Ahh so happy!! Love the shows u listed :D Could you possibly do 2000s dressed fem reader x si-eun just like a enemies to lover sorta thing ( so taken back from the super low rise jeans and tight sweaters , smut ) and/or fem reader x arisu where the reader is sharing wired headphones with him, and they realize really how much they like each other! [literally so sorry if that’s too much] Hope you have a fantastic week!! <33 Please and thank you ☺️
P.S UR WORK IS SOO AWESOME
Extra Credit — Yeon Si-eun, Weak Hero Class
summary: You and Si-eun became (academic) rivals. At a party he confronts you. Maybe you don’t hate each other that much.
tags: enemies to lovers, unprotected sex, creampie, kinda dom!si-eun, sub-reader
A/N: this is in the first season but an alternative storyline. Si-eun is aged up to 18. i didnt know how to make them enemies otherwise so i chose to go the academic route, hope thats okay!
That was the first name you learned when you transferred.
He was unusually cold to everyone. Didn’t speak unless spoken to. Not polite to be kind — just polite because it was expected.
He didn’t feel real. Too precise about everything he did.
You didn’t know when it started. Maybe when you first met.
You were assigned the seat next to him on your first day. You greeted him, but all you got was a low—almost annoyed—“Hello“. You frowned but didn’t think too much of it. Maybe he was just having a bad day? But the next day, and the one after that, he was exactly the same.
People told you he was like that with everyone, but somehow it still felt personal.
Or maybe it started when you were partnered up for a group project and he rewrote all your parts without asking. You asked him why.
He said they were missing everything they needed—not to the point, and overall just wrong. Or at best, unfinished.
You tried not to let it get to you. But you did.
You started noticing everything after that.
How he didn’t look at you when passing out worksheets.
How he sighed when he was paired with you.
How he always looked at you with that tired, bored expression in his eyes.
How he didn’t answer when you asked where you were in the lesson—or, when he did, muttered “I don’t know” without looking up, then solved the next problem seconds later.
How, when you had cleaning duty together, he always went over your spot again.
How, even though he was supposed to, he never gave you the full notes when you were sick — just bits and pieces — and you ended up getting a bad grade for something you didn’t even know you missed.
You weren’t the best, but not the worst either.
You used to do enough. That was before him.
After him, you started studying harder.
Not for the grades. For the satisfaction.
You pulled an all-nighter before a math test and beat his score. Even got praised by the teacher.
You lived for the look he gave you when he found out. That slight twitch in his jaw. That moment of disbelief.
And then you did it again. And again.
Everything became a contest.
Who got more praise from the teachers?
A silent war between the two of you.
When you were forced to work together again, you redid his parts out of spite. Not because they were wrong. Just because.
Somewhere along the way—you didn’t know when—it stopped being about proving him wrong and started being about getting his attention.
You heard what people said when they thought you weren’t listening.
“You’d think they dated and broke up.”
“They act like exes who never kissed.”
You didn’t know how much it actually got to him—until later.
His grades were everything to him.
So being beaten—by you—was humiliation. The worst kind.
The breaking point came at the end-of-year ceremony.
The student with the best overall score was called to the front and honored with a certificate.
He was certain it was him. Knew the competition was close, but he still thought he’d won.
So when your name was called instead — not his — he froze. Stood up. And walked out.
People noticed. He didn’t try to make a scene but ended up doing it anyways. Inside, he was unraveling.
You’re in your room, still buzzing from earlier. When you got home, your parents welcomed you like you were royalty. Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it—and honestly, you’re proud too.
Your friends invited you to a party, and you said yes without even thinking twice. Finally, you have some free time again. You never planned on being an A+ student with zero life outside school.
Now that the holidays are here, it’s time to actually use that freedom.
You sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by a mess of makeup and clothes. Jina’s digging through your jewelry box, holding up chunky hoop earrings with a grin. Definitely a must-have.
You can finally wear real clothes again—not that stiff, boring uniform. Real clothes mean 2000s style, and you swear this is the best look out there.
You grab a pair of super low-rise jeans and a tight sweater.
“Ayy,” Mira says, nodding approvingly. “Definitely those.”
The three of you giggle like idiots. Clothes in hand, you head to the bathroom to change.
In the hallway, you stop in front of the big mirror.
You lean back and take it all in—the low-rise jeans hugging your hips, the sweater squeezing your curves, and butterfly clips sparkling in your hair. You don’t just want to look good tonight. You want to be unforgettable. To make heads turn.
When you walk back in, your friends erupt.
“Guys, don’t—don’t—” You pretend to protest but then strike a pose, closing your eyes to show off your look.
“Don’t stop,” you laugh, feeling a rush.
“You look absolutely delicious,” Jina says, rubbing her hands together like a maniac.
“You’re gonna break hearts tonight,” Mira adds with a smirk.
“I’m just so glad I finally have time to do that again.”
“Right? I wasn’t expecting you to turn into a total nerd with no social life.”
“Yeah, that Si-eun really did a number on you.”
“Oh, stop, Mira.” You roll your eyes jokingly. If you think more about him, you swear you could explode. But today was—is a victory.
The party’s already loud by the time you get there.
It’s at some girl’s house—big enough to fit a crowd, but not enough to make it feel less claustrophobic. Music thumps through the floorboards. The bass hits your chest like a second heartbeat. Lights flicker in blue and pink. Someone’s already spilled beer on the hallway rug.
You step inside with your friends, shoulder to shoulder at first, but Mira and Jina quickly scatter toward snacks and boys. That’s fine. You’re not here for chips and flirting.
You make your way into the main room, cup in hand, pretending to be just another party girl out for fun.
You definitely attract looks. Some even come to you. But no one is really your type.
You are talking with a girl you just met in the corner. Your thoughts drift back to that moment Si-eun stormed out of the ceremony room.
You haven’t seen him since the ceremony. Since you were the one called up. Since he stood and walked out like the world had just betrayed him.
You told yourself you didn’t care.
You catch your reflection in the dark glass of the balcony door—glossed lips, low-rise jeans, tight sweater clinging just right.
You raise your cup, take a sip, and lean against the wall like you own the room.
You feel him before you see him.
You are startled. He isn't the type to go to parties.
“Hey, are you fine?" The girl you were just talking to asked. Searching for what you were looking at.
"Oh, is that your ex? I get it, but don't be afraid you look bomb. He's gonna see what he's missing.” You turn to her.
“No—He's not—no.” You protest, but she gives you a knowing look.
You wave the girl off with a forced laugh, turning back toward the crowd—but you can’t help it. You look again.
Si-eun stands near the entrance, eyes scanning the room like he’s trying to decide whether he should’ve come at all. He’s not dressed for a party—dark hoodie, clean sneakers, the same bored expression he wears in class—but somehow, he still looks like the most important person in the room.
His gaze passes right over you at first. And then it stops.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t nod. Just looks.
And then—like nothing happened—he breaks eye contact and walks away.
You exhale, only then realizing you were holding your breath.
“Definitely your ex,” the girl says under her breath, sipping her drink.
“He’s not,” you murmur, but it’s too quiet to convince anyone.
You take a long sip from your cup, ignoring the way your hand shakes just slightly.
Your eyes track him across the room. The way people naturally give him space. The way he doesn’t seem interested in talking to anyone, like this party is just something he’s enduring. Like he’s here for something, not just to hang out.
You turn your back to him, pretending to listen as the girl tells you a story you’re not really hearing. You nod at the right times, give polite laughs—but your attention’s somewhere else. Heat rises in your neck.
Si-eun is only here, because he was forced to. Su-ho didn't give him the option to not go. He said he should just relax, get his mind off school. Off the… incident.
When he sees you, his heart is beating. With rage—he thinks. He looks you up and down, notices how slutty you're dressed. He tries to seem unfazed, as always. But as soon as he turns around, Su-ho notices something wrong.
Then he sees you too. He sighs.
“Si-eun, don't waste a single thought on her today. Just enjoy it. C’mon, let's get you a drink.” He drags him to the kitchen, where they then fill some drinks into their cups and go somewhere where you're not.
You gave up on thinking about Si-eun maybe one and a half hours ago. You haven't seen him since he entered.
So it does surprise you when he's suddenly behind you. You almost spill a drink on him. He just yanks your hand and pulls you with him.
“What are—Hey—you doing?!” You ask loudly. Shocked.
“No, we definitely don't!" He just pulls you up the stairs into a quiet room. Not really quiet, but it is empty, except for a cupboard and a bed. A guest bedroom. The music is muffled.
“Hey, what the fuck was that?” You ask, finally yanking your hand from his grip.
He turns to you, jaw tight, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.
“What was that?” You repeat, louder this time. “You can’t just drag people around like that!”
“Why do you hate me so much?” he asks, voice low but firm.
You're thrown off. “What?” You ask Perplexed.
“You heard.” Only now you notice how drunk he is. It is obvious now that you know. He is not stable in his stance, he wanks from right to left. Slurs his words.
“Okay, I am not doing this. You’re drunk as fuck.” You turn around to open the door, but he slams a hand on it.
You flinch. Not because you’re scared, but because of how close he suddenly is.
“What are you—? Let me out!” You snap, pushing at his arm.
He’s leaning close now, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused but still locked on you like he’s trying to figure you out. Trying to demand something from you that even he can’t name.
“No,” he says. “Not until you tell me why.”
“Why what?” You shoot back.
“Why you look at me like that,” he says, voice low, heavy, like the words cost him something. “Why you do what you do.”
“You serious?” You scoff. “You started this! I should be asking you.”
“What?” He laughs out of disbelief.
“Don’t act so clueless! You're so arrogant, God. You ignored me every time I tried talking to you, ask something. Send me unfinished notes, which I then get bad grades because of. Just cancel all my work and do it yourself. And this look on your face—it pisses me off so much! I’m just mirroring you.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“You’re unbelievable!” he says angrily. Loud.
Your hand is still on the doorknob, but you don’t turn it.
“Oh, I’m unbelievable? You’ve been an asshole to me since the day I got here!”
“No, I wasn’t? I just didn't know how to act around you!”
“Well, definitely not like this!”
“I didn't want this! I never wanted you to hate me!”
“I also didn't want this if you think so!”
You’re both shouting now. Face-to-face. No space. Breathing the same air.
“God, you're so—…” He begins but trails off.
He stares at you, eyes burning with something you don’t know how to name. His chest rises and falls like he’s just run a mile. You feel your pulse in your ears, in your throat, everywhere.
He looks at you, at your eyes, and then your lips.
“I hate this,” he breathes.
“Good,” you say. “So do I.”
You don’t know who moves first.
Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him.
But then his mouth is on yours, and it’s not gentle.
It’s messy. Angry. Clumsy. Teeth clash. Your back hits the door with a thud. His hands are in your hair, your jaw, your waist, like he can’t decide where to touch first. You pull him closer, fingers tugging on the strings of his hoodie, and he groans into your mouth like he’s needed this for longer than he can admit.
You gasp when he bites your lip—and then he pulls back, just a little, breathing hard.
“You drive me insane,” he says, forehead pressed to yours.
“You think you’re easy to deal with?” You shoot back, just as breathless.
His hands slip under your sweater. Warm skin against warm skin. Fingers skating up your ribs like a threat.
“This is a bad idea,” you say, but you’re not moving away.
And then his lips are on yours again. This time deeper. Slower. Like the fight cracked something open. Like he wants to devour you. Memorize you.
“You wore this on purpose? Mh?” Si-eun mutters lowly against your lip. He moves to your ear and whispers.
“So slutty…” His breath hitting your earlobe. You moan when he places kisses on your neck.
You couldn't answer, too busy whimpering. Si-eun looks down, seeing your thighs press together.
“Are you horny? Did this turn you on?” He asks, amused.
What? You didn't even notice.
“Fuck you…” you try to say, but it comes out as barely louder as a whisper—more a whimper.
“Yeah? Want me to stop? Pretty sure you kissed me back.” His mouth is back on your neck, and you can feel he's smirking, but it slides lower to your collarbone. He licks, kisses, sucks at it. While his hands move up to your breasts.
“Si-eun…” You breathe out.
“Stop me if you don't want this.”
You let him touch you. You let him kiss you.
One of his hands is at your ass now, squeezing it inside the low-rise jeans. He presses against you and buries his head in the crook of your neck while whisper-moaning your name.
You could feel how hard he is.
The muffled music from outside is a background noise now.
“As soon as I saw you, I knew. These low jeans. This tight fucking sweater.“ He kissed your neck, now only mumbling.
“I knew you’d make me this hard. You do, even in that uniform…” He rubs himself against you.
Then he leans back, searching for any discomfort in your face. There is none. Only flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes staring at him.
Then—you both launch at each other, aggressively kissing again, while your hands roam his body and his roam yours. You reach behind you and turn the doorknob, lock the door, and push him towards the bed.
You reach for the hem of his hoodie, desperately pulling it over his head, then—your sweater. He slides it off you in one fast, desperate motion.
You kiss again as soon as you're both free. Next your hand goes to his belt, trying to undo it. He helps, smiling into the kiss. Then he reaches for your jeans. Takes them off too.
You push him on the bed, climbing on top of him. His touch burns. He yanks you down harder against his lap, grinding you onto the stiff outline of his cock through his boxers. You gasp, nails digging into his neck, the kiss turning filthy—all tongue and teeth and desperation.
His hands skim up your back, deft fingers unhooking your bra like he’s done it a hundred times before. You shudder when the fabric falls away, his palms sliding around to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate circles. Your hips jerk against him instinctively, chasing the friction.
“Fuck,” he growls, breaking the kiss to pull back shortly to take in the sight of you before dragging his mouth down your throat. He bites at your collarbone, then lower, his tongue flicking a nipple before sucking it deep. You whimper, arching into him, one hand fisting in his hair.
Then his lips vanish. You make a noise of protest—cut off when he flips you over. Now you're under him.
His mouth is fast on your body again. Trailing kisses down your stomach while his hand tugs at the waistband of your panties.
He briefly looks at you, then pulls your panties off in one motion. His hands press down on your legs and spread them. He moves back up and leans in to place kisses on your lips again. While his fingers glide through your wetness, testing, teasing.
You moan into the kiss. He pulls back to see your face.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, leaning back down, lips brushing your ear. “Soaked for me.”
You barely have time to process the words before two fingers sink into you, curling just right. Your thighs tremble, a moan ripping from your throat. You try to close your legs instinctively, only to be blocked by him between your legs. He works you ruthlessly, his gaze locked on your face.
His mouth is on your breast now. Sucking it. His tongue circles around the nipple, which only makes you weaker.
You arch into him, back lifting off the bed, into him.
He works you up perfectly, and just as you think you're close, his fingers vanish and he kisses you again. It's grounding, a motion that slows you down. Deep, passionate.
You reach down to his boxers, palming him through it. He whimpers into the kiss.
When you break the kiss, your hands are at his shoulders, slightly pushing them. He understands what you want without you having to say anything.
You push him onto his back and slide down his body, fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help, exhaling sharply as you peel the fabric away, his cock springing free—hard, flushed, already glistening at the tip.
You lower your head, and your tongue darts out, flicking over the bead of precum, then swirling around the tip.
He hisses, watching you. Then you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch. His groan is ragged, hands fisting the sheets. You work him with deliberate strokes, hollowing your cheeks as you pull back, then sinking deep again, savoring the way his thighs tense under your palms.
“Shit—” His voice cracks when you swirl your tongue around the head again, teasing the slit before swallowing him down once more. You glance up, meeting his darkened gaze as you cup his balls.
His stomach muscles clench, his hips twitching like he’s fighting not to thrust. You let him slide from your lips with a wet pop, crawling back up his body. He catches your mouth in a searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue as his hands grip your waist, pressing you down on his hips.
“Ride me,” he rasps, bucking up against you.
You don’t hesitate, you stretched this long enough—sinking onto him in a halting motion, both of you gasping at the stretch. His hands roam your body, skimming your ribs, thumbs brushing your nipples as you start to move.
Slow at first, grinding down, taking him impossibly deep. He grips your hips, helping you find the rhythm—up, then down, a slow, maddening drag that has you both panting.
His fingers dig into your skin as you clench around him, your own hands braced on his chest, nails scraping lightly.
“Fuck, just like that,” he grits out, eyes locked on where your bodies join. You lean forward, sealing your mouth to his, swallowing his groan as the pace turns desperate—not faster, but deeper, harder.
“Si-eun—“ cut off by a gasp and a slow moan.
“Still hate me?” He asks, voice wrecked.
You answer with another moan of his name and a harsh fall down his cock. Your hand reaches down to circle around your clit, working yourself closer, while your lips meet his again.
He breaks the kiss. “You don’t know how many times I thought about this—ahh fuck—“ he thrusts his hips into you involuntarily. You know, he's close.
“Fuck—you’re squeezing me.” His abs clench again. Almost there.
It hits you like a wave. This overwhelming sensation. The tingling is more intense than what you ever experienced before, it reached its way all the way to your heart. You shudder, leaning down on him as your whole body throbbed. Every part of you that was touching him burned.
He feels it too as he follows with one last thrust as he buries himself inside you.
You plop down beside him, both of you panting.
After you two regain the ability to breathe—and think properly—the silence hangs in the air. The silence of the tiny confessions both of you just made, with words and—well the sheer fact that you just fucked the person you swore you would murder if he came closer than arm's length to you.
“So… that just happened.” He speaks first.
Another moment of silence.
“Let's stop this… rivalry.” He suggested.
“I never even really hated you, to be honest.”
You push yourself up, turning to look at him. Then lay your head on his chest.
“I’m sorry I was such an asshole.” You whisper, taken aback by his confession.
Okay— i have no idea if this is what you had in mind when you requested this, let me know how you like it! This has been laying in my drafts for well over 3 days now i just struggled with the smut, but other then that it was really fun, thank you so much for the request 🫶
I did have an amazing week and I hope you had— and have too! Thank you so much, i really appreciate that you enjoy my work. <3
Btw I am also gonna do the arisu one (first fluff kinda nervous—if you want to be fluff of course)
+ to everyone i am not sure abt the name. “extra credit” is honestly just a place holder, if you have suggestions please lmk
If you liked this, you may like my other stuff too!
