distracting me. Mingyu’s voice from the lab replayed in your head, and you flushed hot. Wonwoo’s jaw flexed. He leaned in closer, one hand braced on the chair arm beside you, lowering his voice.
“Then why are you blushing now?” Your breath caught.
For a long, unbearable moment, the only sound was your pulse pounding in your ears. His eyes lingered on your lips, your throat, back up to your eyes — before he suddenly straightened, dragging in a sharp breath.
“Review the chart again,” he said curtly, stepping back. His voice was steady, but his hand curled tight into a fist at his side. You bent over the page, scribbling nonsense just to hide your shaking hands.
This is wrong.
Wonwoo knew it the moment he leaned down, the moment her scent hit him, warm and distracting in a way no student ever should be. The way her voice caught. The way her pulse jumped in her throat when he challenged her.
He should’ve stepped back immediately. Should’ve drawn the line.
But her lips had parted like she was about to say something else — something dangerous — and for one terrifying, exhilarating second, he wanted to hear it. He forced himself to breathe, to pull away, to pretend like his body wasn’t wound tight with restraint.
This can’t happen, he told himself. Not with her. Not with any of my students.
And yet, when she left his office that evening, the image of her flushed face haunted him long.
—
The cafeteria was loud that afternoon, chatter echoing between the steel counters and clatter of trays. But you barely heard any of it, staring down at your untouched food, replaying the moment in Wonwoo’s office like a broken tape.
“Are you sick or just dramatically fasting?” Seokmin’s voice jolted you back to reality. He dropped his tray beside yours with his usual sunshine grin, already digging into his rice. You forced a laugh. “Neither.”
He squinted at you, leaning his chin on his hand. “You’re acting weird, Y/N. Don’t tell me Kim Mingyu’s finally gotten under your skin. The guy doesn’t shut up about how smarty-pants he is” You rolled your eyes. “It’s not about him”
“Mm-hm.” Seokmin dragged out the sound, clearly not convinced. “Then why did you nearly stab your notebook with your pen during lecture? And why do you look like someone just stole your favourite chair?” Heat crept up your neck. If only he knew. Not Mingyu. Not really.
You picked at your food, hoping he’d drop it, but of course Seokmin didn’t. “Hey, you know I don’t mind your competition thing with Mingyu. It’s fun watching you two bicker like an old married couple.” You choked on air. “We are not-” “I said like,” he cut in, grinning. “Relax. I’m just saying, maybe you’re too focused on proving yourself against him. You’re burning yourself out.”
The words hit a little too close. Seokmin thought it was about Mingyu. He couldn’t possibly know it was about the way Professor Jeon leaned in too close, the way his voice had dropped, the way your pulse had betrayed you. “I’ll be fine,” you said, quieter than intended.
Seokmin studied you for a second, his easy smile softening. Then he reached over and stole one of your fries. “Good. But seriously, if you pass out mid-class, I’m not carrying you. I’ll just tell our Professors you donated your body to science early.”
“Seokmin!” He cackled, and despite yourself, you laughed too. But when his voice blended back into the cafeteria noise, your mind slipped away again. To a pair of glasses catching the light. To a voice that still echoed in your head.
You’d like to believe you were good at ignoring distractions. It’s what got you this far, after all, top two in the program, unyielding in your focus, sharp enough to match Kim Mingyu blow for blow when it came to grades. But Professor Jeon Wonwoo was proving to be a distraction of an entirely different kind.
His class was supposed to be simple: absorb, study, ace. Instead, every lecture seemed to turn into a battlefield against your own impulses. The way he leaned against the desk with rolled-up sleeves, veins mapped across his forearms as he gestured toward the skeletal model. The way his voice dipped low when he explained muscle groups, like a secret meant for you alone. The way his eyes sometimes — just sometimes — lingered too long when you answered correctly.
Today was no different.
“Good,” Wonwoo said as you closed your notebook after reciting the correct origin and insertion of a muscle group he’d thrown at you without warning. There was the slightest tug at the corner of his mouth, something that could almost be called a smile if it weren’t so restrained.
“Thank you, professor,” you replied, trying not to sound breathless when really, the heat at the back of your neck betrayed you. You didn’t catch it, but Wonwoo did: the way your throat bobbed when you swallowed, the way your hands fidgeted with your pen as if to tether yourself to composure.
Control yourself, he told himself sternly, masking it behind the click of his pen as he moved to the next student. She’s your student. That’s the line. And yet his gaze kept pulling back to you like iron filings to a magnet.
The class ended, and Mingyu was quick to stride up beside you, all tall limbs and irritating charm. “Going for the top one this semester too, Y/N?” His smirk was all teeth, sharp and provoking. “As if you’ll give me a chance,” you shot back. It was familiar banter you’d grown accustomed to.
But the weight of another gaze trailed after you as you slung your bag over your shoulder and left the room. Wonwoo’s.
—
That was how you ended up here. Alone.
You’d forgotten a folder in the classroom and when you slipped back inside, the room was already dark except for the pale wash of the desk lamp over his notes. Wonwoo didn’t look surprised to see you; if anything, he looked expectant. “You left something?” His voice was quiet, low.
“Yeah,” you muttered, crossing the rows to your desk. You grabbed the folder, hugged it to your chest. You should have left. You really, really should have left. Instead, you hovered. “Professor.. do you ever get tired of holding back?”
It slipped out before you could stop it. Maybe you meant academically. Maybe you didn’t. Wonwoo set his pen down with deliberate care, fingers folding together as he leaned back in his chair. For a long moment, silence thickened between you, the kind that thrummed in your chest and made your knees weak.
“Y/N,” he said finally, your name almost a warning, almost a plea. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” “Don’t I?” you whispered.
Her eyes pinned Wonwoo in place. Wide, daring, a little reckless. He saw that look before, in competitions, in the rare students who wanted to test how far they could go. But this wasn’t about academics. This was hunger, simmering at the edge of propriety.
He should have shut it down. He should have told her to leave. Instead, Wonwoo stood.
The space between you dissolved in two strides. His hand caught your wrist, not rough, but enough to stop you from retreating. Your breath caught, heart ricocheting against your ribs. “This is dangerous,” he murmured. “Then stop,” you challenged.
But he didn’t.
His mouth found yours with a restraint so frayed it hurt. You gasped against him, folder slipping from your arms and thudding to the floor as his other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face just right so he could drink from you deeper. The taste of him was maddening — clean, warm, edged with the faint bitterness of coffee.
Your back met the desk before you realised he’d walked you there. Papers scattered, pens clattered to the floor, but neither of you cared. His hands framed your waist, not wandering yet, but holding you there like he was terrified you might vanish if he let go. “Say it,” he rasped against your lips. “Say you want this.”
“I want this,” you breathed, nails curling into the fabric of his shirt. “I want you.”
—
Clothes were tugged, shifted, discarded in messy haste. The cool air of the classroom prickled your skin as he lifted you onto the desk, pushing your skirt higher, pressing his hips between your thighs like it was the only place he belonged.
His mouth broke from yours only long enough to trail down the line of your throat, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, as though he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or ruin you. “Wonwoo-” your voice hitched as his hand slid down, knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh.
He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck. You’re wet” He cut himself off, forehead pressing against yours as if grounding himself. “I really shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, almost too low to hear, fishing into his bag like a man possessed.”Shouldn’t but you could..” A foil packet glinted in the lamplight in his hands.
Then he was back, pressing against you, sheathed now, heavy and hot where you ached most. “Last chance,” he warned, though his hands trembled against your waist.
“Don’t stop,” you begged.
—
When he finally pushed into you, the air tore from your lungs. It was too much and not enough all at once, the stretch making your nails claw at his shoulders through his shirt. Wonwoo’s jaw clenched, a groan dragged from deep in his chest as he buried himself to you.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he cursed, voice breaking. “You feel- god, you feel so good.”
He set a rhythm, measured at first, controlled, like every other aspect of him. But the more you moaned his name, the more your legs trembled around his waist, the more his restraint disappear. His hips slammed harder, his breath grew ragged against your ear.
Every thrust rattled the desk beneath you, papers crumpling under your grip. Every snap of his hips pulled broken moans from your throat, the kind you’d never let anyone else hear. “You drive me insane,” Wonwoo ground out, teeth scraping your shoulder. “Do you know how hard I’ve tried.. how long have I held back?” You kissed him desperately, swallowing his groans, answering with your own: “Then don’t hold back anymore.”
That was it.. the last thread snapping.
Her words unmade him. Every ounce of discipline Wonwoo built, every wall, every reminder that she was off-limits, it all crumbled. She was beneath him, around him, clinging to him like he was the only man in the world, and for once, he let himself believe it.
“Shit Y/N” Wonwoo’s voice cracked as he pound into her, faster now, lost in the heat, in the way she clenched around him like she never wanted to let go.
He was done for. And he didn’t care.
—
Your release tore through you with a cry, body arching into him, nails dragging down his back as you shattered. He followed right after, groaning your name like a prayer, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom. The silence after was deafening. Only your gasps filled the air, the lamp still burning over the mess of notes and papers.
Wonwoo braced himself on his forearms, forehead resting against yours. His breath shook. “This never happened,” he whispered, though his lips brushed yours like he couldn’t stop. But the way his eyes softened, the way his hand lingered at your cheek, said the opposite.
This had happened.
And it was only the beginning.
Seokmin had to drag you out of your dorm. Literally. “Y/N, come on,” he groaned, tugging at your wrist while you clutched your review notes like a lifeline. “It’s Chan’s birthday. The man only turns 21 once.” “I have readings,” you protested weakly, heels digging into the hallway floor.
“You also have eye bags deeper than the Mariana Trench,” he shot back, giving you one of his grins. “Besides, it’s not just our block. Everyone’s going. Business people, engineering people, even some from other unis. You need to socialise for once in your life.”
You gave him your sharpest glare. “I socialise.” Seokmin raised an eyebrow. “With cadavers?” That earned him a smack to the arm, but you didn’t resist when he tugged you toward the waiting Grab outside.
—
The ‘party’ turned out to be less of a party, more chaotic house invasion. Chan’s rooftop space throbbed with bass, neon lights flickered across sweaty bodies, and the air was thick with a mix of cheap vodka and perfume. You’d barely stepped in before someone shoved a red cup into your hand.
“Y/N!” Chan himself appeared, flushed and grinning, arms thrown wide. “You came!” “Against my will,” you muttered, but he just laughed and pulled you into a hug that reeked of tequila. Seokmin had already melted into the crowd, chatting with practically everyone in sight. That left you by the drink table, scanning the room, when your stomach dropped.
Kim Mingyu.
Of course he was here. Tall, unfairly handsome even under neon lights, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make you furious. And worse — he wasn’t alone.
Some girl from another department was pressed against him, his mouth hot on hers, their bodies flush like they’d done this a hundred times. The sight shouldn’t have burned. But it did. You looked away so fast you almost spilled your drink. “Rough view, huh?” a voice said beside you.
You turned to see someone else from your block — Minghao, grinning knowingly as he leaned against the table. “Don’t take it personally. Mingyu flirts with everything that breathes.” “I don’t care,” you lied instantly.
Minghao’s grin widened. “Sure.” He lifted his cup in salute before disappearing back into the crowd. You drained half your drink in one gulp.
Somewhere between Chan trying to dance on a table and Seungkwan shoving karaoke mics into people’s hands, you found yourself loosening up. Laughing even. Your cheeks warm with alcohol and neon light. But every time you caught sight of Mingyu across the room — talking to people in a very flirtatious way — you felt that same sting.
And worse: every time you blinked, you remembered Wonwoo’s mouth on yours, the way his voice broke when he moaned your name. Between the two, you didn’t know which distraction was going to ruin you first.
—
The thing about parties was that Mingyu knew exactly how to play them. Smile easy. Laugh loud. Let the girls or guys line up, let the drinks keep flowing. He didn’t have to think too hard when someone leaned in for a kiss — muscle memory at this point. But tonight, something tugged at him. He felt it the moment she walked in.
Y/N. Dragged in by Seokmin, looking like she’d rather dissect another cadaver than stand under neon lights. Still, even in the chaos — the music, the bodies, the heat — Mingyu’s gaze locked on her like gravity.
She looked different here. Out of place, sure, but also, soft. The harsh focus she always wore in the lab was gone, replaced with wide eyes scanning the crowd, lips pressed in irritation as she clutched her drink. Mingyu’s mouth curved automatically. Even pissed off, she made his chest do that annoying thing.
He kissed the girl in front of him harder, just to shut it up. But when he opened his eyes mid-kiss, they betrayed him — sliding past the girl’s face, straight to Y/N by the drink table. She was staring. Just for a second. And then she looked away so fast he almost laughed.
He should’ve turned back to the girl, should’ve drowned himself in distraction, but he couldn’t stop stealing glances. Every time Y/N shifted, every time her hair caught the neon glow, his focus wavered.
You tried to focus on the textbook, tried to make your pen move along the lines of notes you were supposed to take, but your thoughts betrayed you. Every time Wonwoo passed by the desk, even just to adjust a projector or collect some papers, your chest clenched. It wasn’t just attraction, it was that mix of danger and fascination that made your stomach twist in knots.
He leaned over slightly to adjust the angle of your screen, and you caught a whiff of his perfume — something warm and musky that made your knees weaken without warning. Your eyes flicked to his, catching the way his jaw tensed, the way his dark eyes softened just a fraction when they landed on you. You swallowed hard, realising just how aware he was of your attention.
You shook your head subtly, trying to shove the thoughts away. The memory in the lecture room a week ago. He’s your professor, keep it professional. But the way he hovered near you, the way his fingers brushed against yours when handing over a pen or a sheet of paper.. it wasn’t accidental. You were painfully aware of it. Every movement he made seemed designed to drive you closer to the edge of something you weren’t ready to name.
You tried to focus on the notes again, but your pen felt heavy in your hand. Your body hummed with tension, a subtle heat pooling between your thighs that you couldn’t ignore. And all the while, Wonwoo’s gaze followed you. Not leering , not entirely, but there was something there, something that told you he was aware of what he was doing to you, and perhaps, what you were doing to him.
He straightened, moving back to the front of the classroom, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe. But the look he gave you as he passed — slow, deliberate, lingering — was enough to make you ache. He’s playing with me, you thought, the frustration coiling in your stomach. And you’re letting him.
By the end of the lecture, your notes were half-finished. Your mind was full of flashes of him, how his shirt clung to his shoulders, his necktie and glasses, the subtle way he crossed his legs, the low tone of his voice when he corrected another student. You wanted to tell yourself it was harmless. You wanted to tell yourself that this was just tension, just something passing. But you knew it wasn’t.
—
Mingyu watched from the other side of the room, pretending to focus on the lecture notes that seemed to blur together. But his attention wasn’t on the words, it never had been. It was on you. Always on you.
He noticed how your fingers lingered on your pen, how your eyes darted up to Wonwoo every few seconds. And he noticed Wonwoo noticing. The way the professor leaned slightly closer when explaining something to you, the way his gaze softened, even when he tried to hide it. Mingyu felt a sharp pang of something he didn’t quite want to name.
He leaned back in his chair, keeping his voice low as he muttered notes to himself. He couldn’t let Wonwoo see the way he was burning up inside. Not here, not now. But the sight of you like this — so aware of every subtle touch, so caught in the pull between them — made Mingyu’s body tense. He could imagine what it would be like to step closer, to take you from both the tension and the restraint that seemed to suffocate you.
And he would. Soon. He would make sure you knew, make sure you felt what he was feeling. Mingyu let his eyes trace the curve of your jaw, the gentle slope of your neck, and the way your hair fell perfectly against your shoulders. His fingers itched to touch you, to prove that he wasn’t just watching, that he wasn’t going to stay silent while Wonwoo toyed with your attention.
You’re mine, he thought quietly, his chest tightening. And he doesn’t even know it yet.
Mingyu shifted slightly in his seat, pretending to adjust his notebook, but his gaze never left you. Every small laugh, every subtle sigh, every glance at Wonwoo only stoked the fire inside him. The professor may have the control, the authority, the deliberate composure — but Mingyu had patience, and he had desire. And he was counting down the moments until the lecture ended, until he could have you to himself, even if it was only in his mind for now.
The tension between the three of you crackled like static electricity, silent yet screaming in the back of Mingyu’s head. He didn’t need to see what was going to happen next to know that when it did, nothing would be the same.
—
It didn’t happen all at once. At least, that’s what Wonwoo kept telling himself. It wasn’t the first day of class, when he stood at the front of the lecture hall, glasses reflecting the light while he rattled off-course expectations. He barely glanced at students then — just names, faces, scattered impressions.
But then there was you.
You were sharp. Too sharp, maybe. The way you answered his questions with barely a pause, the way your pen scrawled across the page like you were racing against time. He should’ve filed it away under top student material. That was all it was supposed to be.
And then came the lab. The first time he saw you standing beside Kim Mingyu, shoulders tense, chin lifted like you had something to prove — that was when the first crack in his composure formed. It wasn’t just how you sparred with Mingyu, not just how you refused to be overshadowed. It was the fire in your eyes. Determined. Stubborn. Alive.
That look had nothing to do with the course he teaches. And everything to do with the kind of hunger Wonwoo had spent years teaching himself to silence.
He told himself it was admiration for your discipline. He told himself it was frustration at your recklessness. He told himself a lot of things. But the truth slipped in moments he couldn’t control.
Like when your hand brushed his as you passed a paper forward, and his pulse kicked up, traitorous. Like when you stumbled on a complex term, lips parting, and he wanted to trace the sound of it straight from your mouth. Like when you furrowed your brows in concentration, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and he imagined — for just one fractured second — what it might taste like.
He tried to rationalise it. Tried to bury it. Students came and went every semester. This was just another test of restraint. But restraint was never harder than when he caught you looking back.
The first time your gaze lingered too long after answering correctly, his chest tightened in a way he couldn’t disguise. He adjusted his glasses, lowered his tone, anything to redirect — but the damage was done. You saw him. Not the professor. Not the untouchable authority figure. Him.
And once that happened, he couldn’t unfeel it.
It wasn’t sudden. It was worse than that. It was gradual, inevitable — a slow suffocation. Every day you walked into his lecture hall, Wonwoo felt it tighten around him. Every laugh you tried to hold back, every flush on your cheeks, every defiant challenge against Mingyu, it all pulled him deeper.
And now, he knew. This wasn’t admiration. It wasn't a curiosity. It was a want. A need. Raw. Unforgiving. Dangerous. And the most terrifying part was how much he didn’t want to stop it anymore.
The late afternoon sun filtered weakly through the blinds of Professor Jeon Wonwoo’s office. His desk was neat, papers stacked in precise piles. But the stillness broke with his voice.
Y/N. I need you to go to my office. The words replayed in your mind as you stood before him now, heat crawling up your neck. You knew it wasn’t about grades, not with the way he was looking at you, that quiet hunger in his dark eyes behind thin-rimmed glasses.
Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, legs crossed casually, arms resting on the armrest. He looked every inch the professor — until he uncrossed his legs, stood, and closed the door with a deliberate click. The silence felt thick, charged. You swallowed hard.
“Professor, I-” “Take it off.” His voice was firm, leaving no space for argument. “Wonwoo..” He stepped closer, towering over you, eyes narrowing slightly. “No. Not today. I’m your professor. Show some respect.” His breath brushed against your ear, making your knees tremble.
Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of your blouse, the crisp fabric falling away from your shoulders as he watched, unblinking. When it hit the floor, his lips finally touched yours — hungry, claiming, his hand sliding behind your neck to pull you in deeper. His glasses pressed against your cheek for a moment before he broke the kiss, slipping them off with one hand, setting them aside on his desk. The moment he removed them, his gaze turned darker, less restrained.
“Fuck, you look so beautiful undone for me,” he murmured, his hands roaming your waist, tugging your skirt up. He pushed you back until you were against his desk, lips trailing down your throat, biting just enough to make you gasp. “Professor..” your voice broke into a whimper, thighs already parting for him.
His mouth curved in a smirk as he sank to his knees, sliding your panties down and tossing them carelessly aside. The first drag of his tongue across your folds made your head tip back, a shaky moan escaping before you could stop it. “Taste so sweet” he muttered against you, his deep voice vibrating against your clit. “Your body’s betraying how much you want me.”
Your hands grabbed at the desk’s edge, knuckles white as he licked deeper, sucking your clit until your legs shook. “Ah- Professor, please” Wonwoo looked up, mouth glistening. “Don’t hide your moans. I want to hear who’s making you feel good.” Then his lips sealed back around you, devouring you like a lesson he intended to master.
Your cries filled the office, high-pitched and desperate, until your orgasm crashed through you, thighs trembling around his head. He licked you through it, only stopping when you slumped weakly against the desk.
But there was no rest. Wonwoo stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glinting. He unzipped his slacks, pulling himself free, thick and hard, precum glistening at the tip. “On your knees.”
You obeyed instantly, sinking to the floor, fingers wrapping around him. He was heavy in your hand, the scent of him dizzying. Opening your mouth, you took him in slowly, tongue swirling around the head. “Good girl,” he rasped, his hand sliding into your hair, guiding your pace. Each thrust hit deeper until your throat spasmed, tears pricking your eyes. Spit dribbled down your chin, soaking your chest.
“Fuck” Wonwoo groaned, head tipping back. But then, his gaze flicked up — past your head, toward the slightly ajar door. A slow, deliberate smirk curved his lips. “Looks like your rival wants to join.” Your brows knitted, confused, until you turned slightly and your stomach dropped.
Kim Mingyu stood at the doorway, frozen. His eyes blazed with jealousy as he stared at you on your knees, Wonwoo’s cock sliding between your lips. “Mingyu,” Wonwoo called smoothly, still fucking your mouth. He locked eyes with him. “Don’t just stand there. Come in.”
Mingyu’s jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. But the jealousy twisting in his chest was poisoned with temptation. With a curse under his breath, he stepped in, closing the door behind him.
You moaned around Wonwoo’s cock as Mingyu approached, towering over you. His arousal was obvious, straining against his pants. Wonwoo chuckled darkly. “Jealous, aren’t you?” Mingyu’s glare didn’t waver. “Move over, Wonwoo. She’s not just yours.”
A thrill of fear and heat shot through you. Your body was already trembling when Mingyu unbuckled his belt, pulling himself free. He was just as hard, precum beading at the tip. Wonwoo’s longer but Mingyu’s thicker. Wonwoo pulled out of your mouth, stroking himself leisurely as he watched. “Open up, pretty”
You whimpered, overwhelmed, but parted your lips anyway as Mingyu pressed his cock against them. “You can take us both, right, you slut?” Mingyu growled, pushing in. His hand gripped your hair tight as you gagged, tears streaming down your cheeks.
Wonwoo stepped behind you, pushing your skirt up and bending you over the desk. The stretch of his cock pushing inside made you cry out around Mingyu’s length, your throat stuffed full. “Look at that,” Wonwoo groaned, thrusting deep. “Two of us using you and you’re dripping. Your body was made for this.”
Mingyu hissed, hips slamming forward as he fucked your mouth, spit and precum spilling down your chin. “She feels so fucking good. What a tight little throat you have.”
You were crying now, eyes wet, but the arousal flooding your body only grew. The pain blurred into pleasure. Wonwoo leaned over you, his voice rough in your ear. “Pay attention, Y/N. This is AnaPhy in action. Two lengths stretching you, blood rushing, hormones flooding your brain. That wetness? Arousal response. Your body is begging for more.”
“Stop talking.. fuck!” Mingyu groaned, tugging your hair back so he could watch your tear-streaked face. Wonwoo smirked against your skin. “Don’t tell me you’re not learning, too, Mr. Kim.” Mingyu’s only answer was a rough thrust into your throat, making you gag around him.
The desk shook beneath you as Wonwoo’s pace grew harsher, fucking you deep, while Mingyu used your mouth mercilessly. Your body burned, stretched and filled, pleasure overwhelming. When Wonwoo slowed, his grip bruising your hips, his next words made you choke. “You can take us both in one hole, can’t you?”
Mingyu pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, chest heaving. “Fuck yes. Let’s ruin her together.” Wonwoo sat down and lifted you onto his lap, spreading your trembling thighs wide. Mingyu positioned himself at your back, his cock pressing against your entrance alongside Wonwoo’s.
“No, it won’t fit-” you whimpered, panicked and aroused, but they didn’t let you finish. “Shh,” Wonwoo soothed, kissing your temple even as he smirked. “You’ll stretch. You can handle us. Breathe, pretty.” “Relax for us,” Mingyu added, voice rough.
The first push was agony — two cocks forcing their way in at once. You cried out, tears spilling, nails clawing at the desk. “Shit- she’s so tight,” Mingyu cursed, sweat beading his forehead. “Are you okay?” Mingyu caressed your face, Wonwoo gritted his teeth, groaning as he pushed deeper. “She’s taking us so well, look at that. Our slut’s perfect body stretches to fit two cocks.”
The pain melted slowly, replaced by blinding pleasure as they began to move, thrusting in tandem, filling you completely. Your screams echoed off the walls, mixed with their groans. “Professor-ahh, please, I can’t”
“You can,” Wonwoo groaned, slamming deeper. “You’ll take every inch.” “You love this, don’t you?” Mingyu panted, kissing your jaw roughly. “Being used by both of us.” Your only answer was a broken sob of pleasure as your orgasm ripped through you, body convulsing violently. “you’re squeezing so hard,” Mingyu groaned.
Wonwoo’s pace grew erratic, his voice strained. His words broke off into a guttural groan. Mingyu cursed, slamming into you harder. “I’m gonna come” Wonwoo leaned down, biting your shoulder, and with one final thrust, you felt both men release inside you, hot and deep, their groans filling the office as your body clenched them desperately.
The world spun, your body trembling, tears streaking your face, cum dripping down your thighs when they finally pulled out. Mingyu collapsed back on the couch, chest heaving. Wonwoo tucked himself back in, adjusting his shirt, his composure returning almost eerily fast.
But when his eyes met Mingyu’s, there was no surprise — just familiarity. An unspoken understanding lingered between them. As you struggled to steady your breathing, the realisation struck you: this wasn’t just about you. There was something deeper threading between the two, something hidden that you hadn’t unraveled yet. And whatever it was, you were caught in the middle, whether you wanted to be or not.
𝐀/𝐍 ➙ hope you enjoyed that one 😋 this entire tumblr thing is making me dizzy btw. reblogs and likes are appreciated a lot, thank you for reading!!
