ANGELIQUE

🌸About (some things about me 🥹)

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requests: open

asks: open

anons: 🐡,🪼

angeliqueiguess, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, reupload, translate or modify my work to other accounts/platforms.

w.count: 2.3k

pairing: Exbestfriend!Doyoung x Fem!Reader

genre:ex best friends to lovers, exbestfriends to strangers, drama.

tags: some swear words, y/n's a workaholic and kinda rude (worth the plot i swear)

001. Welcome Back Y/n

Traveling is great… until you have to go back to your hometown.

Sure, you were born and raised there. Your childhood wasn’t that bad, and your teenage years… well, those were a bit messier. But still, it was home.

The problem wasn’t returning; it was everything that came with it—the tightness in your chest, the nostalgia creeping in out of nowhere, and the memories… some sweet, others you wished would stay buried.

I sighed and glanced at my phone screen: 09:45 AM. I rolled my eyes. There were still a couple of hours left before landing, and I hadn’t slept a single minute. If it weren’t for my sister, there’s no way I’d be here.

“She could come with us,” I heard my sister say through the laptop speaker. We were on a video call with my parents, and I frowned, confused.

“What?” I asked, adjusting my posture in front of the camera. “Go where?”

On one of the little squares on the screen, my parents were nodding like they had already made the decision without me.

“Yes, Y/n,” my mom said, using that sweet tone that was sometimes a trap. “You should come spend Christmas with the family.”

I felt every muscle in my body tense. I had work in the city where I lived now, and I was so close to getting the promotion I’d been waiting for for years. I couldn’t risk it.

“Mom, it’s not that…” I began, but my dad cut me off.

“Y/n, how many years has it been since you were home for the holidays? You need to step away from work for a bit. It’s eating you alive, and you’re still young.”

“Dad’s right. We should be together… you’ve missed two Christmases already,” my sister added, using that half-guilty, half-reproachful tone.

I snapped back to the present with another sigh, remembering how that day had ended. A total disaster.

“Y/n, I understand, but part of the administrative team won’t be available during those days. You can’t just leave,” Mr. Yamamoto had said, using that firm tone he reserved for things he didn’t approve of.

“I know, Sir, but this is important,” I said, practically begging for the situation to resolve itself. “I haven’t asked for anything in five years. I need those days to be with my family.”

My boss stood up from his chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Perfect. A bad sign. I stayed silent, bracing myself.

“I know, Y/n. You’ve been efficient from day one, I can’t deny that,” he finally said. “But you also can’t turn your back on the company when it needs you the most.”

I didn’t say anything. It was rare for him to budge on things like this.

“I’ll give you the days,” he added after a pause.

I let out the breath I’d been holding. Not because I was happy, but because at least he wasn’t firing me.

“But you’ll have to work from there. I just need basic monitoring four or five hours a day and, if necessary, a bit of editing.”

And there I was, sitting on a plane headed back to the place where I’d spent my childhood. Exhausted, anxious… and stuck in that weird limbo between wanting to go back and wanting to jump off mid-flight.

The flight attendant walked down the aisle with the drink cart, forcing me to sit up straight again. I’d lost count of how many times I’d had to do that since we took off. Between the lack of sleep and the engine noise, my head was about to burst.

“Something to drink?” she asked with a polite smile. Too polite for my current mood.

“Water, please.”

Nothing else. My stomach had been upset since last night, and I wasn’t about to tempt fate with coffee or anything acidic.

I took the cup and held it for a moment, as if I could absorb some calm from it. Outside, all you could see was a sea of white clouds. It looked peaceful, almost soothing… but all I could think about was everything waiting for me when we landed.

Family, memories, uncomfortable conversations. The full package.

I decided to put on some music to calm myself down. I opened Spotify and chose the playlist I used whenever I wanted to tune out the world. The first song hadn’t even reached the halfway point when the girl beside me shifted again. She had spent the last two hours massaging her neck, changing positions, adjusting her travel pillow.

I could practically feel her discomfort.

“You okay?” I asked before I could stop myself. My voice came out rougher than I expected.

She looked at me, surprised. “Yeah… kind of. I can’t sleep on planes. I get anxious.”

“I get it,” I replied, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. “I don’t even bother trying.”

“Going back home?” she asked after a quiet moment.

I opened one eye. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

She laughed softly. “Sometimes going back is worse than leaving.”

“Exactly.”

We didn’t talk after that, but the brief interaction pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts a little. I leaned back again and let the music wash over me. But no matter how much I tried to disconnect, my mind kept circling back to the day I’d asked for time off.

I remembered too clearly the knot in my chest while waiting for Yamamoto’s answer. The silence in that office was awful. Seconds felt like hours. He exhaled like I had asked him to shut down the entire company for a month.

“Four or five hours a day…” I murmured on the plane, hearing his voice perfectly in my memory.

Right. Because if I didn’t work, the whole world would apparently collapse.

I couldn’t deny that I liked my job—a lot, actually—but I also couldn’t dismiss what my dad said: it’s consuming you.

He might’ve been right. I would never admit that out loud, but there it was.

The plane shook with a bit of turbulence, scattering my thoughts. The flight attendant announced that we were starting our descent. My stomach dropped like an elevator.

There was no turning back now.

The landing was smooth, but I didn’t feel smooth at all. I packed my things slowly, watching everyone stand up immediately, desperate to get out. I was in no rush. All that awaited me outside was a mix of family love and existential dread.

Still, I stood up, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and followed the crowd. The airport was packed—way too packed—and the Christmas atmosphere was everywhere: music, decorations, employees in red hats, families hugging like they hadn’t seen each other in ten years, people taking selfies in front of the giant tree.

I inhaled deeply. That smell of coffee mixed with cheap perfume and old air conditioning… yeah, I was definitely home.

My phone vibrated. A message from my sister:

“We’re here weirdo. Exit 3.”

Perfect. Time to face reality.

I walked to the exit and spotted them instantly. My mom was waving like she was trying to flag down a taxi from across the planet, my sister smiling with contained excitement, and my dad… well, he was just standing there, serious, but I knew he was happy inside.

“Y/n!” my mom shouted before I even reacted.

She wrapped me in a hug that nearly crushed me. My sister joined in a second later, bumping her head into mine.

“Oh my god…” I complained, but didn’t push them away. “Were you trying to suffocate me?”

“We missed you,” my sister said, ignoring my dramatics.

“I missed you too. A little,” I joked.

My dad stepped forward and gave me a short but firm hug. The kind only he knew how to give.

“Welcome home,” he said, and that simple phrase hit harder than it should have.

The drive to the house was exactly how I remembered: endless traffic lights, streets that felt smaller, and that familiar city smell I could never describe but recognized immediately.

My mom talked nonstop from the passenger seat.

“We decorated the whole house. Your aunt is coming on the 24th, and Grandma wants us to set up the long table outside. Oh, and your sister bought new lights because she said last year’s were ugly…”

My sister rolled her eyes while driving.

“Mom, they were ugly.”

“They were normal lights.”

“Normal and ugly are not the same.”

I smiled faintly, letting their familiar bickering wash over me. I had missed them. More than I ever let myself admit.

“And work?” my dad asked, watching me through the mirror.

I swallowed. I knew that question was coming.

“Good. I just have to monitor some things from here, nothing major.”

“Always working…” my mom murmured in a teasing, affectionate tone.

“Well, someone has to keep the world running,” I replied.

“The world can wait until January,” my dad said flatly.

I wanted to respond, but I didn’t. Part of me knew he was right. The other part… didn’t know how to relax even if someone paid me to.

When we got home, the emotional hit was immediate. The front looked the same, except for the excess of lights my sister had clearly picked. Decorations, garlands, an enormous inflatable Santa… too much for me.

“Was all this necessary?” I asked as I got out of the car.

“Of course,” my sister said proudly. “It’s Christmas.”

Inside, the house smelled like cookies, cinnamon, and artificial pine. The tree was beautiful, full of ornaments I recognized from childhood. I walked over and traced one of the old ones: a wooden star I had decorated when I was seven.

“Surprised it’s still in one piece.”

“I cleaned it yesterday,” my mom said behind me. “It was covered in dust.”

I smiled. A silly detail, but it made me emotional.

“Want something warm?” she asked. “I can make hot chocolate or tea.”

“Tea is fine,” I said, looking around.

The living room seemed smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I had grown too much. Everything was the same yet somehow different. Familiar but distant.

“I left your luggage in your room,” my dad said. “Nothing’s changed since you were last here.”

Which could be good… or bad.

“Thanks,” I said before heading upstairs.

My room was untouched. Like time had been paused there.

Same bed, same desk, walls with bits of tape where my posters used to be, old books lined up with no order at all. A time capsule of my teenage years.

I dropped my backpack and sat on the bed. Closed my eyes for a moment, breathing deeply.

Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

“You okay?” my sister asked from the doorway.

“Yeah. Just… nostalgia.”

“I get it.”

She walked in without asking (as always) and sat beside me.

“I’m not gonna lie,” she said. “I’m really happy you’re here. And I know it’s not easy for you.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She had always been more sensitive than me, more transparent.

“It’s not that I don’t want to come,” I said, fiddling with the zipper on my backpack. “It’s just… every time I’m back something gets stirred up. Things I’d rather leave alone.”

“That happens to all of us,” she replied. “But it’s also part of growing up, right?”

“I guess.”

She nudged my shoulder.

“Come on. Mom made hot chocolate even though you said you wanted tea.”

I sighed. Of course she did.

The first few hours at home were… soft. Familiar. Warm.

But when night came, when everyone went to bed and I stayed alone in the living room watching the tree lights flicker, that knot in my chest returned.

Suddenly, all the places I’d run from, the people I’d left behind, the versions of myself still living in this city—they all came back.

And among all those memories, one stood out stronger than the rest. One I had no intention of inviting, but showed up anyway.

His name.

I held my breath. Shook my head as if I could push the thought away.

I hadn’t thought about him in years. Years spent avoiding even hearing his name out loud. Years building a life where his shadow didn’t exist.

But there it was. As if stepping into this city had awakened it.

I got up and went to the kitchen for cold water, trying to clear my head. But when I returned to my old room, I saw something on the floor, near a crack in the wall that made my stomach drop.

An envelope. White, simple, unadorned. My name written on it by hand.

In my handwriting. From when I was a teenager. I picked it up carefully, feeling my pulse quicken. I opened it slowly, as if afraid of damaging something fragile.

Inside was a letter. One I had written years ago. One I didn’t remember keeping.

I unfolded it and began to read.

“If I ever come back to this city, I hope it doesn’t hurt anymore to think about everything I left behind. I hope by then I can forgive, forget, or at least stop feeling like I failed. If you’re reading this… I hope you’re okay. I hope you’re stronger than you are now. I hope you don’t think about him anymore.”

A huge lump formed in my throat.

“Great…” I muttered, dropping the letter on the floor again. “Not even one day here and I’m already having an existential crisis.”

I fell back onto the couch and covered my face with my hands. This trip was going to be harder than I thought.

And not just because of my family.

But because of the ghost from my past that had just woken up. A ghost with a name, a face… and a story I still wasn’t ready to face.

taglist: (lmk if you want to be tagged)

angie's lil corner: heyyy! long time no see my pooks!

I finally managed to get a laptop that works better than the one I had before. I got the chance to buy one at a reasonable price without having to give up a kidney lol. Jokes aside, here’s the first chapter of this sad story. I hope you like it, and I’ll be updating weekly as long as college and work allow me to.

❄️Pairing: ExBestfriend!Doyoung x Fem!Reader

❄️Type: Full-written Fic

❄️Genre: Ex best friends to lovers, drama, kinda sad ngl

❄️Synopsis: Years after going their separate ways, Y/n and Doyoung reunite, rekindling a quiet, forgotten love. But their brief connection becomes a bittersweet reminder of what they cannot keep.

❄️Fic State: COMING SOON

angeliqueiguess all rights reserved. Please do not copy, reupload, translate, or modify my work for use on other accounts or platforms. Thank you!

001.

002.

OH. MY. GOD

Hiiiii ma babyyyyyyyyyyy ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

w.count: 3k

pairing: gymtrainer! jeno x afab!reader

genre: little fic (based on this requested moodboard)

tags: kinda suggestive, Junni being judgemental, very vanilla, FLUFF, fem reader but it doesnt specify how she looks like.

Y/n had spent the entire afternoon in front of her closet, as if her whole life depended on what she chose to wear. The mirror had turned into a ruthless judge, reflecting back her uncertainty wrapped in failed attempts: a dress that clung too tightly and felt more like a costume than a choice, a pair of pants that screamed “office meeting” instead of “first date,” and a blouse that made her look as if she had borrowed something from her grandmother’s wardrobe. Every time she thought she had found the right option, she would see herself in the mirror, hesitate, and then toss it onto the ever-growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

Her bedroom looked like a battlefield. Wrinkled shirts, mismatched shoes, scarves she hadn’t touched in years—it was chaos, a reflection of her nerves. She pressed her palms against her face, sighing into the emptiness of the room.

“This is ridiculous…” she muttered, her voice muffled as she let herself fall back onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight, the comfort of it almost tempting her to call the whole thing off, to cancel with a lame excuse and stay home in pajamas with Junni, her dog, for company. But the thought of Jeno waiting—Jeno actually wanting to take her out—was enough to make her shoot upright again.

This wasn’t just another date. It wasn’t some stranger from a friend group or a face from a dating app. This was Jeno. Her trainer at the gym. The same Jeno who had seen her red-faced, sweaty, hair plastered to her forehead after just thirty minutes on the treadmill. The same Jeno who had patiently coaxed her through endless sets of squats while she complained dramatically about her legs giving out. The same Jeno who’d stood nearby with calm encouragement when she struggled with dumbbells that seemed far too heavy for her hands. He’d seen her vulnerable, frustrated, embarrassed—and he had never once looked at her with judgment. Only patience. Only that quiet, steady smile of his.

At the beginning, that was all he had been to her: a good trainer, friendly and attentive, who seemed to know exactly when to push her and when to let her rest. But as the weeks turned into months, something began to change. Their conversations lingered after the workouts ended. She’d catch his eyes on her just a fraction too long, his smile softening in a way that felt personal, different. He would ask about her day even when other clients waited, and she found herself inventing excuses to stretch out their chats by just a few more minutes. Something had sparked between them, subtle but impossible to ignore.

And now, here she was, about to go on a real date with him.

She forced herself off the bed and back to the closet, determined to make a decision. After another exhausting round of doubt, she finally pulled out a dress she had almost forgotten she owned. It was simple, light, made of fabric that draped naturally without clinging in the wrong places. It wasn’t flashy, but it wasn’t forgettable either. It felt like her. Not too daring, not too safe. Just enough.

She slipped it on and stood before the mirror again. This time, her reflection didn’t make her wince. She turned slowly, watching the fabric flow around her, then exhaled a nervous sigh.

“What do you think, Junni?” she asked, glancing at the dog curled up in his plush little bed by the corner.

Junni tilted his head at her, eyes bright for a second before he let out a tiny sigh and tucked his nose back into his paws.

“Perfect. Talking to a dog. Officially losing my mind,” Y/n said, shaking her head with a shaky laugh.

She crouched to fill his blue bowl with kibble, comforted by the familiar routine. The sound of the pieces clinking against the dish grounded her, reminding her that this was just another evening—except it wasn’t. Her heart knew it wasn’t.

And then it happened. A sharp car horn cut through the air outside.

Her heart leapt to her throat. She rushed to the window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek outside. Parked in front of her house was a sleek silver-gray car. Her pulse quickened, her palms turning clammy. He’s here. Jeno’s here.

She scrambled for her bag, mentally reciting the checklist like a lifeline. “Phone, lipstick, wipes… okay,” she whispered, as if repeating the words could steady her trembling.

A car door shut outside. Then came three gentle knocks at her front door.

She froze. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. For a second, she thought she might faint from the sheer anticipation. Then, gathering every ounce of courage she had, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and forced herself toward the door.

When she turned the handle and pulled it open, there he was. Jeno.

He looked even better than she remembered, though she hadn’t thought that possible. His usual gym attire—sweats, sneakers, casual t-shirts—was replaced by dark jeans and a crisp white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. He looked relaxed, effortless, yet completely put together. And in his hands, he held a small bouquet of wildflowers.

“Hi,” he said, his smile tinged with the kind of nervousness that made her chest squeeze.

“Hi,” she echoed, her own voice softer than intended.

He extended the flowers toward her. “I didn’t really know what to bring, but I saw these and… thought of you.”

She blinked, touched more than she expected. They weren’t roses or some extravagant arrangement—just wildflowers, fresh and colorful in their simplicity. Somehow, that made them feel perfect.

“They’re lovely! Thank you, Jeno.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, a gesture she knew well from the gym whenever he was caught off guard. Silence lingered for a beat, heavy with unspoken nerves, until both of them let out a quiet laugh, breaking it.

They walked to his car, and with an old-fashioned gallantry that caught her off guard, he opened the door for her. Y/n slid inside, her hands trembling just enough that she tucked them discreetly into her lap. The interior smelled faintly of mint and something warm, like coffee. She inhaled, trying to steady herself.

The drive began with safe topics: the traffic, the song playing on the radio, the joke that Junni was probably watching them from the window like a suspicious parent. She found herself laughing, the sound easing the tight knot in her stomach.

But then, in the middle of a sentence, Jeno blurted out a comment that came out bolder than he intended. The moment it left his lips, his eyes widened in panic.

“Sorry—I-I didn’t mean it like that, I just—”

Y/n turned her head to study him. He looked so genuinely mortified, so desperate to rewind the moment, that she almost burst out laughing. Instead, she offered him a gentle smile.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry,” she said, her voice calm. Inside, she thought, Maybe another time.

He let out a nervous chuckle, gripping the wheel tighter, his gaze locked on the road. “I just… I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

Her chest softened. She reached out, laying a hand lightly on his arm. “I don’t, Jeno. Really.”

His shoulders eased instantly, his relief visible. The rest of the ride flowed smoother, lighter, as if that little stumble had broken the ice rather than ruined it.

The restaurant he brought her to was warm and intimate, lit by soft golden lights and candles flickering on each table. The low murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of glasses created a cozy backdrop.

They settled at a table by the window, ordered wine, and soon their meals arrived—beautifully plated, almost works of art. For a moment, neither wanted to touch them, but the aroma was irresistible.

Midway through dinner, Y/n put her fork down, her cheeks faintly pink. “You know… I’ve never had a date like this.”

Jeno looked up, brows lifting. “Really?”

“Really. My love life’s been… pretty nonexistent. A couple of silly things in school, but nothing serious.”

He leaned back, watching her intently, as though trying to figure out if she was joking. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why not?” she teased with a crooked smile.

“Because you’re beautiful, Y/n. And I don’t just mean—obviously. You have something real.”

Her heart stuttered. She ducked her gaze quickly, lifting her wine glass as a shield. The warmth spreading through her chest had nothing to do with the alcohol. Hearing it from him, in this moment, felt different. Felt genuine.

The rest of dinner slipped by in laughter and easy conversation. He told her stories about gym clients who dramatically overestimated their strength, leaving him to rush over when their arms gave out. She admitted her eternal hatred for the stationary bike and how he had miraculously convinced her to give it another try. Between sips of wine and bursts of laughter, time seemed to vanish.

When their plates were cleared, Jeno suggested a walk. The beach was nearby, quiet at night. They strolled along the path, the salty breeze brushing against their skin, the steady rhythm of waves filling the silences.

“Do you remember your first day at the gym?” Jeno asked with a grin.

“Of course. I thought you’d be some drill-sergeant type, yelling at me every time I slowed down.”

“And?” he prodded.

“And then I heard you laugh when one of your coworkers couldn’t lift a dumbbell, and I thought, okay, maybe he’s not that scary.”

They laughed together, their voices mingling with the sound of the ocean. Conversation wandered: she told him funny anecdotes about Junni’s stubborn antics, and he spoke with fond nostalgia about a husky he’d had as a child, insisting its fur had looked like a cloud.

Eventually, during a lull in their conversation, Jeno slowed to a stop. His gaze found hers, steady and searching, the kind of look that seemed to reach past her defenses.

“Y/n…” he whispered.

Before she could ask what was wrong, he leaned in and kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, but full of honesty. She responded instantly, her eyes fluttering closed, her body leaning into his. It felt like the culmination of all the stolen glances, all the lingering conversations, all the unspoken things they’d been holding back.

When they pulled apart, both laughed breathlessly, cheeks flushed.

“I like you, Y/n,” he confessed, finally putting words to what had always hovered between them.

“I like you too, Jeno,” she answered, every syllable sincere.

They lingered there, bathed in moonlight, the waves crashing softly behind them. Words no longer felt necessary. He took her hand, their fingers intertwining easily, and together they walked further down the beach until they found a quieter, more private spot.

They sat in the sand, shoulders brushing, voices low as they shared secrets and stories they’d never told anyone else. Time melted around them, the world shrinking until it was just the two of them and the ocean.

Neither knew what tomorrow would bring. But in that moment—with wildflowers, wine, laughter, and the tide as their witness—they knew something had begun. Something real. Something neither of them wanted to let go of.

PREV. / NEXT

angelique's corner: omg hiiiiiii! sorry for disappearing for so long. I’ve had a lot going on lately—both mentally and physically—but nothing to worry about, things are under control now. I really wanted to thank you for being patient, and I hope you enjoy this last part. It honestly took me a bit to write because I lost all the previous chapters and even the fics I had planned for the future. Still, I really hope this little mini fic was worth the wait and that you had fun reading it.

YOU WISH IS MY COMMAND PUFFLE!

020. The Walls We've Built (Final)

The apartment was quiet when Y/n stepped inside, the soft creak of the wooden floors under her feet breaking the stillness. The city outside felt far away now, the distant glow of streetlights slipping through the blinds like memories fading into the night.

She stood in the silence for a moment, her thoughts still tangled in the night they’d just lived. The performance. The music. The moment Mark had spoken her name in front of that crowd, his voice steady and full of something deeper than gratitude—something real. It had been electric. Emotional. Honest.

Mark had poured everything into that stage. His fears, his passion, his story. And somehow, in front of hundreds of people, he’d managed to speak directly to her. He had made that moment theirs.

She exhaled slowly and walked to the small desk near the window. Her fingers drifted across its surface without thinking, searching for something to anchor her. That’s when she saw it. A crumpled piece of paper, half-hidden beneath a mess of old magazines and receipts. It looked like it had been there for a while—forgotten, almost.

But the second she picked it up and turned it over, she recognized the handwriting. Mark's. Her heart caught in her chest.

She unfolded the note with careful fingers, not sure what to expect. It wasn’t long. Just a few lines. But the weight of it hit her instantly.

Y/n,

If you're reading this, it's probably because I chickened out and didn’t say this to your face. Or maybe I was scared the moment wouldn’t be right. But I needed to say it somehow.

You were the person who kept showing up when everything felt like it was falling apart. When I couldn't hear the music anymore—when I didn't think it mattered—you reminded me why I ever picked up a guitar in the first place.

You didn’t try to fix me. You didn’t push. You just stayed. And that was everything.

Whatever this is between us—whatever it becomes—I just want you to know: none of it would’ve happened without you.

Thank you for helping me find my way back.

—Mark

Y/n’s breath caught as she read the last line. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry—not right away. She just stood there, feeling the full weight of everything they had been through. The late-night conversations. The breakdowns. The breakthroughs. The quiet moments no one else saw.

This letter was more than a thank-you. It was a confession, in the only language Mark had ever truly trusted: the written word.

She folded it gently and set it on the desk, her fingertips lingering for a second too long. The quiet felt different now. Not empty—but full. Like it was holding space for everything they hadn’t said aloud, and everything they finally could.

Her eyes drifted across the room and landed on his guitar—his old one, the one he always claimed was too out of tune to play but never seemed able to let go of. It was resting on the couch like it had been waiting for her.

She picked it up, sat down slowly, and strummed a single chord. The sound wasn’t perfect, but it was grounding. Real. She let her fingers fall into a rhythm she didn’t have to think about—half muscle memory, half instinct.

Mark had found his voice again that night. And as she sat there with the guitar in her lap, Y/n realized that maybe it was her turn now. She wasn’t just someone in the background of his story. She was part of it. A collaborator. A co-writer. The reason he had a second verse to sing at all.

Just then, the front door clicked open behind her.

Mark stepped inside quietly, the hallway light casting a soft glow around him. He paused when he saw her, a smile already forming at the corners of his lips.

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he said, walking toward her.

She looked up at him, her hands still resting on the guitar. “I found your note,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

Mark blinked, clearly surprised, but he didn’t look embarrassed. If anything, he looked relieved. “Yeah?” he said gently. “Guess I didn’t hide it that well.”

“It wasn’t hidden,” she replied, a small smile playing at her lips. “It was waiting.”

He moved closer and knelt in front of her, his hand reaching up to rest over hers on the guitar. “Everything I said in that letter… I meant it. I know I said some of it on stage tonight, but that was for the crowd. The letter? That was for you.”

Y/n felt her throat tighten. “You didn’t have to thank me.”

“I did,” he said, his gaze steady. “Because without you, I wouldn’t be here. Not just on stage. Just… here.”

She set the guitar aside, her hand reaching for his. “You did the work. I just reminded you who you were”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You did more than that. You reminded me who I wanted to be.”

They stayed like that for a moment—no music, no crowd, no pressure. Just silence. The kind that says everything when there’s nothing left to explain.

Then Y/n gave a soft laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “So... what now?”

Mark smiled and stood up, offering his hand to her. “Now? We keep going. We write the next song. Together.”

She took his hand, steady and warm in hers, and stood.

And as they sat side by side on the couch, the guitar between them, fingers brushing strings and chords taking shape, Y/n realized something: the music wasn’t just his anymore. It never had been.

They were writing a new story now. One verse, one note, one heartbeat at a time.

Together.

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angie's note: i'm back my pooks!! Hope you liked the final of this fic!! And remember, take care of yourself, drink lots of water and make sure you eat! Love ya!

🕸️pairing: Spider!Mark x Popular!FemReader

🕸️type: mini-fic

🕸️genre: secret crushes to lovers, drama, spider-man things, action? idk.

🕸️synopsis: The one where Mark Lee is an awkward student trying to balance school, his life as a superhero and having a crush on the most popular girl. Or. The one where Y/n L/n is an outgoing and popular student who secretly admires that masked superhero.

🕸️featuring: the dreamies, keeho from p1harmony, giselle from aespa.

state: ongoing

taglist: open

angeliqueiguess all rights reserved. Please do not copy, reupload, translate, or modify my work for use on other accounts or platforms. Thank you!

main m.list

That’s the spirit, Puffle!! 😄 I’m really glad to hear you’ve been taking care of yourself! 💪💖

let me go reread everything just in case🙈

AHHH I’M BACK!! 😄 I’ve been good! Just super busy with work at the flower shop and tons of studying lol. How’ve you been??

HIIIIIII MY POOK!!!!!!! MY PUFFLE!!!

Heyyy my pookies!! 💖 How have y’all been after all this time?? I FINALLY got my laptop! It seriously felt like the longest few months everrrrrrr I missed you all like crazy!!! 🥺✨

I wanna ask you guys how have you been? 👀 Have you been staying hydrated? Eating properly? I’ll say it again... I MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH 😭💞

Alrighty, now let’s get to the good stuff 😌✨ Over the next few days, I’ll be updating Hidden Notes (it just needs one more chapter to wrap it up!)

Kitchen Nightmares will get some love too, but I gotta recover the files from my old laptop first — it shut down one day and just never turned back on 😭😭😭

With all that said, I just wanna say thank you for waiting for me (if you did 😅) and for being patient with the updates 💖 Also, I hope you’ve taken some time to read—or maybe even reread—my stuff while I was gone 💕