#recognizing imbalance | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cbeargyu · 9 days ago

Text

just a bet for you

summary: you weren’t the prettiest, the smartest, or the kind of girl people noticed—until heeseung did. he gave you his umbrella on a rainy day, his attention when no one else cared, and eventually, his love... or so you thought. two months in, after giving him your first kiss, your first time, your whole heart—he tells you the truth: it was never real. just a bet. just you.

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, high school au, emotional hurt, heartbreak, unrequited love, coming-of-age, betrayal, dark romance.

warnings: emotional manipulation, virginity loss, deception, heartbreak, explicit sexual content, power imbalance, crying during sex, aftermath of intimacy, mentions of emotional neglect, emotionally intense scenes, toxic dynamics, vulnerability, strong language.

wc: 3,6k

notes: hiiii🫶🏻 lately i’ve been obsessed with enhypen🤭 and i really want to write so much about them 🖤 i have 3 fanfics in mind with heesung as the bad boy😈🔥 and this is the first one! i’m also thinking about making a part two for this story, but what do you guys think? should i or not? 🤔🤫 if you want to be on the taglist i’ll make for the next chapter and the upcoming heesung or enhypen fanfics in general, please comment! thank you so much and i hope you enjoy 🥹

PART 2 HERE.

“y/n,” he said, his tone flat. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

your heart paused.

you sat up a little, adjusting the blanket around your chest, still half-dazed, still sore. “what do you mean?”

he didn’t look at you. “this wasn’t my first time.”

you blinked. “oh… okay. i mean… i didn’t think it was. that’s fine.”

but he shook his head, slow and almost impatient. “no. you’re not getting it.”

you tilted your head, your heart picking up speed. “then explain it to me.”

his fingers laced together, elbows on his knees. he stared down at the floor like it was easier to talk to than you.

“let’s stop this,” he said suddenly. “we should end it here.”

you blinked hard, your breath catching in your throat. “what?”

he finally turned a little, just enough for you to see the side of his face. his profile was blank, almost bored.

“from the beginning, you were like a ghost,” he said. “always hovering, always watching. pretending our meetings were accidents, like you weren’t constantly following me around. like you weren’t desperate for me to see you.”

his words were sharp, colder than anything he’d ever said to you.

“i tolerated it,” he added, his tone dry. “because i was curious. i wanted to see how far you’d go.”

your eyes were wide now, and you sat up straighter, the blanket clutched tightly over your chest. “heesung… what are you talking about?”

he turned his head, finally meeting your gaze over his shoulder.

“i’m not the person you think i am.”

your heart thudded painfully in your chest.

“this was a game. a bet,” he said softly. “i wanted to see how far you’d go for me.”

you couldn’t breathe.

his eyes met yours. colder than you’d ever seen them. lifeless. cruel.

“now i know.”

it had been raining for most of the day. the kind of slow, persistent drizzle that soaked through your socks and left your skin clammy even beneath your uniform. your cheap umbrella, the one you’d had since middle school, finally gave out around lunch—one of the ribs snapped in the wind, and you watched helplessly as the fabric peeled away like skin from bone. you’d tried to make it work anyway, stubbornly clutching it on your way out of the school gates, books held close to your chest, shoes squelching against the pavement. you didn’t expect anyone to stop. no one ever did.

“hey,” a voice said, soft but clear under the rain.

you turned, blinking up at him—lee heesung. tall, dark-haired, and slightly damp around the collar, holding a black umbrella that looked way too expensive for a high school student. you recognized him from the class next door. everyone did. he was the kind of boy who didn’t need to try to be noticed. always the top of the leaderboard in physics and literature, always the first pick for any team. but he wasn’t loud. he wasn’t even particularly social. he just… existed above the rest, like a story you weren’t allowed to touch.

he stepped closer and tilted his umbrella slightly to cover you. “yours broke?”

you hesitated, stunned by the simple question. “yeah. it’s, um… useless now.”

he didn’t say anything else. just held out the umbrella handle to you.

“take it,” he said. “i’m not going far. you need it more.”

you stared at him, thinking maybe he was joking, or testing you somehow, but his face was unreadable. not smiling, not smug. just… calm.

“thank you,” you murmured, reaching out for it like it might vanish if you moved too quickly.

he gave a slight nod, and with that, he walked off into the rain, hands in his pockets, hair already sticking to his forehead. no explanation. no follow-up. just gone.

after that, you started seeing him everywhere.

in the mornings, standing by the vending machine with his headphones in. at lunch, sitting by the window, sketching in a notebook you couldn’t see. after school, waiting at the bike rack with his fingers curled loosely around the handlebars. he never looked for you, never waved, but your eyes found him anyway—like a habit. a quiet kind of orbit.

you never thought someone like him would look back.

so when he asked you out—casually, almost like a dare—you didn’t think twice.

“go out with me,” he said one afternoon as you gathered your things after the study group he’d joined last minute. his tone was flat, but his eyes met yours, unwavering.

you blinked. “what?”

“you heard me,” he replied, shoving a pen into his backpack. “i’m asking you out, y/n.”

your heart flipped painfully. “why?”

he shrugged. “why not?”

you said yes. of course you said yes.

and that’s how it started. not with roses or confessions, but a strange, slow burn of moments stitched together—he holding your books when your arms were full, walking you home in silence, waiting for you after school without saying he would. he never called you ‘babe’ or held your hand in front of others. he didn’t kiss you at your locker or brag about you to his friends. but he showed up. when you were sick, he brought medicine. when you had your period, he offered his hoodie because he noticed the way you sat curled in discomfort. when you failed a quiz, he helped you study without a word of judgment.

and slowly, you fell.

you started staying up late just to replay your conversations in your head. you started writing his name in the margins of your notes. you started hoping—stupidly, recklessly—that maybe he liked you back in that quiet, complicated way he existed.

he never said “i love you.” but he looked at you, sometimes, like you were worth noticing. like maybe you were real.

you’d never known love could be so quiet.

no fireworks, no racing heartbeat. just a gentle kind of knowing—the way heesung would always wait for you at the gate, pretending he just happened to be there. the way he never forgot your schedule, even when you did. the way he carried your bag without asking when your shoulders hurt, or opened your water bottle for you during breaks without saying a word. he never called attention to it. never asked for thanks.

but you noticed. you noticed everything.

like how, when you got caught in the rain again a week later, he didn’t offer you his umbrella this time—he just pulled you under his without hesitation, one arm around your shoulder, holding you close so you wouldn’t get wet. you walked home together like that, your cheeks burning the whole time, your heart making up songs from the rhythm of his steps.

sometimes he’d do small things—thread your charger through the desk so you wouldn’t trip over it, order your favorite bread at the convenience store before you even told him, peel tangerines during break and place one gently on your notebook without ever looking up.

he never said “i care about you.” but he didn’t need to.

one afternoon, the two of you sat at the far corner of the school library, hidden behind tall shelves and rows of dusty encyclopedias. finals were close, and he’d offered to help you review for the math test. you tried to focus, but your brain was mush and his cologne smelled warm and clean, and the way he leaned over your notebook made your breath catch.

you were mid-sentence—trying to understand the difference between permutations and combinations—when he reached over, slowly, and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

you froze. his fingertips brushed your cheek, barely touching, but it made your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t have words for. your lips parted to say something, but nothing came out.

he didn’t move away.

his gaze lingered on your face, eyes dark and unreadable, his hand resting now on the edge of the table between you. his thumb brushed against your pinky finger.

“you’re not dumb,” he said softly, and for a second you thought you’d imagined it.

“what?”

he gave you a look, the kind that made your heart ache��equal parts tired and amused. “you always look like you’re about to cry when you study. like the numbers are bullying you.”

you laughed under your breath, biting your lip, and that’s when it happened.

he leaned in, not suddenly, not dramatically—just a slow tilt forward, like gravity had made the decision for him. your lips met in the space between breath and thought.

your first kiss.

his lips were warm, softer than you expected, moving carefully, almost unsure, like he was figuring it out at the same time as you. your eyes fluttered shut, your hand clenched the side of your chair. the world slowed down into the taste of mint and something faintly sweet, into the way his nose brushed yours, into the tiny breath he gave against your mouth like he didn’t want to stop.

and when he pulled away, just slightly, he didn’t speak.

neither did you.

you just stared at each other, your forehead almost touching, and for once the silence wasn’t awkward—it was full. full of all the things you didn’t have to say. his thumb grazed your knuckle once more before he picked up your pencil and returned it to your hand, turning the page of the textbook like nothing had happened.

but everything had changed.

you walked out of the library with his fingers loosely tangled in yours, and no one said a word.

still, you felt them—eyes watching from across the courtyard.

jay and sunghoon stood by the vending machines, not talking, just looking. their uniforms unbuttoned at the collar, hands in their pockets, that same slight smirk on both of their faces. not friendly. not surprised. almost… entertained.

you squeezed heesung’s hand tighter, but he didn’t look at them. or at you.

just ahead.

it had been two months since you started dating heesung. one month exactly since your first kiss in the library.

you still remembered how it felt—his lips soft and warm, the way the world had gone silent around you. since then, your relationship had moved slowly, carefully. there were more kisses, most of them stolen, tucked between hallways and shadows. he'd press a kiss to your temple before leaving, or lean in suddenly when you were mid-sentence, just to shut you up. it was never rushed. never loud.

and neither was he.

heesung remained the same. quiet, composed, hard to read. at first, it made you nervous—made you wonder if he liked you as much as you liked him. but then he'd hold your hand under the desk, or show up with your favorite snack without being asked, or carry your bag without saying a word. you realized he just... wasn’t expressive the way other people were. he loved in quiet actions, not words. and you accepted him like that.

maybe that was why, one night, when your parents were away visiting your aunt, you invited him over.

you told him you just wanted to watch a movie. but that wasn’t the whole truth.

the truth was, you wanted to feel closer. to give him something no one else had. you were scared, but more than that—you were sure. sure of him. sure of the way you felt when he looked at you like you mattered. sure of the way his hand fit around yours, like it was meant to be there.

you sat beside him on the couch, movie playing in the background, but your thoughts were louder than the dialogue on screen.

you turned to him, heart in your throat.

“heesung… can i tell you something?”

he looked at you with those eyes that always made your chest ache. “of course.”

you swallowed. “i want to do it. with you.”

his brows rose slightly. “do what?”

you gave a tiny, nervous laugh. “you know what.”

his face changed then—eyes widening just enough to show surprise, lips parting. “y/n…”

“i mean it,” you said, quieter now. “i want my first time to be with you.”

he blinked, frozen, like his brain was buffering.

“are you sure?” he asked after a beat. “like... really sure?”

you nodded, cheeks burning. “yeah. i thought about it a lot.”

he hesitated again, then slowly reached for your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“okay,” he whispered. “let’s go to your room.”

you stood on shaky legs, leading him down the hallway, heart pounding so hard you thought he might hear it. your hands were clammy, but his stayed steady. when you opened the door, he walked in slowly, glancing around, and then turned back to you.

“i didn’t bring anything,” he said carefully. “condoms. i didn’t think…”

your cheeks flamed. “i bought some.”

he blinked again. “you did?”

“yeah,” you said quickly. “just in case. i didn’t want us to have to stop because of that. i mean—i wasn’t sure if we would, but i thought maybe—”

“hey,” he said softly, and you stopped rambling.

his smile was small. real. “thank you.”

he stepped closer, touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, and leaned in. the kiss was slow—deeper than the others. your hands found the fabric of his hoodie, clinging gently. he tugged it off, then let you pull off yours. piece by piece, the layers fell away, until you were both under the covers, your skin buzzing with nerves and warmth.

his fingers traced your ribs, your hips, your thighs—always slow, always asking without words. he kissed your collarbone, then your chest, trailing soft kisses downward as if he were learning you by heart. you flinched when he touched between your legs, your whole body tensing. his hand paused.

“it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’ll go slow.”

you nodded, voice caught in your throat.

he kissed you again, his lips tender, grounding you. when he finally pushed in, your fingers dug into his shoulders, breath hitching with the pressure, the burn. it hurt—not sharp, but stretching, unfamiliar. you let out a shaky whimper and he stopped instantly, resting his forehead against yours.

“tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

“no,” you breathed. “i want to.”

he moved carefully, in and out, his breath brushing your cheek, his hands cradling your face. there were no moans. no pornographic noises. just small sounds—your sharp gasps, the way his breath caught every time your walls clenched around him. his body stayed close to yours, his chest pressed to yours, like he couldn’t bear to be apart even for a second.

it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t easy. but it was yours.

and when it was over, he didn’t say anything. he just pulled you into his arms, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your cheek, your temple.

and you thought, this is what it means to be loved.

you were wrong.

your body ached in a way that was unfamiliar—tender, raw, but not painful. just... used. and strangely, you didn’t hate the feeling. you were lying on your stomach, skin still flushed, the thin sheet draped over your lower half, your hair sticking slightly to the back of your neck. everything felt distant and slow, like the room had been dipped in warm honey. your breathing hadn’t completely settled yet.

outside, the sky had gone soft and gray, rain still tapping gently against the windows of your bedroom.

you heard soft footsteps from the hallway. heesung reappeared, shirtless but already in his boxers and jeans, carrying a small bowl of soup and a spoon. he didn’t say anything, just sat on the edge of the bed and gently tapped your shoulder.

“hey,” he whispered, as if the moment needed to stay quiet. “you need to eat something.”

you blinked up at him, dazed and slow. he scooped a bit of soup with the spoon and held it near your lips, waiting. your cheeks heated at the intimacy of it, but you let him feed you—small, careful bites, while he watched in silence. his hair was slightly messy, lips pink from kissing you earlier, but his expression was unreadable. calm. like always.

you smiled softly, trying to break the silence, your voice small. “i’m really glad it was with you.”

he didn’t respond.

he just placed the bowl gently on your lower back, resting it there like he couldn't bother to find another surface. the warmth seeped through the blanket, grounding you in place.

you frowned, confused, your lips parted to say something—but then he turned his body slightly, giving you his back as he sat fully on the edge of the bed. the air shifted.