dirty desks and dissertations - k.ys
kang yeosang x fem!reader
nsfw content - do not interact or read if you are under 18
cw - college!au, smut, enemies to lovers(?), rivalry, mentions of colonialism in a literary context, degradation/humiliation, dumbification, explicit consent
word count: 4.8k
a/n: this is unfortunately not proofread so please forgive any mistakes!
University was supposed to be perfect. You were lucky enough to have gotten a room to yourself, you were close enough to home that you could visit during the holidays and you'd gotten a chance to tranfer to your dream university. You’d even gotten into the literature course you’d been aiming for since high school. It would have been perfect, if it wasn’t for Kang fucking Yeosang.
The first time you met Yeosang was on your way to your literature class. You had just transferred in a few months late and he had a kind smile when he asked whether you were new on campus. You nodded and he explained in a very dissectable and neutral tone that no one came to the literature department unless they had a class there or needed somewhere quiet to sleep between classes. When you explained that you were there for classes and not to catch up on sleep, he smiled again.
“We’re not a huge class, it’ll be nice to have you,” he said before rushing off with a wave and a hurried ‘I’ll see you in class’.
You were ecstatic - Yeosang was gorgeous, well-spoken and friendly, and you had the luck of sharing your favourite class with him. A class that wasn’t huge, according to him. You’d have time to speak to him more and maybe get to know him. You kept up this dreamy version of Yeosang in your head for almost a month, until the class shifted its focus to a new book.
“Red is connected to the breaking of social structures,” Yeosang said, flipping through the pages in his book.
“But in chapter four,” you began, pausing to find the page you were referencing. “It’s used to emphasise trauma.”
You looked up to find people staring not at you but at Yeosang, who wasn’t looking anywhere other than his book, eyes moving slowly over the lines. You glanced at the professor, who gave you an encouraging nod.
“It’s repeated throughout so that it reminds you of this scene when it’s mentioned later, the same way people are reminded of trauma in real life,” you continued, smiling at Yeosang as you waited for him to look up. He was the top student in the class and you were impatient to finally have something to discuss with him. If his smile made your heart flutter, that was just an added bonus. When his silence continued to stretch out, the teacher sighed.
“That’s a great point. Why don’t we talk about the symbolism of-”
Yeosang interrupted the professor with a scoff. Finally, he looked up, his usual kind smile replaced by a barely-there sneer.
“Didn’t you read the chapter? They talk about the red flags in the communist parade, when they protest the caste system,” he explained. When you opened your mouth to speak again, his expression changed to something close to pity. “You know that repetition and colour symbolism aren’t the same, right?”
“Of course I know-”
“Then reread the chapter,” Yeosang said, turning his attention away from you. You could feel your cheeks burning from embarrassment even as the teacher scolded him briefly. You stayed quiet for the rest of the lesson, your lip pushing into a pout each time Yeosang spoke. His opinions weren’t far off from yours, so why had he pushed yours aside so stubbornly earlier? When you looked up at him, you found that he was already looking at you, one eyebrow raised and his lips forming a small frown. He didn’t look away when you made eye contact.
You were barely out of the class when Yeosang caught up to you, gripping his book so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
“Red is used for the characters associated with communism,” he said, as though he hadn’t made his point clear enough when he all but humiliated you in class. “When they have the march and the strikes, it’s always red.”
“Red is repeated in chapter four too, it can be more than one thing,” you told him, your voice a little louder now that you weren’t worried about upsetting the professor. “Do you really think that red would be repeated if it wasn’t-”
“Repetition and colour symbolism are separate in this chapter,” he replied, raising his voice just as much as you had while holding his book out in front of your face. “You don’t seriously think the carpet in chapter four overrules the rest of the book, do you?”
You pushed his hand away from your face, swallowing the butterflies you felt at the warmth of his skin against yours.
“I guess we’ll find out who’s right when we get our grades,” you taunted, giving his hand one last shove before walking away from him. You ignored when he swore under his breath, waving your hand at him half-heartedly when he shouted a childish ‘I guess we will’ after you. If the brief conversation with Yeosang had been in one of the books you were reading, you would’ve called it foreshadowing.
It was a month of bickering and petty arguments later that Yeosang dropped his essay onto your desk on top of your own paper.
“So?” he asked, raising an expectant brow. You looked over his essay, running your finger over the A+ grade and the positive feedback littered around his paragraphs in red pen. You tried and failed to suppress a small snort, handing his paper back to him and holding up your own. You laughed again when his top lip curled at the sight of your grade: an identical A+ in the top corner of the page.
“Are you happy now?” you asked, setting down your paper and turning away from him in the hopes that he would leave and move past the rivalry he’d started. Instead, Yeosang’s hand came to rest on the back of your neck, his palm warm and his nails sharp when they briefly pressed into your skin. “Yeosang, what are you-”
He leaned down closer to you, his breath hitting your ear as he spoke.
“Don’t think you’re a genius because of one fluke, hm? You might be clever enough for this grade but I haven’t heard an intelligent word come out of your mouth yet,” he murmured, nails tracing small shapes into your skin before he stood straight and offered you that same sweet smile he had when you first met him. Just like with your laughter earlier, you failed to hide how his smile made your heart skip a beat. He hummed softly, pleased with the result of his words.
“You’re not a genius either,” you muttered back. You weren’t sure whether you were irritated or relieved when he ignored you.
As if literature class couldn’t get any worse, the next week you were placed in a group with Yeosang for the next class project. You almost felt sorry for your other group partner who had to sit between the two of you as you argued back and forth over the analysis for your presentation. But only almost, because you were starting to hate the cocky tone in Yeosang’s voice more than you hated being a class disturbance.
“Don’t you guys think we could include both ideas?” Mingi mumbled between the two of you, his lips pulled into a tired frown as Yeosang pushed his book in front of you, pointing at his notes.
“Why would they use grammar to represent colonialism when they’ve already done that with the scenery?” he asked, finger running over the lines he’d highlighted. “The theme of the book is big versus small things, the author is using the grammar to emphasise that, not colonialism.”
“Grammar is a structure and the author breaks the structure to represent colonialism being broken,” you replied, pushing his book back across the desk. “It’s a book written outside of Western culture in English, so it’s making a point to the Western audience.”
“I think both ideas are good,” Mingi murmured, his voice barely audible between you and Yeosang’s bickering.
“Do you not see how stupid his analysis is?” you almost yelled, unaware of the entire class staring at the three of you as Yeosang leaned across the table, knocking your book off of the desk you were sharing.
“Why did you join this fucking class if you can’t understand-”
“Kang Yeosang!”
You both turned to face the professor, your eyes widening as he pointed at the two of you.
“Stay behind after class. Since you’re both going to act like twelve year-olds, that’s how you’ll be treated. You can spend your free time cleaning out the room.”
“No fucking way,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, shooting you a glare before focusing his sight on his book. You could hear some of the other students snickering even as Mingi let out a long sigh and picked up the discussion again, dividing the sections of the presentation so that you and Yeosang wouldn’t have to work together. If he noticed you and Yeosang trying to kill each other with dirty looks, he didn’t bother to comment on it. You’d have plenty of time for dirty looks once everybody else had left the hall. Although it wasn’t just dirty looks that Yeosang had in mind.
The door hadn’t been shut for a full minute before Yeosang was making his way over to you, standing directly in front of you so that your face was eye-level with the zipper on his jeans.
“What do you want?” you asked, trying to keep your voice level as you looked up at him. He was quiet, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you get more flustered the longer he stood there. “Yeosang, what do you want? It’s your fucking fault that we’re here anyway.”
“Tell me your analysis again,” he said. His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out what kind of trick he was trying to pull. “I won’t interrupt you, just don’t get worked up, yeah? Speak slowly.”
You could feel your heart thudding in your chest at the tone of his voice, your voice unsteady when you cleared your throat. You couldn’t find a good place to look, your eyes darting around the room to avoid looking directly at his crotch.
“Can I touch you?” he asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. You weren’t entirely sure what he meant but you nodded anyway - Yeosang was a dickhead but he wasn’t a bad person, he wouldn’t hurt you. Or at least you hoped he wouldn’t. He took a hold of your chin with warm fingers, tilting your head upward with a tight grip so that you were looking him in the eyes. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” you murmured, cheeks heating up from how steady and unwavering his eyes were. “So colonialism is a structured thing, in which culture and language are replaced with a foreign one. This is comparable to grammar, especially English grammar. It’s structured, and like the English language, was forced upon the people who were taught to use it.”
True to his word, Yeosang listened without interrupting you, his thumb moving back and forth against your skin. At first the movement was barely noticeable, so subtle that you dismissed it as an accident, but as you continued speaking it became obvious that it wasn’t an accident, the pad of his thumb beginning to trace circles into your skin before it rubbed back and forth against your jawline in careful, controlled movements.
“How does the author use the grammar to represent colonialism then? Bring it back to the book, you need evidence,” he prompted, his voice harsh.
“The irregular capitalisation,” you said, sounding less and less like yourself the longer you kept eye contact with Yeosang. His thumb moved to brush over the corner of your lips as he gave you an encouraging nod. “The irregular capitalisation breaks the imposed grammar structures, the same way the characters try to break the structures imposed on them.”
“Doesn’t sound as bad when you’re not trying to act like you’re a genius,” Yeosang said, his thumb pressing over the corner of your mouth.
“You say that like you’re not constantly trying to prove that you’re better than me,” you muttered back. His expression stayed calm, and when you opened your mouth to speak again his thumb moved to press on your bottom lip.
“You tell me if you want me to stop, alright?” Yeosang said, his voice regaining its usual cocky tone. Your eyes widened in surprise, warmth gathering between your legs so quickly that you were stunned into silence. There was no way the class smartass was making you wet You gave him a small nod anyway and he wasted no time pushing his thumb into your mouth, moving it over your tongue slowly. “Okay. Now I’m going to tell you why you're wrong.”
A long whine left the back of your throat. How was he still hung up on literature talk with his crotch inches away from your face and the pad of his thumb pushing down on your tongue?
"The scenery is used to represent colonialism," he started, just as sure of himself as he always was. His thumb moved further back into your mouth, making your eyes water. "The characters force their surroundings to look a certain way by imposing foreign appearances that aren't common in their country."
His thumb left your mouth for a second before it was replaced by two of his fingers. They were longer than his thumb and he pushed them back far enough to make you gag a little, his smirk growing at the sight.
"When these foreign and difficult to maintain appearances are introduced to their surroundings, the scenery is considered beautiful despite being out of place," he said. He took a moment to pull his fingers back before pushing them deep into your mouth again. "But when they're removed, the scenery maintains none of its beauty. It's dilapidated and unkempt, even more so because of what has been left behind by the foreign objects that once made it so beautiful."
He shoved his fingers deeper, hitting the back of your throat and making you choke, gagging until you were drooling and coating his fingers in your saliva. A satisfied grin settled itself over his features.
"Relate it to colonialism," he said, removing his fingers from his mouth and pulling a long string of saliva with them. You choked on the saliva that had built up in your mouth, making him laugh.
"Yeosang," you pleases, pressing your thighs together in a not-so-subtle attempt at relieving some of the ache between your legs.
"What? I thought you got the same grade as me, is something wrong?" he taunted, raising an eyebrow. You looked away from him, your eyes desperately trying to find somewhere else to look before they landed on the bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. You drew in a sharp breath, the sound audible in the otherwise quiet room. Yeosang gripped your jaw again. "So?"
You tried your best to glare at him but you knew you were falling short of the hostile look you wanted to give him. His closeness and his hard-on and his warm fingertips on your cheek were making it hard to be as bitter as you wanted to. Yeosang raised his eyebrows expectantly and you tried to straighten out your thoughts.
“The foreign plants represent the foreign customs, traditions and languages brought into the country,” you explained, ignoring the feeling between your legs in favour of trying to prove yourself. You were so worked up that you didn’t think to question why you wanted to prove yourself to him in the first place. Yeosang looked pleased, thumb stroking back and forth against your cheek as he waited for you to continue. “But these customs dismantle the system that the country already had in place, so when they are removed-”
You stopped when you heard him let out a soft, content hum, narrowing your eyes at him.
“Stop,” you said, grabbing his hand as you stood to look at him. He seemed unfazed, his hand holding yours just as tightly as you were holding his. He still had that expectant look on his face, encouraging you to continue the way he usually did before he dragged your hypotheses through the mud. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to treat you like you’re hot shit because you have your dick in my face, do you?”
“No,” he said simply. “I think you’re going to treat me like I’m hot shit because you don’t know how to formulate an argument.”
“Motherfucker-”
You weren’t sure what you wanted to do. Punch him? Kick him? Leave the room and pretend it had never happened? They all seemed like appealing options but instead, you did none of those things.
Yeosang let out a little huff of air that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh when you leaned forward to press your lips against his, your movements clumsy and rough. His hold on your hand tightened and his free hand moved to rest on your hip, moving down to squeeze your ass not long after. You let out a gasp at the feeling and Yeosang took it as a chance to deepen the kiss, licking into your mouth as he pulled you forward by the belt loop of your pants. The gasp you’d let out before turned into a full-blown whine when you felt his hard-on press up against your crotch. Yeosang grinned at the sound before biting on your bottom lip for just a moment before he pulled back to look you in the eye.
“Can’t come up with any reasons as to why your analysis is better than mine?” he taunted.
“I hate you,” you muttered, shoving lightly at his chest before kissing him again, praying that maybe this time the kiss would shut him up for good. No such luck.
“Come on baby, if you’re so sure that yours is better, why don’t you tell it to me?” he teased, lips against yours as he spoke. You pushed your hips forward into his, almost giggling when he let out a low groan at the feeling. When you repeated the movement, he let go of your hand to press between your legs instead, forcing a quiet groan out of you. Your hips pushed forward again, chasing both friction and the sound of his groans. “You wanna shut me up with your pussy, is that it?”
You nodded. You hated the way he’d phrased it but you were desperate to get him to stop talking about your literature assignments. You were even more desperate for more than just his hand rubbing you through the fabric of your pants but he didn’t need to know that.
“Yes, just please shut up,” you told him, cursing under your breath when a particularly well-angled push of his hips put pressure on your clit. “Shut up and fuck me.”
This time there was no cocky remark, just the sudden feeling of Yeosang’s hands holding your waist as he bent you over the desk you’d been sitting at not long ago, landing a sharp slap on your ass the second your chest hit the desk.
“You know, I’ve never had another student use sex as a get-out-of-jail-free card when I tell them that they’re wrong,” he said, voice as nonchalant and mocking as ever. You opened your mouth to come up with a response but another slap to your ass cut you off, all words replaced by a yelp. Behind you, Yeosang laughed softly before he made quick work of pulling down both your pants and underwear. The noise he made when he saw your cunt wet from all of his teasing only made you more desperate, your hole clenching around nothing. “Cute.”
“Yeosang, hurry up,” you pleaded, arching your back in an attempt to get him closer. He was silent for a moment before you heard a wet ‘pop’ sound, followed by two of his slick fingers pushing through your folds. You shut your eyes, tensing when he made a point to rub them against your clit. “Fucking hell, since when are you this patient?”
Yeosang laughed, continuing his slow movements before suddenly pushing a finger into you, groaning when he’d pushed it all the way in.
“Since when are you this impatient?” he asked back. Before you could answer, he pulled his finger out halfway and added another, his movements suddenly much rougher than before. You let out a choked moan at the feeling of his fingers curling inside of you, hating and loving the quiet noises he was letting out behind you. “Don’t tell me all it takes to get you this worked up is two fingers.”
“No, it’s not,” you muttered back, biting your lip to muffle some of your noise. You were still in a classroom after all. Yeosang pushed another finger into you without warning, the stretch of it pulling a long moan from your mouth. He fucked his fingers into you hard enough to make you whine, the lewd sounds coming from your wet cunt drawing another groan from Yeosang. Just when it felt like you might be getting closer to cumming, Yeosang pulled his fingers out of you, making a point of wiping them on your ass before he stood up.
You looked back to see him pulling down his underwear to reveal his dick, flushed and dripping precum. A soft whine left your throat before you realised you were making the sound. Yeosang’s eyes flicked up to meet yours as he stroked his dick, pushing the head of it through your folds.
“Condom?” he asked, voice unusually sincere. You shook your head and he rolled his eyes, rubbing himself against your clit and smirking when the action made you shudder. “Words.”
“No, it’s fine,” you told him, your words rushing together. You pushed back against him and your breath hitched at the feeling of him pressing against your entrance. “Fuck, Yeosang, please.”
He pushed into you without warning, one fluid movement until he bottomed out, both of you silent as you adjusted to the feeling.
“Fuck,” he muttered, hissing when you clenched around him at the sound. He pulled out and thrust back in hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs, giving a few more calculated thrusts before setting a brutal pace. An almost constant string of moans left your mouth as he pounded into you, his hands gripping your hips so tight that it hurt. “Tell me why I’m wrong.”
His words caught you off guard, almost knocking you out of the hazy state you were in. You made a small noise of confusion, unable to process what he meant when he was fucking into you so deep. You could feel your clit throbbing as he pounded into you, all of your concerns about literature class and shutting him up pushed to the back of your mind.
“Come on, Miss A-Plus,” he said, bringing his hand down against your ass. The moan you let out because of the stinging pain was loud enough that Yeosang shushed you, placing his hand on your throat as a silent threat to make sure you kept quiet. “Tell me about your grammar theory.”
“What?” you gasped, trying and failing to keep your voice steady. “No, I can’t- not now.”
“Not now?” he mimicked, squeezing your throat as he slowed his thrusts. “Why, what’s wrong?”
You shook your head, your legs shaking as you felt yourself getting close. Yeosang noticed, letting go of your throat in favour of rubbing his fingers over your clit. You whimpered, your stomach filling with warmth as he angled each deep thrust so that he was fucking into where you were most sensitive.
“Are you really so dumb that all it takes is my cock to prove you don’t know what you’re talking about?” he asked, voice laced with mock pity. He pulled you up against him with an arm around your waist, his chest pressed against your back so that you could feel his breath on your ear as he spoke. “Or are you just embarrassed to admit that you’re wrong?”
His words that usually would’ve made you angry only made you tremble in his grip, eyes squeezing shut as you tried not to let your legs buckle beneath you. He picked up the pace again, fucking into you relentlessly without giving you a chance to catch your breath, let alone answer his question.
“How did this dripping mess manage to get the same grade as me, huh?” he asked, slapping your pussy just hard enough to make you cry out, a sob getting caught in your throat as he went back to rubbing steady circles into your clit. “It’s okay baby. Don’t worry about being clever, just let your pretty pussy cum on my cock.”
Your body stiffened as you came, eyes squeezing shut as you moaned Yeosang’s name. His thrusts were slow but still hard, sending jolts of overstimulation through you as he fucked you throughout your orgasm, groaning low in your ear. You barely registered when you reached down to hold his hand on your waist, only felt his fingers lacing with yours before his thrusts came to an abrupt stop.
“Fuck,” he sighed, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder as he pushed himself as deep into you as possible, holding his hips still as he came inside of you. The two of you were quiet as you both caught your breath, kept company only by each other’s soft panting and feverish touch.
It was only when Yeosang pulled out and you felt some of his cum drip from your entrance that you realised what you’d done.
“Are you kidding me?” you mumbled, bending over to pull up your underwear and pants before Yeosang stopped you, his hand resting on your wrist.
“Do you want me to get tissues first? So you can clean up?” he asked. Your heart fluttered at the gentle words and you nodded, avoiding making eye contact with him as you stood awkwardly with both hands in front of your crotch. He gave you a curt nod before doing up his own pants and rushing out of the classroom.
Great. You’d just had sex with the biggest jackass you’d ever met. It also just so happened that said jackass was the reason your favourite class was a nightmare and that you were going to be stuck doing a group project with him when he’d just railed you so hard you could barely speak. A long sigh pushed itself out of your chest, coming to an end right when Yeosang opened the door to the room, locking it on his way in before hurrying over to you with a wad of paper towels.
“Here,” he said, sitting down on a desk and averting his gaze while you cleaned up the best you could. He was still avoiding looking at you when he spoke again. “You know, the grammar thing might be right.”
“What?” you asked, half in disbelief and half exasperated. He nodded.
“I mean, your analysis was good. The evidence is there and you made good connections,” he said, making eye contact with you and offering a small smile. A smile played on your lips as well, happiness surging through you now that the smartest student in your class had recognised you. Praise from him was a dozen times better than praise from your professor. “I’m not good at searching for structural connections but you’re really good at it. You did it before with the repetition too and it’s really effective.”
“Thank you,” you said, stomach filling with butterflies.
“No big deal,” he said, kicking the toe of his shoe against the toe of his shoe against the floor. “Do you think you could teach me?”
“Teach you?” you asked, almost laughing at the sudden turn of events.
“Yeah, and I could help you with visual imagery in return, since it’s where you’re lacking,” he continued. You almost snapped at him for the backhand comment but he spoke again before you had the chance. “We could do it over coffee and then we can watch a movie after? At the theatre or something on Netflix, whatever you want.”
“You mean a date?” you asked, raising your eyebrows. He smiled, standing up and stepping closer to you.
“Let’s call it a study date,” he said, leaning in close enough for you to count his eyelashes if you wanted to. You whispered a quiet ‘sure’ and he pressed a kiss to your lips, sealing the deal.
Your relationship with Yeosang ended up being much sweeter than you had anticipated. Of course, that didn’t stop him from being a dickhead when it came to literature.
☆⌒
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