lettre pour toi 💌 partie trois
summary: a shy high school senior accidentally slips a love letter into the wrong locker, thinking it belongs to her crush park sunghoon — but instead, it ends up in the hands of lee heeseung, a notorious delinquent who takes the letter seriously and declares them a couple on the spot, starting an unexpected and chaotic love story.
pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader
genre: high school au, romance, fluff, crack, slowburn, light angst.
warnings: delinquent!heeseung, possessive behavior, kissing, stolen first kiss, mild language, emotional tension, misunderstandings, power imbalance.
wc: 3k
taglist: @immelissaaa @teenagecheesecakereview @mtaegukk @diameuwu @dongsikeomma @hooline @mokakao28 @tunafishyfishylike @littlesevenkoo @bluetyunhour @lassiie @brwondolly @firstclassjaylee @tinyteezer @stormlit-pages @whoisgami @geniejunn @fics-lovebot @abxszzz @mxxninthesky @yunlazia @st4rg1rlies @lizzykitty123 @meowmeowjang @h4niyahcar @seungsoftly @yenienha @berryzoo @miraeluv @cutehoons02 @lovingchrissturniolo @partyinthebackroom @princesspeachicedtea @heeseungissm @reep04 @mymayaship @itaehynz @sea-moon-star @matchacake2 @hrtsformark @ohmysionnzies @bluetyunhour @heelovesmeknot @whoisgami @yktvvnihb @enhawonnie @engene12z @letwiiparkjay @xoenhalover @jjongmi @yenienha @jakearta @sumzysworld @evashp @ily6968 @mirouie @getoxo
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heeseung's pov
🎧 confident by justin bieber playing in the background...
i was used to being watched.
that sounds cocky as hell, but it’s just the truth. it was always like that. ever since i hit that growth spurt, ever since i started fighting back and didn’t give a damn what the teachers said—people started noticing. and girls? girls always noticed, some whispered, some stared, some smiled too long, i didn’t mind it. i liked it, actually. attention never felt like a bad thing to me, i played into it, fed off it, if someone wanted to fall in love with the version of me they made up in their heads, i didn’t stop them. i dated when i felt like it. dumped them when they got too clingy. rinse and repeat. nothing new.
then there was her.
at first, i didn’t notice her, not really, she wasn’t the kind of girl who walked in and made the room pause. she didn’t laugh loudly or flip her hair on purpose, she didn’t wear short skirts or lip gloss or whatever the hell was trending that week, she didn’t even try to look my way when i passed her in the hall, not even a glance. nothing.
and that bothered me.
i don’t know why.
maybe it shouldn’t have. but it did.
the first time i actually saw her, she was sitting in the second-to-last row, bent over her notes like the world might end if she didn’t write fast enough. her hair was tied up, kind of messy, and there were these tiny creases on her forehead like she was overthinking every word. she didn’t look up once. not even when someone behind her dropped a book or when i walked past her desk, it was like i didn’t exist.
and that was new.
that was interesting.
so, i started watching her, not like a creep or anything—just... noticing? from a distance, during lunch, in the gym, after class. she never hung around big groups, always stuck to the same two girls, her laugh was small, soft, and whenever someone bumped into her by accident, she apologized first—even if it wasn’t her fault.
then came sports week.
i remember her during the relay race. she was on the team but couldn’t finish the circuit. tripped halfway through and scraped her knee, got up and tried to keep going even though she was clearly shaken. no one said anything harsh, but i heard the pity in their voices. poor thing. she tried, at least. i saw the way she laughed it off, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. i watched the whole thing from the bleachers, arms crossed, pretending not to care. but something about the way she stood there—trying not to cry in front of everyone—stuck in my head longer than i liked.
still, even then, she didn’t look at me. like i wasn’t even in her universe.
so yeah. when that white envelope with the dumb little hearts showed up in my locker and signed with her name? that shit hit different.
i almost didn’t believe it. i even checked if it was a joke. but no—her handwriting, her words, the way she poured herself onto the page like it meant something... it was real. and my first thought?
she finally noticed me.
i should’ve thrown it out. should’ve ignored it. but it was good for my ego, alright? the girl who never looked my way—the one i was convinced didn’t even know i existed—confessing through a letter like some cheesy old romance manga? hell no, i wasn’t letting that go.
i accepted immediately. obviously. maybe i didn’t ask... maybe i forced it a little... but i said yes, i claimed her, i didn’t even think twice.
but then… then came the punch to the gut.
when she stood in front of me, red-faced and trembling, asking for her letter back like it was some kind of mistake, i already knew something was off. the way she avoided eye contact, the way her voice cracked when she said, "that letter… it wasn’t meant for you."
i smirked, played it cool, shrugged like it didn’t mean shit.
until she said that name.
park sunghoon.
i swear, i almost fucking gagged.
him?
that stiff little robot? the teacher’s pet with the perfect smile and boring ass haircut? that’s who she was trying to confess to? i wanted to punch a locker. or throw up. or both. it wasn’t even jealousy—it was insult. sunghoon was everything i wasn’t. quiet, polished, fake as hell. i couldn’t wrap my head around it. was that really the type of guy she liked? what the hell did that mean about me?
still, i kept my face straight. acted like it didn’t bother me. but inside, something snapped.
nah. fuck that.
if she wanted perfect, she could go find it. but she wrote that letter. to me. maybe by accident, maybe not. either way, the moment it touched my hands, it became mine. and if i had to prove to her that i was worth more than whatever stupid fantasy she had about sunghoon, i’d do it—my way.
she wanted a prince? too bad.
she got me instead.
and now she was gonna learn what it meant to be wanted for real.
you didn’t see him that afternoon. not outside your classroom, not leaning by the gates like he sometimes did when he was trying to seem like he wasn’t waiting for you—when he’d glance away the second you looked in his direction, only to fall into step beside you like it was all a coincidence. this time, he wasn’t anywhere.
you even lingered by the courtyard longer than you should have, pretending to tie your shoelaces while scanning the crowd. but your chest tightened the longer you stood there alone, and the noise of the other students around you only made your solitude feel louder. heeseung had vanished, and with him, so had the fragile, stupid hope that had started blooming inside your chest these past days. your steps felt heavier as you walked home, the sun already dipping low. and all you could think about was how mina and chaeyeon had been right.
you were just a game.
a distraction. something temporary. something replaceable. your throat burned, but you kept walking.
meanwhile, heeseung sat sprawled on the sidewalk curb behind the convenience store near the station, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, eyes trained on nothing in particular. jaeyun was talking too much, his voice animated, practically bouncing with anticipation.
“so, saturday,” jaeyun started, picking at the edge of a sticker on his water bottle, “we’re heading out with those girls from wonhwa, right?”
jungwon nodded lazily, leaning back on his elbows. “the ones from the cheer squad?”
jaeyun grinned. “hell yeah. the girl in the pink skirt? she’s insane. swear to god. heard she’s crazy in bed.”
jungwon snorted. “and who told you that, her ex-boyfriend?”
“dude, her friend told jongseong, and he told me. it’s legit.” jongseong raised an eyebrow but didn’t deny it, just gave a half-smile and went back to scrolling through his phone. the other two laughed easily, the air between them thick with lazy confidence. boys talking like boys do when they think no one’s listening—or that no one will care what they say.
heeseung didn’t laugh. didn’t smirk. didn’t even flinch. he just stared ahead at the faded white lines of the parking lot.
jongseong eventually looked up. “yo, hee. you good? you’re coming saturday, right?”
“no. i’m not going.” heeseung shook his head, barely moving.
jungwon sat up straighter. “wait, why?”
“...” heeseung didn’t answer right away. his jaw tensed slightly. then he shrugged. “not interested.”
jaeyun blinked, then laughed. “what do you mean not interested? since when do you need to be interested? you’ve gone out with girls you didn’t even know before.”
jongseong added with a grin, “yeah, what’s the big deal? it’s not like it’s your first time ditching someone to hook up.”
they all laughed again—except heeseung. he sat there, silent, still.
then slowly, he lifted his head and looked at them. not smiling. not playing.
“what part of i’m not fucking going didn’t you idiots understand?”
his voice was low, even—but sharp enough to cut the air clean through. the group fell completely silent. jaeyun stopped smiling. jungwon blinked, startled. jongseong looked away, clearing his throat. nobody said another word. and heeseung leaned back again, pulling his hood lower, eyes burning into the pavement, thinking only of you.
the next morning, you kept your head down as you walked into school. there was a heavy feeling sitting in your chest, something like dread, something like disappointment, and you tried not to look for him, tried to tell yourself you didn’t care—but your eyes still scanned the hallway against your will. and that’s when you saw him.
lee heeseung.
he was already standing by his locker, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, his weight leaning slightly on one leg, gaze unreadable. he wasn’t smirking, he wasn’t cocky, he just watched you as you approached, not saying anything at first.
you stopped a few feet away, hesitating.
then, wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pink carton. strawberry milk... your favorite.
“i know it’s your favorite.” your eyes flicked from the carton to his face, unsure. you hesitated before taking it, your voice barely a whisper.
“how do you know that?” he didn’t meet your eyes right away. he looked past you, at the crowd moving behind you, like he was avoiding something.
“you always drink it.” your heart stuttered in your chest. a small, stupid detail—but the fact that he noticed… that he remembered… it made something tighten in your throat. but the weight of what the girls had told you just days ago came rushing back, slicing through the warmth before it could settle. your fingers clenched slightly around the carton. you looked down.
“give me back the letter, please...”
“what?” his brows lifted slightly.
“the letter,” you repeated, firmer this time. “please, give it back.”
his expression darkened with amusement, and he leaned his back against the locker behind him, tilting his head like he found this whole thing funny. you hated the way he was looking at you—like he was already several steps ahead in a game you didn’t want to play.
“why?” he asked. “you want it so bad?” you nodded, fists clenched at your sides, but your lips trembled. he stared at you for a second longer, then slowly turned to his own locker, spun the dial with practiced ease, and popped it open.
for a moment, your breath held. and then he reached inside and pulled out the folded, heart-stamped letter—the one you wrote with shaking hands under your blanket that night, the one where you confessed everything with every ounce of courage you had. he held it like it was nothing. like it wasn’t your whole heart in a piece of paper.
“if you want it so bad,” he said, voice lower now, playful and sharp, “then take it.” before you could even move, he slipped it under his hoodie, tucking it inside his shirt—right against his chest. your eyes went wide, your entire face flushing instantly.
“w-what—?”
“go ahead,” he said, stepping a little closer, smiling with that same dangerous smirk he always wore when he had the upper hand. “if you can pull it out, i’ll give it back. and i’ll even stop bothering you. we’ll be done.”
your heart was racing too fast. your skin burned. this was humiliating, ridiculous, twisted, and yet you couldn’t look away from him. you hated the challenge in his tone, hated how confident he was, hated the flicker of something hot in your stomach as he leaned forward slightly, daring you with his eyes.
your hand trembled as you lifted it, halfway to reaching out. his grin widened, watching you like a predator watching prey hesitate at the edge of the trap.
but before you could even touch him, your hand dropped, and your voice broke.
“i—i...” you whispered softly. “i can’t...” you turned away, face burning, eyes filling with tears you didn’t want to show. “i-i can’t do it, this is too much—”
he laughed. really laughed, the sound echoing down the hallway, rich and cruel and amused beyond belief.
“damn,” he said, shaking his head. “looks like you lost.”
he leaned forward again, tone light but eyes sharp.
“guess we’re still dating.” you spun to face him, fists clenched now for a different reason, voice cracking with anger and something deeper—something breaking.
“heeseung... i know you don’t like me.” he looked up.
you forced yourself to continue, even as your chest burned, your voice trembling.
“you don’t see me that way... you’re just playing! and i’m tired of being in your stupid little game.” he didn’t react at first. didn’t smirk. didn’t roll his eyes or scoff. he just stared at you, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you expected.
“what if i do like you?” you froze.
he stepped a little closer, but not enough to touch you. just enough to make you feel the weight of his presence again.
“is this about the rumors?”
you didn’t answer, but the way your eyes dropped told him everything.
“what people say about me… they don’t know me. they don’t know how i act when i actually care. they’ve only seen the worst parts of me—and yeah, there’s a lot of that. i know. but they’re not in this. you are. and the only person you should be listening to… is your boyfriend.”
you looked up, startled, your breath catching at that word.
heeseung’s expression didn’t change. “me.”
he let that hang in the air before continuing, his voice low, almost careful.
“i’m rough sometimes, maybe too much, i get angry fast, i don’t always say the right thing, and yeah, i kissed you first. maybe i shouldn’t have. but i did... and i don’t regret it.”
you bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry.
“i won’t do it again,” he added, more gently now. “not unless you want me to.”
there was a pause, long, heavy, your heart was pounding in your ears. and for the first time, you saw something fragile behind his eyes. not regret—but fear. not fear of you leaving, but fear of being real with you. of lowering the mask and not knowing if you’d still choose him once you saw everything underneath.
and maybe that’s what made you hesitate.
heeseung reached under his shirt again and pulled the letter out—creased, warm from his skin, but still intact. he held it in front of your face, not letting go of it.
“this is proof, you wrote it, you confessed first, you wanted this.”
“i—i didn’t mean it like—”
“doesn’t matter,” he cut in, lips curling at the edges. “you said you wanted to be with someone, that's me, you wanted to make me happy, you wrote all that.”
you looked away, embarrassed beyond belief, but he stepped closer again and tilted your chin up gently with two fingers, making you look at him.
“so,” he said, soft but firm. “officially. you’re mine now.”
he didn’t move, not even an inch, as you stood frozen in front of him, his fingers still curled lightly around your chin, gaze heavy like iron on your skin. and then his lips curled into that same slow, deliberate smirk that made your stomach twist.
“you’ll keep being my girlfriend,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “if you can last until the end.”
he took another step, the space between you vanishing, your backs nearly brushing the lockers behind you as the toes of his shoes met yours. he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body seep into yours, close enough that his breath ghosted against your cheek when he spoke again, quieter this time, like a threat whispered in secret.
“i’ll give the letter back. but if you can’t…” his hand slid up, fingers hooking beneath your chin again, lifting it with more pressure this time until your eyes were locked on his, unable to look away, heart pounding in your throat. “…then i’ll make you cry.”
your breath hitched. you didn’t understand how someone could say something like that so calmly, so easily, with a look that made it impossible to know if he meant it as a joke or a promise. his face dipped closer, inch by inch, until the space between your mouths was barely a breath—too close, too intimate, and your mind screamed that he was going to do it again, that he’d steal another kiss, that you were cornered and trapped and trembling—
“noooo!!”
your voice cracked like thunder in the hallway as you shoved him with both hands, hard enough that he staggered back a step, shocked. your eyes burned with tears, your cheeks flushed with fury and humiliation as you shouted, voice breaking:
“you said you wouldn’t do it if i didn’t want to!!”
you didn’t wait for a response. you didn’t look at him. you turned on your heel and ran, tears blurring your vision as your footsteps echoed down the hallway, heart racing, lungs burning, your body moving faster than your thoughts.
behind you, heeseung stood still for a second. and then he smiled. not a soft smile. not one of kindness or regret. but something darker. something like triumph. because even after all that, even after your scream and your fear and your flight—he’d made you feel something.
and he wasn’t going to let you go. not now.