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"There's a difference between achieving a goal fast and being good actually good at something."

i absolutely loved how jisung reassured her insecurities here and how perfect a reminder that is overall. even though people like to read for other reasons, i really enjoy seeing you incorporate struggles alongside of what people actually can feel. which is what I love about your works!! it makes it feel more human if that makes sense. and feel super validated as we read,

absolutely love this work and ofc our professor minho, thank you for writing amazing works and to know this was ur first fic?? wowwww the talent 😭 i did read the first one too and I absolutely loved it so this was equally just as good too!! we got to see the flith in his mind atleast 🤭🧡🧡

EASY [reloaded] — (18+!)

"This all reminds me of our time together back then, you know.”

“What time together?”

“Ah, you know. When we used to compete in each class, you were always trying to be better than me.” He pauses. “Unsuccessfully.”

🌋 SYNOPSIS: Minho and you have been enemies since you've been studying together, so it's not surprising that he's a little amused once he realises, you're one of his students in the first class he will be teaching. Until he realises there might be more than just rivalry that makes him think about you constantly...

📙 CONTENT INFO: minho x afab reader, enemies to lovers, enemy minho, professor minho, college student reader, smut with a lot of plot basically, they are the same age but he graduated earlier, minho is a little mean in this one but it’s his insecurities, a few random facts about rocks because reader is geology student, this is part of a series but can be read as a standalone

🧡 CONTENT WARNING: insecurities especially about intelligence and academic success, mention of mental health issues but nothing specified, jealousy, reader is wearing a skirt, smut warnings under the cut

🪨 WORD COUNT: 10.0K (I apologise)

🔥 SMUT: dom/sub dynamics, fingering, unprotected piv, sir kink, brat/brat tamer kink, praise, degrading, one kiss happens while they are drunk but nothing more, name calling (doll, baby, good girl)

You’ve never been the best at sticking to regular plans—instead always trying to achieve things your own way.

No matter if it’s dumping recipes and switching out ingredients when making a five star meal, copying choreographies of your favourite songs and adding little twists (quite literally) or following building instructions on all the items and furniture you’ve purchased from IKEA. Although, when it comes to the latter it hasn’t always been intended. Those guidelines are the worst.

The same has counted for studying since the beginning of your educational career path.

Geology has always been your thing. Your niche. The subject that keeps you going but sometimes—or rather often—mental health comes in the way and blocks this path, the rocks—pun intended—a real hindrance that make your feet hurt when stumbling over them once again but you will keep going anyway.

At your own pace, though.

The prettiest crystals didn’t form overnight. They needed many millions of years, great transformation at the right temperature and pressure and it seems as if you haven’t been able to cope with that high amount of pressure over the past years.

It’s no big deal. You’re privileged enough, luckily, that both your family and a part-time job are helping you financially and the college you are studying at doesn't demand expensive fees either.

However, with the possibility of adding another ‘I-will-just-do-this-class-next-semester’ and a few more of ‘oh-I-can-take-the-exam-the-following-summer’ you have become a little lightheaded and even lazier.

You aren’t actually lazy by any means. You just struggle with the way university and the curriculum is constipated. Educational freedom is important but deep down you’re craving someone to lead the way for you. Even though you would never ever admit that.

Nevertheless, you find yourself in front of your computer. The unattended matcha latte next to your bed gets watery from the ice cubes melting due to the warm temperature the heater provides in your dorm.

Your gaze is fixated on the bright screen in front of you, eyes glassy from the overstimulation of the neon lights. God. Whoever designed your college’s website needs to be fired. Immediately.

Once you have managed to find the course you are looking for which took you an embarrassingly long time—but again, that website is straight from hell—you search for the button that will make you join the class.

But you hold your breath for a second when your eyes roam over the professor’s name that sounds a little too familiar for your liking.

Lee Minho, M. Sc.

The Lee Minho, who started studying with you some years ago?

Nah. It can’t be. That’s impossible and too fast even for an overachiever like him. Besides that, it is a very common combination of names and could be anyone.

Anyway—it doesn’t matter. You have to take that class now. You can’t add yet another semester because there is a slight chance to almost zero that it could be your former college rival.

So, you press the dark blue button, type in a TAN-code that is required and hit send.

🌋

You wake up… utterly wasted.

Caused by an impulsive thought, triggered by your self-pity due to overthinking your whole life—a regular hobby of yours especially after evening hours—you emptied a bottle of white wine in one sitting after organising your time table.

Luckily, you got an email that your applications for all the classes were successful—opposite to your ability to wake up on time for once.

You grab the first sweater that crosses your vision and the baggy jeans that are laying on the chair a.k.a the ‘worn-but-not-dirty-enough-to-spend-half-your-income-at-the-laundromat’-chair. A half-empty bottle of calcareous tap water and an apple will work as your wannabe fancy breakfast until you decide to make an excursion to your favourite coffee shop nonetheless. You’re already too late anyway.

Only five minutes after the class has started, you enter the crowded room, occupying the last spot. To your demise, you soon realise that you may have forgotten about one tiny, maybe important detail. Your stupid study appliances. When you turn your head around in order to get a better view of the other students, you soon get aware that you don’t know even a single soul in here. It does make sense though, since they are all very much younger than you are.

You quickly create a faux notebook from a few crumpled pieces of paper and as you reach at the bottom of your backpack, you find a functioning pen in the process. Just when you’re about to move your head back up from under the table—almost letting your forehead collide with the thick wooden material—the door of the classroom opens, revealing the professor.

No.

This can’t be.

This is impossible.

It can’t actually be him.

As it seems, none of your drunk prayers last night have helped.

The brunette immediately spots you due to you sitting in the front row and you regret getting late to class now.

Fuck.

Hoping no one—and especially not the professor—notices, you bury your face in the palms of your hands and concentrate on pretending you're scribbling some words on your makeshift notebook. In the meantime, he grabs a pen from the little drawer of his desk and takes his time to write down broad, beautiful letters on the whiteboard.

Lee Minho, M. Sc.

It is in fact him.

The guy who started college with you many years ago. The guy you used to compete with in every class you were in. The guy who sucked even the last piece of sanity out of your body whenever he opened his mouth in order to annoy you just for the fun of it.

God, how you did not miss him.

You were actually convinced he started teaching at some other university after his graduation. At least that’s what Seungmin told you and Seungmin always knows everything considering he is the reincarnation of Gossip Girl. But it seems as if your best friend wasn’t aware of that tiny detail or Minho simply spontaneously changed jobs.

Probably just to annoy the shit out of you once again. Yes, this is as delusional as it gets. This is what years of rivalry do to you.

You’re awakened by your daydreams when Minho turns around again, finding your hidden face in an instant. He chuckles to himself, the infamous mischevious smirk decorating his pretty face.

And that’s the thing. While Minho is the most annoying, pretentious and overall exhausting human being—you cannot ignore the fact that you are attracted to him. Well. It’s hard not to be—whoever does not find him incredibly hot is lying.

“Ms Y/L/N.”

You swear you heard your name in the distance and once you feel dozens of pairs of eyes glued to your body, you get aware that it was the professor calling you out.

Very much unprofessional, isn’t it?

“What is the difference between a granite and a basalt?”

The staring contest between all those other students and the back of your head doesn’t stop anytime soon and you are captured in between your own anxious thoughts developing into full panic mode and Minho’s evil gaze on your face that is heating up rapidly.

“I don’t know, sorry,” you admit, still very much successfully avoiding his eyes.

However, you don’t miss how he raises an eyebrow and steps closer to the table you are sitting at. His hand brushes over the wooden surface, his view sticks to the doodling on your crinkly paper, as Minho suppresses a judgemental look. Not surprising you’re still not finished with your studies when you’re already losing focus during attendance.

“This knowledge is mandatory in my class.”

His voice is louder now, as he is speaking to the whole group of students. Minho tilts his head towards you one last time, before he catches the blue-inked sketch between two of his fingers and crumbles it inside his palm.

“Everyone got the email with the information to already read the first chapter of Basic Knowledge of Volcanology for Beginners. You’re here to learn something so it’s up to you to do your own research and participate if you want to get that degree. I am getting paid anyway.”

He adds a chuckle at the end of his sentence and you can feel the atmosphere in the cramped room thickening, the anxiety of all the other students very much present.

Professor Lee Minho is exactly like you have always imagined him. Just like he used to be back then—but he upgraded in strictness and annoyance by one thousand and thirteen degrees, the pressure he puts on his students is ridiculously intense.

Everything after that is a full blur. Probably—or more definitely—a coping mechanism of your brain helping you drift away in your thoughts. Luckily, the earlier provocation was enough for Minho’s taste as he leaves you alone for the rest of the ongoing class, rather getting back to his long ass boring monologue.

God. This dude really enjoys listening to himself, doesn’t he?

But your illusion of protection does not last that long, when Minho asks you to stay after class.

It is a mystery to you how he doesn’t seem to realise how suspicious he is behaving. Of course, it’s not a crime to know your student or have a somewhat past with them but, in your opinion, it makes him seem so unprofessional. Which, on another note, gives you a little boost of confidence caused by your deep rooted malicious joy when it comes to Lee Minho.

“Y/N,” he doesn’t use your surname for the first time today, creating a much more casual atmosphere. “Nice to see you again.”

“I wish I could say the same,” you counter.

Your pen and the remains of your notes crash down your tote bag, hitting the apple and water bottle in the process.

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t this a class for first semester students?”

A dirty chuckle escapes his lips and you swear you can hear him click his tongue in the process.

“Yeah. What about it?”

He shakes his head. Pretentiously.

“Nah, nothing. But this means you’re more experienced than my other students. You should prepare better next time. This all reminds me of our time together back then, you know.”

“What time together?”

“Ah, you know. When we used to compete in each class, you were always trying to be better than me.” He pauses. “Unsuccessfully.”

“What do you want, Minho?”

“For you to not make a fool of yourself next week. Better be prepared, doll.”

With an emphasis on the pet name he grabs his stuff and leaves the classroom.

Fucking unprofessional.

But for some reason, he creates a sensation of excitement in your stomach, threatening to wander south if he doesn’t stop any time soon.

This semester will definitely not be easy.

🌋

As expected, the weeks pass by without a Monday of Minho not annoying the shit out of you. The primar anxiety subsided, especially once you start actually preparing for the classes. You’re not overworking yourself, basically just doing the bare minimum but it’s enough to not make a fool of yourself.

Professor Lee stays as unprofessional as ever—preferring to make you answer his question in class. Does he still not realise that this portrays the both of you in a… suspicious light?

Everyone seems to be aware. Except for the man himself.

During your obligatory lunch breaks with your best friend, Seungmin seems to catch up on the topic regularly. Why did you befriend him again?

“You must still have a crush on him or something.”

Again. Why did you befriend him?

Nowadays you regret telling Seungmin years ago that you used to have a slight crush on Minho. Your best friend told you to wake up from your enemies-to-lovers dream, reminding you of how bothersome and vexatious Minho really is.

“I don't,” you half-lie, “I’m just using this chance to get a good grade, okay?”

Seungmin stirs around in his food, the fried rice on his spoon falling into the bowl again.

“Sure, dude.”

You roll your eyes at his words, deciding to not bother with it anymore. This is so not true. You have developed a liking in volcanology because you’ve realised it’s actually interesting after digging deeper into the material of the course. It is definitely not because Minho has achieved exactly what he has been on about—getting a reaction out of you and, currently, making you his best student.

A win-win situation, isn’t it?

It could be, if your heart wasn’t pounding as much whenever he is walking through the entrance of the classroom, whenever you spot him on campus or whenever a notification gets sent to your phone, indicating you received an email from your professor. Although, it was sent to all the other thirty students too.

Ah, yes. We found the word we have been looking for!

Delusional. That’s what you have been these days. All because of stupid Lee Minho.

Seeing him at least once a week doesn’t make it any easier. But luckily, you’ve found a new friend in his class, a companion to suffer together. Even though he doesn’t know details about your background with Minho, Jisung shares the mutual feeling you have about the volcanology professor.

“Hey, Y/N, how are you?”

His smile enlightens the room, his cheeks are so squishable they boost your mood by one thousand and two hundred degrees in an instant. You’re glad the both of you are in this together.

“You forgot your homework again, Ji?” You ask him, reading through his hidden message covered in a kind gesture.

“What?! No! Never! Why would you– yeah, I did. Can you tell me what it was about?”

He makes you chuckle, your hand automatically traveling towards your face, covering the wrinkles around the corners of your mouth. Jisung adores the face you make whenever he achieves to let a laugh spill from your lips. Oh, your beautiful lips.

The younger boy would be lying if he said he hasn’t caught himself thinking about you as more than just a friend before. Sure, you’re only two years older but he just knows you would never think of him as more than just a funny classmate.

And besides that, even though most people in this room are convinced from quite the opposite, he doesn’t get the idea out of his head that there’s a weird, almost sexual tension between you and the professor. Maybe, that’s the reason he dislikes Mr Lee so much.

Jisung is torn out of his daydreaming—luckily you were so deeply absorbed by the scientific paper in front of you that you didn’t catch him ogling you from the side—when Minho enters the classroom. The atmosphere shifts faster than lightning speed, when he lets his heavy leather bag hit the desk in front of the whiteboard.

“So. I don’t have any time for any complaints or whatever’s on your mind, let’s just start with the lesson. We have lots to catch up on.”

He circles the wooden furniture with long steps, before he sinks down on the top of it, getting a better view of his students.

“Can someone summarise where we left off last week?”

Of course, everyone is exhaustingly avoiding eye contact with the professor now as if one’s life is depending on it. You do the same, even though you could have tattooed a ‘choose me’ on your forehead since Minho prefers to pick you anyway. Just to make fun of you, as always. Although it’s been some weeks, that dude seems to become more immature with each lesson he is teaching.

“Ms Y/L/N, could you please tell the class what we talked about last Monday.”

Panic. Your palms are getting sweaty, knees turning weak like jello in an instant when the sound of your name travels into your ears.

You don’t even get why you’re immediately turning into an anxious mess. That’s the effect he has on you. Thank you, Lee Minho.

But you take a deep breath nonetheless and try to let out a few words.

“Yes, uhm– last week we–“

When shifting your gaze up, you notice how Minho starts rolling his eyes, visibly annoyed by the way you’re speaking and not even managing to form one simple sentence.

“Talk a bit more unenthusiastically and I might wake up.”

What an asshole. Anxiety turns into extreme anger then. You’ve had enough of this. How dare he make you look like an absolute idiot in front of all these students?

Of course, you can already hear chuckling sounds erupting from behind you, cracking a little more of your almost non-existing self esteem.

It’s at this moment that you sense a shuffling beside you, dragging you out of your stage close to zoning out, snapping you back to reality. It’s Jisung, turning a little closer to you, his mouth right at your ear now.

“You can do this. You’re the smartest one in here.”

Desperately holding back a small giggle, you allow his kind words to give you a little confidence. As much as you need. In addition, he lays his hand on yours, squeezing it tight to reassure you a little more. Your posture is upright now and you’re ready to stand your ground.

You’ve got this, Y/N.

“That makes two of us, Mr Lee,” you begin then, still avoiding eye contact but your gaze wanders around in the room as if you are searching for the fucks to give.

“Where was I? Ah, right! The classification of pyroclastic rocks. We differentiate between blocks, lapilli and ash, considering the rock’s size. There are diverse types of deposition as well, for instance, we analysed pictures of two different ignimbrites, a solidified one, showing chemical zones, and a welded one, consisting of a coherent matrix made of ash. But the main topic of the previous lesson was learning what fallouts are.”

You can see Minho’s face scrunching, desperately trying to not snap because of your attitude but that’s what he gets for showing you up in front of everyone.

But he can withstand it.

Both the way you’re gaining confidence over the conversation and the fact you’re incredibly hot doing it–

Fuck. He really needs to focus now. Minho feels so unprofessional. And pathetic, letting his student win this passive aggressive argument.

It doesn’t help that he witnessed you holding hands with your classmate and if it was up to him, he would pull Jisung’s body away from yours and make him fail his class and all the following simply for touching you.

But he has to be professional.

“Could you elaborate on this as well?”

You nod, now fully back in the rhythm of defeating your arch enemy when it comes to academia. The adrenaline boost this gives you is beyond insane.

“Of course”, you go on, “fallouts are nothing more than the process of pyroclastic fractions falling out gravitationally, caused in case of the shrinking of the dynamic uplifting. Sometimes it’s possible that parts of the eruptive column of the volcano collapse, but we haven’t talked about that yet.”

Now you’re even adding the knowledge that he was supposed to teach to his class today. What goes around that comes around.

Y/N: 1; Minho: 0

But—even though he seems to forget it with every breath he takes—he can’t go all in with this little feud. There are thirty other people in here that aren’t paying college fees to see a professor fight some older student, when in reality he could take the anger out on you in a different way. A way that would be so easy if you would just let him.

Fuck, what Minho would do to bend you over his table whenever you talk back at him. Lift your short skirt up, spank your pretty ass whenever you disobey his rules. Stretch your tight little pussy with his fingers first, until you’re ready for his cock. Just to make you cum all over him again and again.

But that has to wait for now.

He has to stay professional, after all.

“Well done,” he says, “thanks for the transition to today’s topic.”

Just now you come to the realisation that your palms aren’t only uncomfortably sweaty, but one of them is still very much pressed against Jisung’s. When your friend sees you overthinking it, after you pull apart, he reassures you once again.

“Don’t worry, angel. I haven’t even noticed. But I’m very much fascinated by what a brainiac you are.”

You sink your head down, covering your shyness behind your hands, as you feel your face heat up. Still, you thank him and when Jisung looks at you like a little puppy taking care of his favourite human, you get all shy again.

Even though it’s hard for him—even harder than a certain body part whenever he thinks of you on a lonely night—Minho refrains from asking you more questions for the rest of the lesson. His ego is severely hurt, although he would never admit that.

It’s nothing new but with the heated conversation still lingering in the back of your head, you enter a spiral of overanalysing the looks the others gave you when you talked with the professor. From time to time, it even feels as if they are still staring, but somehow you manage to focus on your assigned task again.

For lunch, Jisung and you decide to take a quick break at the closest cafeteria on campus. Other kinds of science majors are usually busy around these early afternoon hours, so the both of you are lucky to quickly find a spacious table right at the window.

The weather is beautiful today, probably the highest temperature you have had this year so far and you're once again surprised, how a little glimpse of the sun shining through the clouds hypes up your mood by endless levels.

However, Jisung seems occupied in his head. As if there’s something bothering him, something crossing his mind that he doesn’t know how to explain to you. To encourage him, you ask him if there’s something wrong.

“N-No– it’s nothing. At least– definitely none of my business anyway, sorry.”

The duality this part-time brat carries is unbelievable. Jisung plays with you, pretending to not be interested—in whatever he wants to propose a question about—but you can see it in the look on his face, filled by the same amount of curiosity a child has when they accidentally find their birthday presents hiding in a big bag in the parent’s bedroom.

“Come on, ask me what you want.”

Jisung moves in his seat, now all of a sudden being showered with insecurity again. Almost as if he is thinking about something that shouldn’t be on his mind.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I could never,” you reassure him and that’s all your friend needs.

“I think I’m not the only one who has noticed the weird dynamic between the professor and you. Well– it makes me wonder if the two of you know each other–“

You sigh, unintentionally, and Jisung is fast to start apologising again but you stop him, as you lay your hand on his this time. The dark haired boy prays to God, that you don’t see the way he blushes, a pinkish curtain covering his squishy cheeks.

“I’ve already assumed that people talk. But it’s really nothing. We started university together some years ago and we used to attend the same classes and… kinda competed with each other all the time. He views it as a great success that he is my teacher now out of a sudden, you know, since we’re the same age and it probably gives him an enormous ego boost.”

Jisung attentively nods, as he tries to focus on your words instead of the way your skin is touching his, still.

“And to be honest,” you continue, “I am kinda intrigued by him. He’s often making me feel insecure about my skills and yeah– secretly I know that he’s the smarter one. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be teaching in the position he is in now.”

Jisung’s facial expression softens, before it gets filled with a little empathy, almost pity, until it turns into disappointment.

He squeezes your hand, to which you react, only now realising the both of you are still connected. But it’s comfortable. It always is with Jisung.

“Listen, Y/N,” his voice is a lot more serious now, “just because he finished university before you, doesn’t mean he’s smarter. There’s a difference between achieving a goal fast and being actually good at something.”

These are the words you needed. Sometimes your brain tricks you into thinking you’re not good enough, not strong enough, not talented enough. But that’s what good friends are for—picking you up again and bringing you back to reality.

Jisung senses that you’re feeling a little better now, although there is still something on your mind.

“Do you think… people could take the dynamic the wrong way?”

The boy in front of you shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know. I can only speak for myself. All I have noticed is that he puts a lot more pressure on you and I was afraid that he, maybe, might disadvantage you or something. That’s why I asked.”

That’s not the only reason he wanted to talk to you about this, but it’s neither the right place nor the right time to speak about what’s on his mind still.

🌋

You’re nine weeks into the semester and pretty much done with it, but your courses aren’t yet. seventeen more days until your final volcanology exam and then you will be a somewhat free student again.

To celebrate summer being right around the corner, you’re dragging Seungmin to the campus party tonight, glad that he could be convinced—after a thirty minute talk and after you promised to pay for all the drinks tonight since he then pretty quickly agreed to attend this booze-up.

Obviously, the campus is more crowded than usual since most college students value alcohol a lot higher than good grades and you spot a lot of familiar faces from the geology department and other science majors. You don’t know anyone personally, except for your best friend right by your side, so that’s why the two of you stick together like glue.

While Seungmin is busy buying drinks at a random temporary setup bar made out of tables from one of the classrooms—the beer being paid with your money of course—you look around a bit, until a girl crosses your vision.

She’s already approaching you and at a closer look you realise that she’s part of your volcanology class, too.

“Hey, Y/N, how are you?”

You can smell that Ryujin has probably had a few drinks already, but you don’t mind. She’s mostly been kind to you, although you haven’t interacted that much except for when you were assigned to do group projects together in class.

She pulls you into a quick hug but you allow her to and blame it on the alcohol.

“Are you here alone or waiting for a special someone?”

Ryujin is probably referring to the odd way you’re standing here, although her words are a little too straightforward for your liking. Fiddling with the pretty nephrite gemstone that is attached to your bracelet, you give her a confused look before you manage to reply.

“No, I’m waiting for my friend. He’s getting drinks for us.”

Ryujin, taking a sip from her own beer-lemonade mix, shoots a suggestive look in your direction.

“Oh, a male friend? Better be careful, I’ve spotted Mr Lee somewhere around here as well. Don’t tell him, he might get jealous.”

You can instantly feel your face heating up and you pray that she doesn’t notice the embarrassed look you are carrying now.

But, unfortunately, she does. And the fact you’re not capable of talking anything back, thickens the tension this conversation already has. She gets a little closer to you then, aligning her mouth right at your ear, as if she is afraid that someone is even remotely close to being able to understand a single syllable in this loud area.

“Am I wrong with my assumptions? I’m not the only one in class thinking the two of you are hooking up,” she whispers.

“Is he mean to you in bed, too? Is this what the both of you get off to? I’ve heard he’s pretty big, is that correct?”

God, why can’t she mind her own business? You really thought that Ryujin was nice but then again, you don’t know her that well and she’s pretty tipsy, maybe even drunk.

But once she realises that she won’t get an answer from you, she pulls you into a hug again—as you stand there paralysed—before saying goodbye to you.

“Anyway, it was nice to see you, Y/N. Let’s talk again some time.”

🌋

Three beers later and a few hours into the night, Seungmin and you decide to take part in a campus beer pong battle. After all you’re an experienced team when it comes to this game, having developed the best strategies over the last years in college and before.

So, it’s not a surprise you are convinced you can keep up with anyone and so far your high success rate proves exactly this. After defeating everyone in your group, you’ve made it to the finale, now destined to play against the other winners.

“The usual strategy?” Your best friend asks then, casually pinching the white ball between his thumb and index finger.

You nod at him, as you take the last sip out of your plastic cup—you’ve switched from beer to beer mixed with lemonade an hour ago, driven by excitement to win this game. Sure, getting shitfaced is the point of both beer pong and a campus party, but Seungmin and you are too destined to win.

“Oh, nice to see you here.”

The voice is familiar. A little too familiar for your liking.

And once your head snaps up, you’re greeted with a tipsy Minho, standing at the other side of the table. Next to him, is a guy quite the same height but a little more buff then your professor. His blonde curls hide his forehead mostly and he looks just as ambitious as all the other contestants.

Minho walks around the table now, standing right in front of Seungmin.

“I think I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Minho. Y/N and I used to study together.”

Seungmin pretends that the name isn’t familiar to him. After all, your best friend is the only one that knows you have a little crush on the professor that gets on your last nerve. But Seungmin is a good friend and plays it cool, as he tells the other man his own name.

After both teams fill the cups with enough liquid, the game starts and Minho really wants to be attentive and give his best. He really does.

But, unfortunately, all he can focus on is the interaction between your best friend and you. It’s very innocent—it always is. Seungmin and you have been best friends your whole life, practically like siblings, there is not a single thing for you that puts him in a romantic or sexual light and he shares the same opinion about you.

Of course, Minho doesn’t know about that part. For him, Seungmin is just some guy that you are playing beer pong with, that you hug whenever you score a trick-shot and that you’re pretty close to in general.

And when your best friend finally hits the ball into the last remaining cup on the side of the opponent team, carrying home the victory for you, Minho almost loses his temper. The way Seungmin is embracing you, pulling you closer to him and even adding a little tipsy kiss to your cheek is enough to make him go completely furious.

Faster than you’re able to realise, Minho stands right beside you, laying his hand on your shoulder to spin you around towards him.

That’s when you look into his eyes as deeply as you have never done before. The dark brown colour is hypnotising, putting you under a spell. He’s definitely as tipsy as you—if not even more.

At least that would explain his next sentence.

“Congratulations, great game. Can we talk for a moment?”

To say you’re surprised would be an understatement. But there’s not even half a second to think, when he’s already reaching for your hand, searching for any second guesses hinting that you don’t want to be alone with him.

Of course, he didn’t ask you that. But you’re both drunk and given the history you share, he wouldn’t expect you to voluntarily speak to him alone for more than a minute.

You shoot your best friend a quick glance, this way telling him that you're safe, before you toddle behind Minho. His fingers circle around your wrist, as he drags you through the large crowd, in his current state not caring at all if there’s someone recognising the both of you.

Abruptly, once you’re a little further away from where the party is going on, he stops at a corner. In front of the biochemistry building now, he guides you towards the exterior wall of the house, spinning you around with just a little strength needed.

Your back crashes into the wall, but it doesn’t hurt or you simply don’t notice, judging your high level of intoxication.

And all of a sudden he’s so dangerously close to you, his breath tingling your neck, lips hovering over the skin with only a millimetre of air separating your bodies. Minho places one of his forearms right beside you, cageing you between the cold bricks behind and his athletic body in front of you.

No way to escape.

But you’re not interested in that anyway.

Minho’s other hand brushes your jaw all so softly, before his index finger lands under your chin, slightly pulling your head up in the process. Now on eye level with him, his gaze meets your own and you’re lost in this deep colour again. Prettier than the prettiest gemstones you’ve ever seen.

And then Minho speaks or rather whispers, heating up your face from outside and inside.

“I can’t even put into words how much you annoy me, it’s insane.”

You chuckle, knowing exactly what hides behind these words and your assumptions turn out to be true, once his lips collide with your neck. He sucks on the skin, rough kisses hypnotising you all over again and when they graze over the spot right under your ear, you can’t help but let out a moan.

“I would have never thought teaching a class is that exhausting, but your constant competition is really making it hard… not just the class, baby.”

A smirk is decorating your face now and by the way his lips lay against your skin, you’re sure he has got the same mimics as you. One of his hands wanders down now, squeezing your ass through the thick fabric of your jeans and you can hear him chuckle into your ear.

Embarrassingly enough, another moan slips out of your mouth but Minho soon drowns out the noise, when his lips crash into yours. It’s as if all the piled up tension is forgotten, all the teasing comments vanishing away, all the rivalry leaving the both of you, when you focus on the way he is kissing you—passionately, without a single sign of regret.

“You know what’s the worst part about this, baby? It’s hard to admit but your intelligence is intimidating to me– you’re definitely smarter than me and–“

And that’s when regret does hit him.

He suddenly stops, his whole body freezing, paralysed.

Until the words that he formed himself register in his head.

You can’t stop yourself. You didn’t sit through nine weeks of constant stress to let this triumph slip.

“What did you say, Minho? Did I hear that correctly?”

The smirk decorates your face so evilly and in the back of his mind Minho thinks you’re so hot for talking back at him once again, for standing up for yourself. He’s adored you before—all secretly of course—but since he’s been challenging you and observing you growing more and more confident, you’ve been occupying his thoughts like a constant guest.

Unfortunately, he is not there yet—at the point to actually be completely honest with himself and, even more importantly, with you.

“I didn’t say anything,” he lies through his teeth then and as if this isn’t enough, more words spill from his lips.

“Except for you being annoying and pissing me off.”

You roll your eyes back, completely frustrated. You should have known. Minho finally breaks out of his thick shell and then he gets scared and the insecurities take over him. Although, the warm side he carries in him is the one you even prefer a little more.

“Don’t play dumb, repeat what you’ve just said.”

He turns to the side then, as his palm wanders upwards to cover his mouth. His eyes shut close, as he takes a deep breath and contemplates how to continue.

“I don’t know what you mean,” and that’s when his drunk self and the old Minho take over, “maybe you’re just imagining stuff, like the stupid little girl you are.”

You scoff, blatantly, before you shove him aside, shoulders bumping into each other. Your vision is blurry—both from the alcohol and the tears pricking at your lower lash line—but you somehow manage it through the crowd in order to search for Seungmin.

In the distance you can hear Minho calling your name, saying that he is sorry or some shit, but you don’t listen.

Luckily, you find your best friend quicker than expected and when he notices the tears running down your cheeks, he instantly pulls you into a hug.

“Did he do something that you didn’t want? Did he hurt you, Y/N?”

You shake your head, as you watch the salty droplets from your eyes staining Seungmin’s shirt, before you pull away to look at him.

“Physically? No. Verbally? Maybe.”

There’s something else than just empathy on Seungmin’s face now. Anger, almost.

“What an idiot– where is he–“

“Minnie, no. He didn’t mean it. He’s just immature and insecure and doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions.”

He takes a deep breath, brushing away the tears that are glistening on your skin.

“He still hurt you.”

You sigh, giving him a small smile.

“It’s okay, really. Can we just go home?”

“Of course.”

🌋

The last three and a half weeks have been a blur. A fever dream, almost. The days have been filled with studying and staying at the library with Jisung and Seungmin—who have become very good friends—to cramp as much knowledge as possible into your steaming head.

You’ve also spent a pathetic amount of time not thinking of Minho and the last two lessons were more than a little awkward. Although, you have noticed him observing you all the time, as if he’s trying to say something, apologise for insulting you. He even messages you one day, asking if the both of you can talk again, but you’re way too busy with studying and ignoring him anyway, so you haven’t realised that you received the text at all.

Luckily, throughout this whole time you can count on the midnight cup ramyeon, cola zero and your friends just being there for you. And in the blink of an eye, the three of you are crawling from one club to another, celebrating your freedom after doing your best on the exam.

The constant partying since then is the reason you slept so long today, Saturday afternoon sunlight hitting your face and you’re surprised the hangover isn’t as terrible as expected.

You take a long shower, make yourself some leftover food and a tea, before you switch back to the current drama you are watching.

Until you get a notification from your student mail account.

It’s an automatic message, telling you the grade of your volcanology exam can be found on the university’s website.

That was quicker than you thought, considering the fact it was a test including lots of questions which you had to answer with whole sentences.

After fighting with the stupidity of your school’s website again, you find yourself scrolling down to your achievements, finding an additional grade for this semester.

97%

If there is a textbook definition of ‘relieved’ it would definitely be the emotion you are experiencing in your whole body right now.

The hard work paid off and you’re fast to grab your phone, messaging Seungmin and Jisung, also asking the latter if he’s got a grade yet as well.

Just when you’re about to hit ‘send’, the notification sound from your computer echoes through your room and your head snaps up towards the screen.

You open the mail and read it.

Dear Students,

I’m happy to tell you most of the students in my class passed the exam, even though the results are improvable with some exceptions. As you know, it’s not possible to give back the test papers to you, since we have to archive them. If you have questions regarding your grades or the exam in general, you can come to my office on Monday, at the same time as our class, and we can talk about it in person. Please be patient in case many people show up.

Greetings,

Mr. Lee

No.

Never.

You can’t do this.

The idea is too ridiculous. You can’t show up when you’re probably the one who scored the highest points. Also, there’s only three percent missing—it’s probably just some tiny form error.

No…

You can’t just go there as an excuse to see Minho and finally talk to him about what happened and, basically, everything.

🌋

On Monday you find yourself in front of Minho’s office.

It is such a stupid idea that it’s unbelievable how you could be the one to score the highest in this class.

And you are indeed the only one who was that successful, judging the faces of the other students—a mixture of sadness because of their own grade and envy when they see you entering the hallway.

You’ve made sure to come here pretty late, wanting to be the last one in line. All these other students probably have much more important stuff to discuss—especially those who failed—so you don’t want to delay any of their schedules.

Once it’s your time to step inside the office, you hesitate first but after knocking three times and hearing a confident ‘come in’ erupting from the other side of the door, you decide to stick to your initial plan.

“Hi, I have a few questions regarding my grade.”

When Minho spots you his expression carries many facets that aren’t quite definable.

He looks annoyed, as always when he spots you. He looks furious, as if you shouldn’t be here. But he also looks both a little sad and hopeful, almost regretful, as if he has been waiting for this moment a little too long.

“Sure, take a seat.”

And so you do, sinking down on the chair at the opposite side of his table, sitting right in front of him now.

That’s when you look into his eyes again. They look the same as that night. But they also look different. Tired. Avoiding.

“What are your questions exactly?”

You shift in your seat, trying to get into a more comfortable position. In the meantime, Minho searches for your exam paper in the stack of all the others and places the test between the both of you, once he finds it.

Taking a little moment, you flick through the individual pages, pretending to be searching for something.

“I was wondering what the missing three percent were. I remember, there weren’t that many points to score and I am confused how such a small amount can be subtracted then.”

Minho nods, as he grabs the exam from you and skims through it, pretending to be searching for something as well. Until he stops.

“It’s mostly errors in your form. Your writing style isn’t really academic, at some parts it sounds as if a high school student wrote it.”

He’s doing it on purpose. Definitely. He knows exactly where he gets you with this—annoying you, teasing you, crawling under your skin with his words.

And you fall for it, every time.

“I see.”

“Do you have any further questions?”

His gaze stays focused on the test paper, before he lifts his head up and looks into your eyes.

“Yeah… but… not a-about the exam.”

You honestly don’t get why you’re so anxious now and you fear that the situation between the both of you, how you left off, has sparked more inside you than you would like.

“Technically,” Minho begins then and you can sense that he is rethinking every word that he is about to say.

“This is an appointment for exam evaluation only. But you’re the last student, so go on.”

You take a deep breath, scoffing to yourself about the ridiculousness of the situation, before you continue.

“How can I be both intimidating to you but also a stupid little girl at the same time?”

Minho’s face slowly meets the palms of his hands. He’s simultaneously relieved that you’re finally talking to him but also so furious that all this is brought up again.

“I– I’m not.”

He’s still hiding behind that thick layer. You can tell by the way he is avoiding your glares and fiddling with his silver rings.

Fuck. You’ve never paid attention to his hands that much, but his fingers look… pretty.

Almost as if they could make you feel very good, stretch you quite nicely and maybe even make you cum if Minho puts as much effort in as he does when challenging you.

God, this is not the time and place to be thinking about this now.

But then you see his eyes trailing down your curves, stopping right at the view of your thighs, just to snap up again and focus on your neck. He’s still got the taste of your lips on his, which is not surprising because for the last three and a half weeks Minho came almost every night to the thought of your pretty whimpers.

And when he catches you staring at his arms—his veins almost popping out—he knows you’re on the same page.

You both are pretty intelligent. Except when it comes to verbal communication—but luckily, there are other ways to argue.

That’s why you stand up and walk around the table until you’re behind Minho. Your hands land on his shoulders first, before they painfully slowly wander down his chest and through the material of his white button up shirt you can feel how firm he is.

“Mr Lee,” you begin then, knowing he won’t be able to withstand you if you address him like this and your intuitions turn out to be true.

“I’ve scored the highest in this class, always did my coursework on time and was your best student. I deserve at least a little explanation, don’t you think?”

That’s when you attach your lips to his neck and they feel so soft against his skin, Minho is already under your spell.

He can’t resist. And he doesn’t even want to. He can trust you enough to trust himself with his feelings. The curtain of insecurity, covered in meanness, has to fall now.

“Listen, I think my message got lost in your mails but…”

You stop with your movements for a second.

“I have never been intimidated by you but I’ve been intimidated by the possibility of getting suspended. This and all the insecurities and fears of rejection is the reason I behaved like a total asshole that night and I’m sorry for it.”

He gets up from his seat now and spins you around, as he takes the spot you were standing on a second ago.

And then, everything happens in the blink of an eye.

Minho grabs your jaw, pulling you closer to him, before his lips smash into yours in the most passionate and heated kiss you have ever experienced. It feels even better than that night a few weeks ago and this time you even invite his tongue in.

He’s impatient—after all he has wanted to devour your body for so long and especially whenever you talked back at him in class, he was dangerously close to snapping and just taking you in front of everyone else.

Especially Jisung.

God, Minho is still not over the fact your little friend was holding hands with you on a regular basis. He was even flirting with you but you didn’t notice.

But now he’s finally got you all to himself and he will make sure that you’ll never forget.

His hands make their way to your blouse, hastily opening every single button. Just like the other night, his lips are hovering over your neck again, sucking and biting the skin without mercy and you can’t help yourself but whimper.

“I wanted to apologise sooner,” he whispers, “but, you know, even if I manage to make sincere compliments, you let this get to your smart little head and ask me to repeat myself. It’s as if you can’t function without my attention, doll.”

You moan again, almost letting the syllables of his name escape your lips but you stop yourself.

“That’s not true,” you bluff. “I don’t care about that at all.”

Minho rips your bra in half, watching your tits bouncing, before he takes one of the buds inside his mouth, as one of his hands comes to help and massages the other.

“Min– Fuck–“

“Yeah, baby. Keep telling that to yourself. Do you know how pathetic you look right now? And all just for me?”

Your head falls back, as you simply can’t take it no more. Especially, when he moans against your skin, as if he’s enjoying this a little too much.

All while you try to ignore the way your panties are sticking to your pussy, the material all drenched and you convince yourself that’s only because of his captivating touches and not the words he uses.

But, you soon realise, Minho being mean isn’t just annoying—in combination with touching your body the way he does, it makes you crave more.

And you know exactly how you can get what you’re really longing for. By playing his game.

“You know, that makes two of us. You’re constantly trying to get my attention, too. It’s the same now, you’re all over me.”

He scoffs, as he abruptly lets go of your body, before his head wanders up and he’s on eye level with you again. Minho’s hand finds your face then, his fingers squishing your cheeks together roughly.

“Maybe I should just fuck the brat out of you, until you come to your senses, baby.”

Oh, God. Your underwear is practically sticking to you by now and you feel as if you have never been so wet before, just by some touches and a few little mean words from your enemy.

“Hm, I doubt that you could make me feel as good as you say.”

He chuckles. Minho lets his hand travel down your waist, glide over your hips, before it lands on your thighs. A moment later, he lifts you up and places you on top of his desk, standing between your legs now.

“You’re the one challenging me now?”

“Maybe…”

You’re not quite convinced and neither is he.

“You’re gonna regret this, doll.”

And you do, once his hand slips under your skirt and Minho wonders if you chose that outfit on purpose, knowing you have the same cliché desires that have been running on his mind since he became your professor.

You squirm in pleasure, when his fingertips collide with your underwear—as he finds the laces completely soaked, just for him.

“Pathetic little thing is all drenched just from a few touches, huh?”

He painfully slowly pushes the clothing aside, before two of his fingers start circling around your clit, finding your sensitive bud in an instant.

“Stop teasing, Minho, and just keep going already.”

He stops.

He brings his hand upwards again, as he aligns his fingers with your lips and you obediently part them for him, inviting him in just to taste yourself on his skin.

“I told you not to challenge me doll, do you get that?”

You want to talk back again, you really do.

But there are two problems.

One, he is shoving his fingers down your throat. Those pretty fingers that you weren’t able to take your eyes off just some minutes ago. And, well, this makes speaking a little hard.

Second, it seems as if you don’t want to anymore. You want to get to know the Minho that reacts to you finally listening to his words, obeying his rules and allowing him to take care of your body.

So, you nod.

He slides his fingers out of your mouth, the two digits covered into your saliva now, before he brings them right back between your legs.

But it’s not enough for him yet.

“Words, baby.”

He’s dangerously near to your aching hole now, circling around your entrance, ready to dip his fingers inside, both at once.

“Yes, I– I get that.”

You don’t want to stutter. But you can’t help it, when he’s teasing you like that.

“Are you gonna behave now and be a good girl?”

He pushes them inside and you immediately clench around them, your cunt sucking them in as if your body has been craving this exact touch for months. Not a complete lie, though.

“Y-Yes–“ you cry out, closing your eyes.

“Yes, what?”

And you know exactly what he needs to hear. One little word in addition.

“Yes, sir.”

He starts thrusting his fingers into you, stretching your walls so deliciously and when he grazes over that certain spot, curling his fingers inside you, you’re embarrassingly close after such a short amount of time.

“You like that, hm?”

You hastily nod, allowing a moan to spill from your lips.

“Sir–“ you whimper and Minho fears that he might cum in his pants when he hears you use that specific word on your own.

“N-Need more–“

His motions gain a slight bit of speed, as he curls his fingers inside you again.

“What do you need, doll?”

You cry out in pleasure, feeling the rope inside your lower stomach tighten to a knot, practically at the verge of snapping.

“Y-Your cock– inside me–“

He gives you the most mischievous smirk then, but you don’t notice, since your eyes are still closed in order to deal with the overwhelming sensation.

“Be a good girl and cum for me and I might consider it.”

And so you do. Your juices spill all over him, as your legs shake rapidly, your orgasm washing through your whole body. Minho makes sure to cover your mouth at the last second, when he realises how loud you’ve become.

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he praises you, while he helps you ride out your high before he pulls his fingers out of you and guides them towards your mouth again.

You grab his wrist with both your hands, guiding his digits into your mouths, as you suck them clean.

“You’re so smart, baby, such a quick learner. Just how I’ve expected it from you.”

You look at him with awaiting eyes then and it seems as if Minho is able to read your mind. He spins you around a second later and your ass crashes into his covered crotch, poking into your soft flesh.

He lifts your skirt up and you obediently slide your panties down completely now, as the fabric lands on the floor. In the meantime, he is fumbling with his belt, before he slides his pants and underwear down.

Minho gives his length a few strokes, while you spread your legs for him, your upper body meeting the wooden surface in front of you.

“You ready, doll?”

“Yes, sir.”

Minho is afraid that he will seriously cum within a few seconds, when he only pushes the tip inside, already feeling your cunt hugging him so tightly.

“Fuck– you’re big,” you cry out.

“Want me to stop?”

You hastily shake your head, “No, no. I’ll get used to it, don’t worry.”

That’s all he needs to slowly go further and once he is completely inside, he pulls out again, just to repeat his first step until he is bottoming you out fully.

Minho starts with a steady pace then, pounding his cock into you just how you’ve imagined all these lonely nights for the past twelve weeks. But the reality is a thousand times better, so much more satisfying than just the idea of it.

And he senses you enjoying it. After all, you’re clenching around him non-stop, all whilst begging for more and holding onto the table for dear life.

Whenever you get a little too loud, Minho makes sure to spank your pretty ass, just how he’s always wanted to. You’re sure, the skin will feel bruised tomorrow, but you don’t care at all.

You simply can’t. He’s taking over your mind completely, put you under a spell solely by fucking so deliciously into your aching hole, brushing over that spot from time to time, just how you adore it.

That’s the reason why, by now, only mindless babbling escapes your mouth, which Minho identifies as praise for him and little pleas that he should go even harder.

“I can’t believe a smart girl like you is turning dumb from my cock so easily,” he mocks you and you can’t help yourself but agree.

“You’re– so good at this,” you say, drooling all over the surface underneath you, “should have done this sooner.”

Minho picks up his pace then, now thrusting into you at a merciless speed and when you think your body is already overwhelmed enough, he brings two of his fingers between your legs again and starts massaging your clit.

That’s all you need to tip over the edge for a second time and for once again, Minho covers your mouth with his palm, when you get a little too loud.

“Good girl, just like that,” he whimpers and you can sense his movements getting sloppier, too. After all, you’re clenching around him without an end and your pretty little moans don’t help him stretch that moment further.

So, Minho pulls out at the last moment, gives his cock a few more strokes before his seeds spill all over your ass, painting your skin so beautifully. Your name slips out of his mouth like a mantra, repeated over and over again and for a moment you consider covering his lips as well.

He admires the view one last time, before he searches around in his office and finds some paper tissues to clean the both of you with. After he’s tugged his softening cock into his boxers again and put on his pants, he helps you into your own clothing, touching you all carefully, as if he is afraid to hurt you.

“Do you need anything? Are you alright, doll?”

You nod and give him a satisfied smile.

“So…” he starts then, thoughts trailing off as if he’s afraid of  the same one thing again—rejection.

“I was thinking… I could take you out on a date, if you like.”

He’s so adorable. So versatile. It makes you want to get to know him better. More of Minho. The real Minho.

“I’d like that, Mr Lee.”

Caused by shyness washing all over him, Minho covers his face with his hands, but you pull them away.

“Don’t get shy now. I just think it’s hilarious you’ve got a sir kink.”

He gains some confidence then, getting a little closer to you.

“Don’t test me with your teasing, brat.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE: for my almost 1 year anniversary on here I wanted to rewrite my first ever story! oh lord, that was a cringe experience but at least I improved my skills lol the original one also had 6K instead of 10K words and I don't know what I should think about that. thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging it and sharing your thoughts with me—there are no limits, from keyboard smashes to long essays, every kind comment is dearly appreciated and the number one motivation for authors to keep going.

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