js noticed that I don't have an intro soooo yeahhh
﹏𓊝﹏
˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
⋆˚࿔ yanna / iana 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
⋆˚࿔ 15 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
⋆˚࿔ she/her 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡˚꩜🪼⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
⌗ !! ꒰ Interests & Hobbies꒱🪼⌗
fantasy / romance fiction books in gen (mostly hp & pjo) anime (mostly shonen/sports), musical theatre, volleyball, crafting, acting, writing, and singing.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞
⌗ !! ꒰ Fun Facts꒱🪼⌗
im a hufflepuff, my chb cabin is cabin 10 (aphrodite), and I'm an ENFP. I'm a multi sport athlete, but I enjoy vb the most. I love singing— I used to be a huuuuge theatre kid, and I've been in 5 shows (2 musicals, 3 plays)! Tagalog is my first language, but I'm also very very fluent in English (no duh) but I feel more comfortable speaking Tagalog.
I was rewatching girl from nowhere and I got inspired by s1 ep 8 hehehe... I thought that the plot would suit Beom-seok the most heheh
CW: angst... heavy...??? oh and reader is evil I'm sorry you guys
ENJOY 😛
You’d stolen from countless people before, slipping fingers into pockets like you were plucking petals from a flower, careful, practiced, bored of how predictable everyone was. Most people never looked at you twice, a quiet girl with polite eyes and soft hands couldn’t possibly be a threat. And maybe that was why you chose him. Oh Beom-seok stood alone at the lockers like he’d been abandoned there, headphones in, posture straight, wallet peeking out just far enough for someone like you to want to take it.
You didn’t think of him as a person; you thought of him as a gamble. A spark. A potential thrill to cut through the monotony of another school day. Your fingers slipped into the back pocket of his uniform trousers with the same confidence you always carried, already feeling the smooth edge of leather when his hand closed around your wrist. Not violently, not startled, but deliberately, like he’d been waiting for someone to try. Your heartbeat jumped, not from fear, but from how unexpected it was.
Beom-seok turned, eyes steady, unblinking, searching your face for the truth you were already preparing to lie about. “What are you doing?” His voice was soft but strangely firm. You smiled sweetly, tilting your head. “Your wallet was falling out,” you murmured, pretending innocence you knew he didn’t buy. For a moment, he didn’t let go. You felt the pressure of his fingers, cold, hesitant, but decisive. Then he released you with a quiet, unreadable breath. “…Be careful next time. Someone else might misunderstand.” He walked away without looking back. You stared at his retreating figure with a grin you couldn’t suppress. Interesting. Far more interesting than anyone else you’d picked.
The next day, he found you first. He didn’t mention the attempted theft, but the air between you held the memory of it like a shared secret. You tested him again, sliding a pen off his desk when he wasn’t supposed to notice. He noticed. He always noticed. But instead of flinching, he simply raised an eyebrow, accepting your return of it later without a word, like he’d silently agreed to let you play your little games. And that alone hooked you harder than you expected. Soon he became the person you drifted toward in the halls, someone who mirrored your steps without needing to be asked.
You teased him by stealing small things— erasers, keychains, receipts, nothing valuable, nothing devastating, but each time he responded with a faint, oddly pleased look, as if being chosen as your target meant more to him than he dared say. Maybe he liked that you weren't afraid of him. Maybe he liked that you weren’t disgusted by the darker edges beneath his politeness. Or maybe he liked the attention, even if it came wrapped in danger.
Your worlds collided late one evening when you dragged him into a convenience store and walked out with energy drinks hidden in your jacket pocket. The clerk shouted and you ran before he could see your faces, grabbing Beom-seok’s hand without thinking. He stumbled but held on too tight, like losing your hand was more frightening than being caught. You sprinted together through puddles, breathless laughter echoing into the empty street, the night swallowing your footsteps. When you finally ducked behind a dumpster, gasping for air, his fingers remained tangled with yours long after the danger passed. His chest heaved, his glasses fogged, his hair damp with sweat, and yet his eyes rested on you like you’d become his entire world in the span of a single sprint. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at you, wide, bright, quietly in awe said everything. You looked away first, heart beating too fast for your own comfort. “Relax,” you teased, slipping your hand from his. “We’re fine.” But the moment you let go, you saw it: a flash of disappointment he tried to hide. A longing. A crack in him that somehow reached into you.
The next few days felt different. He hovered close, too close, constantly finding reasons to brush past you or let his shoulder bump yours. When you stole a teacher’s lost keys and tossed them at him, he caught them with a startled grin you hadn’t seen before. When you jokingly slipped your hand into his pocket to prove you could, he didn’t flinch—he just swallowed hard and watched you like you’d put a spell on him. He began memorizing the rhythm of your steps, matching them without being asked. He stood between you and hall monitors. He followed you into empty stairwells where he lingered too long in the quiet. He laughed more. Smiled more. He was falling, softly, clumsily, completely. And you were the first person he’d ever let this close.
But closeness had always been dangerous to you. You didn’t want someone looking at you like that. You didn’t want someone choosing you. Because you knew how this always went: people wanted too much, expected too much, needed too much. And you could never give what they asked for. You felt it most clearly on a rainy evening when the two of you ran from another petty theft from an old boutique and collapsed together in a narrow alley. Your clothes were damp, hair clinging to your skin, breaths mingling in the cold air. His knee brushed yours as he turned to you slowly, as if afraid the moment would shatter if he moved too quickly. His gaze softened, warm, unguarded, painfully honest. You recognized that look immediately, and you hated how familiar it felt: the look of someone falling in love with you. A look you could not afford.
You forced a laugh, dismissing it, brushing off the moment like dust from your sleeve. “What?” you teased, trying to make it small. “Do I look that tired?” His voice was barely a whisper. “You look… like no one else.” And for one terrifying second, you felt your own heart dip toward him. So you shifted your body away, creating distance he pretended not to notice but absolutely felt. His expression flickered, hurt, confusion, something raw cracking under the surface, but he swallowed it, like he always did.
It should’ve ended there. But he kept falling. Every day, deeper. Every small touch became a silent confession. Every shared smirk, every sprint, every crime committed shoulder-to-shoulder built a world only the two of you lived in, a world where he felt safe, seen, chosen. And maybe a part of you enjoyed being chosen. But a louder part whispered that this connection was tying itself around your throat like a noose. Beom-seok was becoming someone you could lose. Someone who could lose you. Someone who wanted something real.
So the plan formed slowly, cleanly, precisely, your exit strategy disguised as a grand adventure. A heist just big enough to bury everything. A plan he would follow without question because it came from you. A moment perfectly crafted to snap the growing thread between you before it had the chance to tighten.
It became a rhythm, danger stitched into the hours of their days, like something inevitable, something alive. Every morning, Beom-seok lingered by the shoe lockers pretending to check his laces, waiting for her to appear. She’d show up with that half-smirk that said she already knew he’d been there long before she arrived. They didn’t talk about it, didn’t define it, didn’t dare ruin whatever strange gravity kept pulling them together. Instead, they drifted close whenever no one was looking. Her fingers ghosted over his wrist as she slipped a pilfered keycard into his sleeve; he steadied her waist when she bent over a teacher’s desk and pretended to look for lost homework while expertly swiping the papers underneath. They were good, unsettlingly good. A quiet, synchronized, criminal ballet.
Beom-seok started getting bold in ways he never had before. He’d tug her into narrow hallways when guards passed, breathing fast from the adrenaline but even faster from being too close to her. His hand always found hers first when they ran, tightening so instinctively that she almost forgot she was supposed to be the one leading him into trouble. They’d collapse behind dumpsters or stairwell doors, panting and laughing, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, the thrill of getting away running hotter than the sprint itself. And in those moments, she’d catch him staring—not with the cautious, skittish look he used to wear, but with something soft and unguarded, something that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. Like he was memorizing her. Like she was becoming his safest place in a world that had never given him one.
She ignored it at first. Tried to. Attachment was dangerous; affection was a trap she’d learned to avoid. She told herself Beom-seok was only clinging to her because she understood the rush, because she didn’t judge him, because they were partners in crime, nothing more. But then came the small things. The way he started saving the best seats for her in the cafeteria. The way his shoulder brushed hers for a second longer before he pulled away. The way he murmured her name like it was a secret he was scared the world might steal. And once, after they snatched a set of confiscated phones from the discipline office and sprinted across the courtyard, he cornered her behind the storage shed, nearly collapsing from laughter. When she reached out to brush dirt off his cheek, he froze. Not scared, not flinching—just overwhelmed. She pretended not to notice the way his breath hitched. She pretended even harder not to feel the tremor that ran down her arm when he leaned just slightly into her touch.
The plan for the heist didn’t start as a betrayal. Not at first. It came casually, whispered between them as they lay on the rooftop after skipping last period. The wind was cold; their shoulders were touching; they shared a stolen drink like it was a communion. “The headmaster keeps all the emergency funds in that safe,” she murmured. “In the east office. No cameras inside. Only in the hallway.” Beom-seok turned to her too quickly, eyes lit with something wild. “We could actually do it,” he said, like she had offered him a real future, not a crime. She nodded, faintly amused by how fast he latched onto the idea. “We’d need codes. And timing. And an excuse to be there after hours.” She didn’t mention the part where she could easily blame everything on him. She didn’t mention how the thought had already rooted itself in her mind.
The next week was a blur of planning disguised as flirting with danger. They scouted the hallway late at night, hiding behind trophy cases, whispering too close to each other’s mouths. They mapped out guard rotations, Beom-seok pressed against her back as they leaned over the paper, his chin almost on her shoulder. She felt the warmth of him everywhere—his nervous excitement, his hope, his trust. That trust hurt more than anything else. She’d never been trusted like that before. Never been looked at like she was someone’s answer instead of someone’s threat. And every time he intertwined their fingers while they walked back from school—“just in case someone sees us”—she had to remind herself that she was the one setting the fuse. Not him.
The night before the heist, they met in their usual alley, the one behind the convenience store where the streetlights couldn’t quite reach them. He arrived first for once, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack, eyes darting like he’d been waiting for hours.
When she stepped into the dim light, he relaxed in a way that felt too intimate. They went over the plan again, codes memorized, escape route chosen, timing synchronized down to the second. She recited each step with clinical precision; he listened like her voice was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
But then the conversation drifted, softened, cracked open. He talked first—quietly, like pulling threads he’d kept buried. About how he never really had friends. How violence had been easier than vulnerability. How people always left. She didn’t say much, just watched the way his hands shook while he tried to keep himself from unraveling completely. And then he looked at her, really looked at her—with eyes full of fear and devotion all at once. “Just… promise you won’t leave me,” he whispered, voice breakingly sincere. “You’re the only one I have.”
She felt the guilt punch straight through her ribs. It was too earnest, too raw, too much. For a moment she almost confessed everything, almost told him he was making a mistake trusting her, almost warned him that she wasn’t built to stay. But Beom-seok waited for her answer with his heart practically in his hands, and something inside her buckled. She stepped closer, fingers curling around the front of his shirt. His breath stuttered. And before she could think—before she could stop herself, she kissed him. Soft at first, then deeper, desperate, like she was trying to hide the truth between their mouths.
His hands grabbed her waist with a shaky tenderness, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. When they broke apart, he leaned his forehead to hers, eyes glassy. “I trust you,” he whispered.
She didn’t reply.
She couldn’t.
Because tomorrow, she’d be the one to break him.
The night of the heist wraps around the school like a suffocating shroud, the kind of darkness that doesn’t just sit in the corners but presses, heavy and humid against your skin, making every inhale feel like pulling smoke into your lungs, and as you and Beom-seok slip into the courtyard, his footsteps practically tripping over yours because he refuses to stray more than a hand’s width away, you can feel the excitement vibrating under his skin like a caged animal ready to bolt, and he keeps glancing at you with these small, anxious looks as if he’s checking whether you’re still beside him, whether you’re still real, whether you’re not going to disappear like everything else in his life always has. His sleeve brushes yours with every step, intentionally or not, and you force your expression into something unreadable, because the guilt gnaws at you, knifing into your ribs, but you can’t afford to let it show, not now, not when everything is poised on a fragile balance that will shatter by morning.
Inside the administrative wing, the kind of quiet that feels wrong settles over you both, amplifying every sound into something sharp—the tiny metallic clink of keys in Beom-seok’s shaking hand, the subtle scrape of your shoes across the polished floor, the breath he exhales when the first door unlocks with a soft click, and he turns toward you with a smile that is so hopeful it almost feels like an accusation. “See?” he whispers, voice shaking but shining, “I told you, we’re good at this. You and me.” He squeezes your wrist briefly, grounding himself, as if needing reassurance that you haven’t slipped through his fingers yet, and you can already tell he’s been building this moment up in his head for days, maybe weeks, imagining a victory he could share with someone for the first time in his life. And you nod, because that’s the easiest thing to do, the least dangerous lie, and he grins like that tiny gesture is enough to tether him to the earth.
As you creep deeper into the building, he starts talking more, not loudly, but quickly, nervously, like someone trying to fill the silence before it swallows him, rambling about how he timed the guard rotations, how he memorized the headmaster’s schedule, how he practiced cracking a lock on an old storage safe he found behind the gym. He says it with this shy sort of pride that makes your chest tighten uncomfortably, because it’s so obvious he wants to impress you, wants you to see him as competent, valuable, someone worth standing beside. “I’ve never done something like this with anyone,” he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at you as he leads you up the final staircase, “but it’s weird… I feel like I can do anything with you.” And you have to look away because it hits too close to the wound you’re trying very hard not to acknowledge.
The headmaster’s office is dark, the air stale and heavy, the kind of room that feels like a held breath, and as the door shuts behind you, sealing the two of you inside, Beom-seok stands very still for a moment, staring at the safe like it’s the gate to a future he’s only ever dared to imagine when he was alone and angry and wishing the world would break for him just once. Then he turns to you, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “After tonight… things will finally be different,” he breathes, “we won’t have to run forever. We can leave. Start over. Just you and me.” His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach for you but is terrified you’ll pull away, and you swallow the instinct to flinch because nothing, not sincerity, not affection, not longing, can save him now.
He kneels at the safe with a reverence you’ve never seen from him before, laying out his stolen tools like offerings, and he looks so focused, so determined, muttering to himself under his breath as he works, adjusting wires and listening for clicks and frowns of concentration pulling at his brows. Every few seconds he glances up at you, making sure you’re still there, still watching, still choosing him, and you force yourself to keep a neutral expression—even though watching him try so hard is like letting a knife drag slowly across your ribs. He’s so proud when he makes progress; you can see it in the tiny uptick of his mouth, the shine in his eyes, the relief that exudes from him like warmth. He wants you to see him succeed. He wants you to be the first witness to a moment in his life where he doesn’t fail.
When the lock finally clicks open, the sound isn’t dramatic at all, but to Beom-seok it is the world ending and beginning at the same time; he freezes, breath catching in his throat, and then he swings the safe open with trembling hands, revealing bundles of money stacked neatly inside, and his expression... God—his expression is pure, unfiltered joy, a kind of joy no one has ever allowed him to feel without taking it away immediately after. “We did it,” he whispers, turning to you with a grin that cracks something inside you, “we did it, together.” And for a split-second, you almost step forward, almost let your face soften, almost let yourself be human, but the lights explode on above you before the weakness can bloom.
The hallway floods with teachers and guards, the headmaster himself pushing to the front with a snarl already forming on his face, and Beom-seok reels backward in shock, the joy drained from him instantly as he stares around with widening eyes, confusion spiraling into panic. He whips his head toward you, reaching for your arm instinctively, desperate for some anchor, some explanation, some sign that this isn’t what it looks like, but you don’t move. You don’t look at him. You remain perfectly still, perfectly calm, perfectly empty. His expression contorts like someone drove a fist straight into his chest. And then he finally, painfully, understands.
The headmaster’s voice rises, furious and laced with disgust as he accuses Beom-seok of everything, of planning the theft, of manipulating you, of corruption, of delinquency, and Beom-seok shakes his head violently, voice cracking as he shouts back, “Wha—No! You don’t understand! It’s not—It wasn’t—!” But the words choke him, stumble, collapse, because he’s staring at you the entire time, waiting for you to speak up, to defend him, to do anything—and you don’t. You don’t even lift your chin. His breath shortens into something sharp and broken. “Y/N…?” he calls out, voice trembling, “Say something—please—please say something, please—” and teachers grab him by the arms before he can stagger toward you.
The headmaster steps closer, face twisted in contempt, and snarls, “Of course it was you, Beom-seok. It’s always you. Trouble, filth, disappointment, how long did you think you could hide what you are?” And something in Beom-seok snaps so audibly you feel it crack through the air like lightning. “SHUT UP!” he screams, the word tearing from his throat like an animal in a trap, “SHUT UP, YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME!” His voice is hoarse and wild, edged with years of swallowed rage, years of being dismissed, blamed, cornered. “YOU NEVER CARED! YOU NEVER EVEN LOOKED AT ME!” He shakes in the teachers’ grip, face red, eyes bright with fury and betrayal. “NONE OF YOU EVER DID!”
When the headmaster steps in again, face twisted and mocking, Beom-seok lunges forward, not with calculation, not with thought, but with the raw, instinctive desperation of someone whose entire world is collapsing in real time, and he punches him square across the jaw. The impact is loud enough to echo through the room, teachers shouting, guards rushing in, the headmaster stumbling back with a shocked cry. But even then—even in the chaos, even as hands clamp down on his arms and drag him backward, Beom-seok doesn’t look at anyone else but you. His eyes lock on yours, wild and devastated and searching. “Y/N—Y/N, HELP ME!” he shouts, voice cracking open, “PLEASE—PLEASE SAY SOMETHING—WHY ARE YOU JUST STANDING THERE?!”
He thrashes against the guards, voice growing louder, more frantic, each word edged with disbelief and heartbreak, “Y/N, TELL THEM! TELL THEM I DIDN’T DO THIS ALONE! TELL THEM YOU WERE WITH ME! PLEASE—PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME—I TRUSTED YOU!” His voice breaks on the word trusted, something in it splintering beyond repair, and you still don’t move, still don’t speak, still keep that infuriatingly blank expression on your face. You can see the moment he realizes—fully, irrevocably, that you’re not going to save him. That you planned this. That you stood beside him and smiled and held his hand and ran with him, all while preparing the knife you would press into his spine.
“Why?” he chokes out, tears starting to spill, not silently, not gently, but in harsh, gulping sobs he tries and fails to swallow, “Why—why—why—why would you—after everything—after all we—Y/N, PLEASE—PLEASE LOOK AT ME—DON’T DO THIS—DON’T DO THIS—I NEED YOU—YOU’RE ALL I HAVE—WHY ARE YOU LETTING THEM TAKE ME?!” His voice hits a pitch so desperate the room stills for half a second, teachers hesitating, even the headmaster clutching his jaw and looking startled by the rawness of it. But you keep your face empty. Unmoving. Cold. Because the plan demands it.
They drag him toward the hallway, but he fights so violently they have to bring in another guard, and his voice rises louder with every step, echoing down the corridor, shattering whatever dignity he had left. “Y/N! Y/N, PLEASE! Don’t let them take me—don’t leave me—DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE AGAIN—I DID THIS FOR US—FOR YOU—PLEASE—PLEASE—PLEASE SAY SOMETHING, JUST ONE WORD—JUST—LOOK—AT—ME—” His screams are hoarse now, raw and cracking, but he keeps calling your name like a lifeline. And you keep staring straight ahead, refusing to react, refusing to break.
He collapses once, knees buckling under him, and they haul him upright again, dragging him like a ragdoll, but even then, even when tears blur his vision, even when he’s gasping for breath, he twists desperate toward you, sobbing, “I TRUSTED YOU, YOU PROMISED—YOU SAID—YOU SAID YOU’D STAY—YOU SAID—PLEASE DON’T DO THIS—PLEASE DON’T—PLEASE—Y/N—WHY? WHY?!” His voice cracks so violently on the last word that it sounds like something tearing inside him, something that will never quite heal the same way again.
The door slams shut behind him, muffling his final scream—“WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”—leaving the hallway in a thick, oppressive silence, and even though you remain standing perfectly still in the middle of the office, arms folded, expression neutral and unbothered, a quiet, steady part of you acknowledges the truth: you didn’t just betray him. You dismantled him. And he will remember the shape of your silence for the rest of his life.
note: aw guys I'm soooowwwyyy 🥹🥹🥹 ✌🏻✌🏻 I'll make it up to you guys
Fake dating was supposed to be funny. That was the rule Ye-jin kept repeating to herself whenever Hyun-tak slung an arm around her or leaned in too close in the hallways. It was supposed to be a game, something they could laugh about once the whole campus got bored of them. And at first, it was fun.. the teasing, the whispering from the freshman hallways, the way people from different grades started calling them “YeTak” like they were some kind of campus legend. She didn’t notice how naturally she started walking beside him, or how she stayed a little longer after classes just to match his pace. She didn’t realize how often she looked for him during breaks, expecting to see him leaning against a wall, waiting to annoy her. She certainly didn’t notice how quickly her heart tightened when she saw someone else smile at him. But she did notice Baku.
Baku was soft-spoken, calm, the type of guy who listened before he spoke, nothing like Hyun-tak, who lit up every room he walked into like a match dropped onto gasoline. Baku was gentle, checking on her ankle every practice, always remembering the things she said offhandedly. He stayed late to help her tape her injury, and sometimes he would smile, small and sincere, in a way that made something flutter in her chest. Ye-jin didn’t think much about it, not really. It was just admiration. Curiosity. Attraction, maybe, if she was being brutally honest with herself. But she didn’t see how Hyun-tak had stopped teasing whenever Baku approached, or how his eyes always shifted first to her expression, reading every tiny reaction like it was an answer to a question he was too afraid to ask.
Hyun-tak tried to be subtle about it. He tried not to stare when she laughed at Baku’s jokes, tried not to roll his eyes when Baku handed her water after practice, tried not to break his pen when she smiled softly after Baku complimented her spike. He kept telling himself it didn’t matter, because this wasn’t real. Because she wasn’t his. Because she didn’t choose him. And because a fake relationship gave him no right to feel anything at all. But every time she brightened at Baku’s voice, something inside him cracked, splintering in ways he couldn’t tape back together with bravado.
He became quiet. Quieter than he meant to. He sulked without realizing it, slipping into these long stretches of silence during their walk home, answering her questions with distracted hummed responses, avoiding her eyes because he knew if he looked directly at her, all his feelings would spill out, messy, humiliating, too much. Ye-jin noticed in small ways: how he didn’t wait for her by the gym doors anymore, how he stopped offering to carry her bag, how he didn’t crack jokes during lunch. But she didn’t connect it. Why would she? Fake boyfriends didn’t get jealous. Fake boyfriends didn’t care.
But real ones would’ve cared. And he was dangerously close to being one, except he had no place to stand. No title. No claim. Nothing.
The volleyball finals came faster than she expected, and Hyun-tak showed up head to toe in team colors, red jacket, themed wristbands, face paint under both eyes like he was a warrior ready for battle. He even brought a massive banner that said, “Eunjang #4 IM YE-JIN, MY CAPTAIN ALWAYS WINS!!!” The boys from Class 2 teased him nonstop, but he didn’t care; he wanted her to see him. He wanted her to know he was proud, not as her fake boyfriend but as someone who loved her fire, her stubbornness, her drive. And when she walked into the court and saw him yelling her name louder than her entire team combined, she laughed, cheeks reddening in a way she didn’t understand yet.
The match was brutal, full of long rallies and vicious spikes that made the bleachers scream. Ye-jin played like she was on fire, adrenaline pumping in her veins, and every time she scored, Hyun-tak stood up so aggressively his paint smeared. He didn’t care. He looked like he could burst from pride when she won the final point. But right after the last cheer, when the gym roared with victory, Baku ran over, not hesitating, not thinking, and pulled Ye-jin into a hug. A long, full-bodied, arms-around-her-waist kind of hug. Too intimate. Too warm. Too comfortable.
Hyun-tak froze. Completely.
The banner in his hands lowered. The cheering around him faded until it was nothing but a dull roar he couldn’t feel. In that moment, something sharp twisted inside him— jealousy, betrayal, heartbreak, all tangled together in a way that made his throat close. He had come for her. He had painted his face like an idiot for her. And she was in another guy’s arms, smiling into his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He turned and left. He didn’t wait for the team to gather for photos. He didn’t wait for Ye-jin. He didn’t wait for anyone. He just walked, fast, determined, wounded, out of the coliseum into the cold rain.
Ye-jin noticed instantly. She pulled away from Baku mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as she scanned the crowd. Hyun-tak’s red jacket was unmistakable, especially disappearing through the exit doors at a pace that was almost angry. She muttered something to her coach before sprinting after him, slipping through the wet concrete path outside. The rain was coming down in sheets, hammering hard enough to blur the lights of the parking lot.
“Go Hyun-tak!” she shouted.
He didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around. If anything, he walked faster, shoulders tensed like he couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Hyun-tak!” she yelled again, voice louder, cracking slightly. “Stop walking away from me!”
He didn’t. His chest was too tight, his pride too bruised, his feelings too raw.
So she ran, faster than she ever had during practice, and grabbed his arm with a force that almost spun him around. Rain dripped down her hair, her cheeks flushed with anger and confusion.
“Talk to me,” she demanded, voice trembling. “Right now.”
Hyun-tak finally turned, jaw clenched, eyes darker than she’d ever seen. “Why?” he said, voice hoarse. “So you can run back to him? You looked pretty happy.”
She blinked, stunned. “What?”
“You heard me.” His voice cracked, frustration spilling out unchecked. “You can hug whoever you want. You can like whoever you want. It’s not like we’re real, right? It’s not like I’m allowed to feel anything.”
Ye-jin stared at him, heart pounding. “Wait—are you jealous?”
He laughed, bitter, broken. “Of course I’m jealous. I’ve been jealous. For weeks. And it’s pathetic, because I don’t even get to say anything. I’m just the guy pretending to date you while you look at someone else like... like that.”
Ye-jin’s breath hitched, anger mixing with something deeper. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t feel anything either? I was looking for you the entire time. I wanted you there with me. I wanted you to be the first person I talked to after the match. You walking away felt—” she swallowed, voice straining. “Like you didn’t want me.”
The rain hammered harder, thunder rumbling like punctuation.
Hyun-tak stepped closer. “Yejin… what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I like you,” she snapped, voice tight and shaking. “I’m saying I’ve been trying not to like you for weeks because I didn’t want to ruin whatever this was supposed to be. But you keep making it impossible. You make me nervous. You make me angry. You make me...” She exhaled shakily. “You make me care.”
He stared at her, stunned, rain dripping down both of their faces.
And then she whispered, “So if you’re going to confess, do it properly.”
Hyun-tak didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed her face in both hands, pulled her in, and kissed her like he had been waiting months — maybe even years, for this exact moment. It was messy, emotional, teeth and breath and rain soaking their clothes, but it was real. Raw. True. Everything they had been holding back crashing into each other all at once.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, hands gripping his jacket, pulling him closer like he was the only solid thing in the storm.
Fake dating burned away instantly, leaving something terrifyingly genuine in its place.
By the time they pulled apart, breathless and drenched, Hyun-tak rested his forehead against hers.
“Be my girlfriend,” he whispered. “For real, this time.”
Ye-jin nodded, smiling through the rain. “I thought you’d never ask.”
📝 Freedom Wall Post:
Someone just SAW Ye-jin and Go Hyun-tak kissing in the RAIN outside the coliseum…??? RARE YETAK PULLLL THIS IS NOT A DRILL. YETAK IS REAL.
Comments:
@eunjangvbmanager: I KNEW IT. I CALLED IT. I’VE BEEN SAYING THEY’RE ENDGAME.
@anonymous22: Hyun-tak had face paint on… and he still looked fine as hell wthelly.
note: omd i haven't posted an actual ff for so long I'm so sorry lmao
!!char guide!!
The gym was alive with its usual noise, the squeak of sneakers against the floor, the heavy bounce of basketballs, the sharp smack of volleyballs hitting the court. The air was thick with the kind of tension only competition could create.
In the middle of it stood Im Ye-jin, captain of Eunjang’s girl's volleyball team, who was trying to focus on drills despite the constant distraction coming from the other half of the gym. Across the divider, Go Hyun-tak, captain of the basketball team, was laughing with his teammates, throwing taunts loud enough for her to hear. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t even surprising.
“Hey, Captain Im!” he called out, spinning a ball on his finger, voice dripping with playful arrogance. “You planning to keep the court hostage again? Or do we get to actually practice today?” Ye-jin didn’t bother looking up from her clipboard. “Maybe when your team learns to dribble without tripping over their own feet, I’ll think about it.”
A chorus of “ooohs” rose from both sides. Someone whistled. Someone else yelled, “She got you there, Hyun-tak!” But he only grinned, tossing the ball lazily from hand to hand. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re mad,” he said.
Ye-jin looked up sharply. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to spike this ball at your face.” Her teammates tried not to laugh. His team was egging him on. And from the bleachers, Yeon Si-eun, Ahn Su-ho, and Seo Jun-tae watched the entire exchange unfold like they were sitting in front of a live drama.
“They’re at it again,” Si-eun muttered, barely glancing up from his notes.
“They’ve been at it since the semester started,” Su-ho replied, smirking. “Honestly, I’m starting to think they like it.”
Jun-tae snorted. “Nah, this is straight-up enemies to lovers in real life. Just wait for the confession episode.”
The whole school knew about them, the way they fought for gym schedules, argued over bulletin space, and turned every interschool sports meeting into a shouting match. Yet beneath all that banter, there was something else. Something neither of them would admit, but everyone saw.
When practice ended, Ye-jin was gathering her things by the lockers when Hyun-tak passed by again, still sweaty, still annoyingly smug. “You know,” he said casually, “if we teamed up, we could probably wipe out every other school in the regionals.”
She didn’t even glance up. “We play different sports.” He chuckled, walking away. “We would still make a good team though,” She rolled her eyes but found herself smiling as his voice faded down the hall. She’d never admit it, but there was something about Hyun-tak, something infuriating, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.
📝 Freedom Wall Post:
“Can someone PLEASE tell Ye-jin and Hyun-tak that their sexual tension is distracting the entire gym 😭 every time they fight it’s like a kdrama episode playing live.
Comments:
@suhoo_: ref do something 😔
@yeonsieun: the noise pollution is real.
@juntaeyaa: i’m starting a betting pool for who confesses first.. hehe
It was already past six when Ye-jin finally dismissed her team. The lights buzzed faintly overhead, half the gym dark except for the side where she stayed behind. She was the type who didn’t stop until she got it perfect. So even when her players left, she kept serving, again and again, chasing consistency, chasing control. Then one jump went wrong. The moment her foot landed, pain shot through her ankle like electricity. She gasped, knees buckling as the volleyball rolled across the court.
“Ye-jin?” She looked up, startled. Of all people, it had to be him.Go Hyun-tak was standing in the doorway, hair damp from his own late practice, gym bag slung over his shoulder. His expression shifted instantly when he saw her on the ground. In two strides, he was at her side, crouching down. “What happened?"
“Nothing,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Just a small twist.”
“Small twist,” he repeated flatly, eyes scanning the swelling already forming around her ankle. “You can’t even stand. Stay still.” She tried to pull away, but he caught her ankle gently, the warmth of his hands surprising her. His tone was softer now, but firm. “Stop being stubborn for once.”
“I’m not—” she started, but hissed when he pressed slightly to check the joint. He sighed. “You’re impossible.” Then, without another word, he slipped her arm over his shoulder.
“Come on.”
“I can walk—”
“No, you can’t.” His voice left no room for argument. He tightened his grip and helped her stand, steadying her when she stumbled. His other hand hovered near her waist as they slowly made their way to the exit.
The air between them shifted quieter now, charged with something unfamiliar. The usual teasing was gone, replaced by something that felt dangerously close to tenderness. For once, Ye-jin didn’t have anything to say. Then, somewhere behind them, a camera clicked. Neither of them noticed.
📝 Freedom Wall Post:
“HYUN-TAK CARRIED YE-JIN OUT OF THE GYM LAST NIGHT 😭😭 LIKE FULL ON HERO-MODE BRIDAL STYLE. HE LOOKED SO WORRIED TOO 😭??? MY YE-TAK HEARTTTT
Comments:
@juntaeyaa: saw it happen. man looked like he was in a drama finale.
@suhoo_: hell naw this school needs a privacy policy
@yeonsieun: everyone should start minding their own business.
@imyejin: DUDE THIS HAPPENED JUST 5 HOURS AGO
@gotakkie: they're fast 🤷🏻♂️
By morning, the Freedom Wall was chaos. Students were whispering, giggling, showing screenshots from the post. Every time Ye-jin walked down the hallway, conversations died mid-sentence. She’d barely made it to her locker when she heard his voice, that same confident, teasing tone that somehow always found her. “Morning, Captain.”
She looked up to see Hyun-tak leaning casually against her locker, hands in his pockets, that infuriating grin on his face.
“You’re trending,” he said. “Thanks to you,” she shot back. “Next time, don’t play the hero.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome, by the way.” “I didn’t say thank you.”
“You didn’t have to.” He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping low enough for only her to hear. “You don’t need to act tough all the time, you know.”
Her heart stuttered before she could stop it, and she hated that he noticed. “You’re seriously enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “It’s cute when you get flustered.” She blinked. “I am not—” But before she could finish, a group of students passed behind them, whispering loudly enough to hear.
“It’s them! YeTak!” someone giggled. “They actually look good together!” Ye-jin sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “Great. They made a ship name. This is your fault.”
Hyun-tak’s smirk deepened. “Then maybe we should give them something to really talk about.” “Don’t you dare—”
He didn’t let her finish. One second, he was smirking; the next, his lips were on hers. It wasn’t long, a few seconds at most, but it was enough to silence the entire hallway. Enough to send a ripple of gasps and whispers down the corridor.
When he finally pulled back, his grin was all satisfaction. “There. Problem solved.” Ye-jin stood frozen, completely speechless, her face burning. “You.. you just kissed me!” He gave a lazy shrug. “Relax, Captain. It’s all for show. Fake dating’s a great PR move.” “PR move?!” she echoed, still reeling. “Come on,” he said, walking past her, completely unfazed. “You’ll thank me later.”
Her mind was still spinning when she heard the sound of fingers typing rapidly nearby. Someone was already posting about it.
📝 Freedom Wall Post:
“STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING. HYUN-TAK JUST KISSED YE-JIN IN THE HALLWAY. I REPEAT. KISSED. IN. FRONT. OF. EVERYONE. WTF"
Comments:
@suhoo_: what did i just witness 😭
@juntaeyaa: this school’s turning into a shoujo anime!!!
Affiliation: Eunjang High — Volleyball Team Captain
Appearance:
Ye-jin has a clean, natural beauty that doesn’t need effort to stand out. Her fair skin always seems to catch the light softly, and a faint blush lingers on her cheeks whether from the sun or from practice. Her eyes are round and expressive, the kind that seem gentle at first but harden when she’s focused. Straight black hair frames her face neatly, bangs brushing her lashes, usually tied back in a ponytail for games but left loose when she’s off-court. She dresses simple, old gray shirts, loose joggers, hair tied with an elastic from her wrist, but somehow she still looks put-together. When she smiles, it’s quiet, almost shy, but genuine enough to disarm even her rivals.
Personality:
Ye-jin is disciplined, grounded, and fiercely competitive, the kind of leader who doesn’t shout to command respect but earns it through consistency and heart. She’s sharp-tongued when provoked (especially by Hyun-tak), yet behind her pride is someone deeply caring about her team and friends. She doesn’t open up easily, but she feels deeply, every loss, every word, every betrayal. She’s stubborn to a fault, always pushing herself harder than anyone else would dare to. But that same determination makes her magnetic. People are drawn to her steadiness, her quiet fire, the way she stands her ground even when everything’s against her.
Off the court, she’s unexpectedly soft, the type to bring snacks for everyone after practice but deny it if asked. She pretends not to care about gossip, yet secretly reads the Freedom Wall posts about her and Hyun-tak just to roll her eyes at them. Despite her teasing rivalries and sarcasm, she has a very empathetic core, one that often surprises those who misread her stoicism as coldness.
Strengths: Leadership, self-discipline, emotional restraint, empathy under pressure.
Weaknesses: Overworks herself, hides vulnerability, gets flustered when feelings are involved.
Go Hyun-tak (고현탁)
Age: 18
Affiliation: Eunjang High — Basketball Team Captain
Appearance:
Hyun-tak has that kind of presence that fills a room before he even says a word. Tall, athletic, and effortlessly confident, he walks like he knows exactly who he is and what people think of him and he doesn’t mind leaning into it. His hair is usually messy from practice, but it suits him; his sharp jawline and tired eyes give him that unintentional heartthrob look every student at Eunjang seems to notice. There’s always a hint of mischief in his grin, a spark that says he’s about to start something just for the fun of it. Even when he’s in his uniform, his shirt’s half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, basketball under one arm like the rules don’t quite apply to him.
Personality:
On the surface, Hyun-tak is the definition of charm confident, easygoing, and infuriatingly good at getting under Ye-jin’s skin. He jokes through tension, flirts through arguments, and pretends nothing ever really affects him. But behind that teasing exterior is someone much more complex. He’s a natural leader who carries pressure quietly, pushing himself harder than he admits. He has a short fuse when it comes to unfairness quick to defend his teammates, even quicker to take blame for their mistakes. Despite acting like he doesn’t care, he’s incredibly loyal.
Hyun-tak thrives in competition. Whether it’s basketball or banter, he loves the rush of being challenged which is exactly why he can’t stay away from Ye-jin. Her fire matches his in a way that keeps him awake at night. He’s drawn to her focus, the way she refuses to bend, and he can’t decide if he wants to win against her or win her. Beneath the jokes, though, he’s careful with her protective in subtle ways he’ll never admit out loud.
Strengths: Charisma, leadership under pressure, intuition, emotional courage.
Weaknesses: Impulsiveness, pride, difficulty expressing real emotions.
a/n; this is the last part TT this was my first EVER smau but ik theres more coming cause i have SOOOOMANY ideas but so little motivation:< ty for reading and pls repost !! ty so much for the support <3
I've been on TikTok js to read those blue lock filo aus cuz they're lwk more funny and entertaining 😭😭 I want the same here PLEASEEE... I can't do them myself. I fear I might come off as corny huhu.. okay filo blue lock fans... pls.. 🙏🏻🫰🏻
random thought pero tsukishima kei as yn's masungit na tindero ng barbecue sa tapat ng bahay nila.
"magkano po isaw?" tanong niya nang nakatitig lang sa mga paninda.
"lima."
napaangat siya nang tingin nang marinig na hindi si aling mayet ang nagtitinda. napanguso siya sa sarili at tumango. "dito sa barbecue?" dugtong niya.
"twenty."
"five na ulit yung isaw, pero twenty na yung barbecue... hmmm..." bulong niya sa sarili.
"alam mo pala presyo bakit nagtatanong ka pa?" masungit na tanong ng tindero. mabuti na lang at walang ibang bumibili dahil halos kabubukas lang nila.
"sungit mo naman!" singhal niya. "malay ko ba kung nagbabago yung presyo. kita mo nga nabago oh, sais 'yan kahapon tapos eighteen 'yung barbecue." umirap siya rito.
syempre, hindi nagpatalo si tsukishima. pairap niya ring kinuha mula kay yn ang limang isaw na hawak nito pati na ang apat na barbecue. "ang takaw mo ah."
"wala kang paki. sumbong kita kay tita mayet. masungit ka na nga, pakielamero ka pa."
"magsumbong ka, nasa likod mo siya."
nanlaki ang mata niya nang tumuro ito sa likod niya. paglingon ay nasa likod niya nga ito at mukhang nakikinig sa usapan nila ni tsukishima kanina pa.
"nag-aaway na naman kayo?" natatawa nitong tanong.
"hello po! hindi po, nang-aaway lang po 'yang pamangkin niyo." lumapit pa siya kay aling mayet. "malulugi kayo sa kaniya, tita. napakasungit ng tindero niyo—malas 'yon!" suhol niya pa.
mas lalong natawa si aling mayet sa kaniya, at tiningnan nang nanunuyang tingin si tsukishima. "ikaw lang naman sinusungitan niyan eh."
"eh?" sinamaan niya ng tingin si tsukishima na namumula dahil siguro sa usok ng iniihaw. "dahil lang naputol ko pambura mo no'ng grade 3?"
ang paghiram niya ng pambura noon ay ang unang interaction nila, at nang ibalik niya ito, sinimulan na siyang sungitan ni tsukishima.
"nako, hindi—"
"ninang kanina ka pa hinahanap ni mama sa loob," putol ni tsukishima. narinig niya pa ang muling pagtawa ni aling mayet bago ibinaling ni tsukishima ang tingin sa kaniya. "ikaw naman, 'wag kang assuming. hindi ko nga maalalang pinahiram kita ng pambura."
"ang sungit." umirap siya, at nang makitang luto na ang isaw ay kumuha siya ng isa. naglagay na siya ng sawsawan niya sa tabi kaya naman kumakain siya habang hinihintay pang maluto ang iba. "eh bakit ang sungit mo? crush mo ba 'ko?"
"susunugin ko barbecue mo."
"uy hindi din-eny!" at sinundan niya pa ng halakhak.
"umuwi ka na nga!"
"teka—"
pumuwesto ito sa likod niya at itinulak siya direkta sa katapat lang, bahay nila. "uwi."
"hindi pa 'ko tapos—"
"ihahatid ko na lang! uwi!"
"hindi pa 'ko bayad—"
sumama ang tingin ni tsukishima, pero hindi mapigilan ni yn na matawa dahil namumula ang buong mukha nito. halatang-halata dahil sa napaka-puting balat.
"ako na. dadagdagan ko pa ng isaw, uwi."
ngumisi si yn. naningkit ang mata niya habang naglalakad patalikod, nakaharap pa rin kay tsukishima kahit nakatawid na siya't hawak na ang gate nila.
sumigaw siya, "ma! may ulam na tayo, crush ako ni sungit!"
