AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

supercute —

pairing : bf!jake x gn!reader

summary : april 1st, the perfect day to plan a prank, and on who else but your boyfriend who gets pouty and sulky when not given attention?

warnings : FLUFF. established relationship, jake being sulky, minor guilt

a/n : yk i had to do my mans good when april fools comes by. enjoy the short oneshot ! (i miss writing short oneshots)

queueing : supercute - nct wish, your eyes only - enhypen, one and only - boynextdoor,

— wc : 1.2k — not proof read —

you start the morning with a mission: give your boyfriend, jake, the silent treatment for as long as possible.

it's april fools’ day, and you figured it’d be funny to see how he reacts. maybe he’ll get annoyed. maybe he’ll get frustrated. maybe he’ll start pleading with you dramatically. either way, you’re determined to hold out for as long as possible.

except… you forget one crucial detail.

jake sim is unbelievably clingy.

it starts the second you wake up. normally, you’d greet him with a sleepy mumble and a nuzzle into his chest, but today, you roll over and say nothing.

jake blinks at you, confused but still smiling as he shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“morning, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. he presses a lazy kiss to your cheek, waiting for your usual response. when it doesn’t come, he leans back slightly to look at you.

“babe?” he says again, poking your side gently.

you blink at him but remain silent, pressing your lips together to keep from laughing.

jake tilts his head. “did you not sleep well?”

you shake your head.

he frowns. “you had a nightmare?”

you shake your head again.

his brows furrow, concern flashing across his face. “are you mad at me?”

you don’t respond.

now jake is wide awake. he sits up, pulling you with him, cradling your face between his hands. “baby, what’s wrong?”

you give him the most deadpan stare you can manage.

his lips part slightly, and his eyes soften. “did i do something?”

you fight the urge to coo at how cute he looks, his messy bedhead, his pouty lips, the way his thumb strokes your cheek so gently.

instead, you just blink at him and stand up, heading to the bathroom.

jake follows. of course he does.

“wait, babe—" he tries, but you close the door before he can step inside.

you take a deep breath, covering your mouth to suppress your laughter. if he’s already acting this desperate, this prank might not last very long

jake spends the entire time you’re in the bathroom standing outside the door, knocking every few seconds.

“baby, are you okay?” knock.

“do you want me to make breakfast?” knock, knock.

“are you mad at me?” knock, knock, knock.

you don’t answer.

when you finally open the door, he’s standing there, arms crossed, lips jutted out in a deep pout. his hair is still a mess from sleep, and he looks like a kicked puppy, eyes big and round.

“why aren’t you talking to me?” he asks, voice slightly whiny.

you just step around him and head for the kitchen.

jake gasps. “wait, wait—” he rushes after you, grabbing onto the hem of your hoodie like a lost child. “baby, talk to me.”

you shake him off and continue on, though your resolve is already crumbling.

he makes a distressed sound, like you’ve just personally ripped out his heart. “oh my god,” he breathes, stumbling after you.

as you start making toast, he stands right behind you, practically pressing himself against your back. his arms snake around your waist, and he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“i’m sorry for whatever i did,” he mumbles. “i don’t know what it is, but i’ll fix it.”

you glance at him out of the corner of your eye but say nothing.

jake dramatically lets his head fall against you. “babe,” he whines.

you focus on buttering your toast.

“this is so cruel,” he mutters. “you know how much i love your voice.”

he starts swaying you side to side, squeezing you tighter. “just say one thing. anything. insult me. call me ugly. i don’t care, just talk to me.”

you almost break right then and there.

almost.

instead, you finish your toast, grab a plate, and move to the couch. jake follows immediately, plopping down beside you with an exaggerated sigh. he dramatically flops against your side, making himself comfortable with half his weight on you.

you do your best to ignore him as you eat.

he buries his face into your shoulder. “you’re so mean,” he mumbles.

you don’t react.

he shifts, lying down fully across your lap, looking up at you with big, pleading eyes. “please?”

you bite your lip to keep from smiling.

jake lets out another loud sigh. “fine. i’ll just text you, then.”

you watch as he pulls out his phone and starts typing. a second later, your phone buzzes on the table.

jake: are you okay? :(

another buzz.

jake: do u hate me

another.

jake: i miss u even though ur right here

he peeks up at you, eyes hopeful. you don’t respond.

his lips wobble.

another text.

jake: babe pls just say something ur killing me here

when you don’t react, he groans loudly, shoving his face into your stomach.

“this is literally the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” he mumbles against you.

you finally crack a little smile but quickly hide it before he can see.

he sighs again, dramatically rolling onto his side. he looks so genuinely sad now, lips still in a pout, his brows furrowed like he’s deep in thought.

you stare at him for a long moment, fingers twitching with the need to reach out and soothe him.

and then he mumbles, “maybe you finally realized i’m too annoying to love.”

your heart absolutely shatters.

that’s it. prank over.

you put your plate aside and immediately grab his face, forcing him to look at you. “jake, oh my god,” you blurt out, breaking your silence.

his eyes widen, but instead of the smug grin you expect, his lips press together tightly. he blinks once, twice. then a single tear rolls down his cheek.

your stomach drops.

“jake—”

he sniffles dramatically. “you really weren’t gonna talk to me all day?” his voice wobbles slightly, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.

“wait,” you narrow your eyes, scanning his face. “are you actually crying or are you faking it?”

another tear falls, and jake doesn’t even bother wiping it away. instead, he just lets out the most heart-wrenching sigh, draping himself across your lap again. “you tell me,” he murmurs.

guilt crashes over you in waves.

“oh my god, baby,” you whisper, frantically cupping his face. “i’m so sorry, i was just—”

his lips suddenly twitch into a tiny, barely-there smile.

your hands freeze.

his teary eyes peek up at you, and then, just like that, the grin breaks through.

realization smacks you in the face.

“jake,” you breathe.

he sniffles again, blinking innocently. “yes, my love?”

“you’re such a little—” you push his shoulder, and he bursts into laughter, rolling onto his back as you glare down at him.

“i knew you’d break first,” he teases between giggles, wiping at his damp cheeks. “but hey, i really did get emotional for a second.”

“i can't stand you.”

“no, you can't,” he sings, sitting up and tugging you onto his lap. “you love me, which is why you gave in.”

you huff, crossing your arms, but the warmth in his eyes softens you.

he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “admit it,” he whispers. “you’d never last a whole day ignoring me.”

you want to argue, but… he’s right. you roll your eyes and let out a sigh. “yeah, yeah.”

“so,” he tilts his head, eyes twinkling, “can i have a proper ‘i love you’ now?”

you pretend to hesitate, but when he gives you that soft, lovestruck look, you cave.

“i love you, jake.”

his grin stretches wide, dimples appearing. “love you more, even if you’re mean to me.”

you flick his forehead which is met with a small whine but he just laughs, pulling you closer.

⋆｡°✩ foamin' at the mouth

rushing to meet your ends and accumulating bills on top of other bills, your bestfriend sunghoon recommends you to his sister's cafe for a job that pays pretty well. between slinging lattes and bantering over burnt pastries, life feels somewhat manageable — until he walks in — a sharply dressed handsome stranger with such a tailored charm built for disarming smiles. your veins ignite like its struck with a triple espresso shot, heart drumming faster than the café’s indie playlist. suddenly, your tending apron feels like a straitjacket, and every customer except him blurs into static. how do you explain this dizzying pull?

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, smau / texting, strangers to lovers, cafe worker!reader, love at first sight, mostly fluff, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, innuendos, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ got me shakin' : the full masterlist

You sighed as you pushed open the door, the hinges creaking faintly in protest. "Ugh, they really left it open," you muttered under your breath, stepping inside. The air was still, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds outside. Morning light streamed through the large windows, casting long golden streaks across the wooden floors.

Cupid’s Lil’ Cup was a small, charming place—bohemian tapestries draped over cozy armchairs, potted plants lining the shelves, and the rich scent of coffee beans lingering in the air. It was the kind of café people visited to escape, to lose themselves in a book or a quiet conversation.

You tightened the strings of your brown apron, rolling your shoulders back. "Let's do this," you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

The boxes of supplies near the entrance weren’t heavy, but they were awkward, and you grunted as you hauled them behind the counter. Setting them down with a thud, you took a moment to admire the café’s interior—the way the sunlight hit the polished counter, the way the rustic wooden beams contrasted with the delicate fairy lights strung overhead.

It was peaceful here.

Too peaceful, sometimes.

You pulled out your sketchbook from your bag, flipping to a half-finished drawing—a rough sketch of a cityscape, buildings stretching toward the sky. The pencil felt familiar in your fingers, the scratch of graphite against paper a comforting rhythm.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the soft drag of lead.

Then, the first customers arrived.

The morning rush was steady but manageable—a few regulars nodding at you in greeting, tourists squinting at the menu, the occasional student burying their nose in a laptop. You worked on autopilot, smiling politely, taking orders, making change.

Routine. Predictable. Safe.

Until the chime above the door rang again.

And the world stopped.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚　

You didn’t look up at first, too busy wiping down the espresso machine.

Then you felt it—the shift in the air, the way the room seemed to hold its breath.

Your head lifted slowly.

And there he was.

Tall, unfairly handsome, dressed in all black—a sleek turtleneck hugging broad shoulders, tailored trousers, boots that looked like they cost more than your rent. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

But his eyes.

Deep, dark, intense. They flickered over the menu, then landed on you.

Your fingers twitched around the cloth in your hand.

"Hi," he said.

Oh.

His voice was smooth, deep, with a warmth that curled around you like smoke.

You swallowed. Hard.

"Uh—" Your brain short-circuited. "W-what will you take?"

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

"Hmm." He tilted his head slightly, scanning the menu behind you. "One Matcha Cream Blend Frappuccino, no caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream. Large."

You nodded quickly, punching it into the register before your hands could betray you further. "Sure thing." You forced yourself to sound professional, though your voice came out a little breathless. "Anything else, sir?"

He turned as if to leave, then paused, glancing back.

"Actually… some pastry will do too."

"Of course!" You gestured to the display case. "We have croissants, danishes, muffins—"

"Surprise me."

Your mouth went dry.

He was smiling now—a slow, devastating thing that made your stomach flip. "I’ll trust you on this one."

Then, before you could react, he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could smell his cologne—something rich and woodsy, with a hint of spice. His gaze dropped to your name tag.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as you hear him pronounce your name.

He straightened, eyes locking onto yours again. "Hopefully, I finally get something real nice."

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚　

You moved on autopilot, hands shaking just enough to make the whipped cream dispenser wobble. Get it together, you scolded yourself. He’s just a customer.

But then—

The sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers tapped idly against the counter, even the faint mark he was sporting on his neck.

Recognition hit you like a freight train.

Park Jongseong. Jay himself.

The actor. That one memorable lead from 'Television Chronicles', and the new drama 'The Legacy' already has half the country obsessed even before it comes out. The one whose face was plastered on billboards and magazine covers all over town right now.

And he was here.

In your tiny café.

Talking to you.

You nearly dropped the cup.

Somehow, you managed to finish his order without setting anything on fire, arranging the pastry carefully on a plate with a dusting of powdered sugar. When you slid it toward him, his eyes lit up.

"Wow." He picked up his phone, snapping a quick photo. "This looks amazing."

Your face burned. "It’s—uh—just a regular blueberry croissant."

"It’s art," he corrected, tilting the screen toward you. "Look at the presentation. You’ve got an eye for this."

You barely registered his words, too distracted by the way the sunlight caught his features—the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the faint dimple when he smiled.

He was even more breathtaking in person.

Jay tapped at his phone again. "Mind if I tag you? This deserves credit."

Your heart lurched. "No!"

The word came out too loud, too sharp.

Jay blinked, startled.

Before you could do anything, your hand had already shot out, fingers brushing his wrist.

Time froze.

His skin was warm under your touch, his pulse steady against your fingertips. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The air between you crackled with something electric, something alive.

Then reality crashed back in.

You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned. "S-sorry. I just—I don’t… do social media."

Jay studied you for a long second, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, his lips curved into that same devastating smile.

"Alright. No tag." He pocketed his phone, picking up his drink. "Guess I’ll just have to come back from time to time to enjoy just how good your stuff is right here, hmm?"

Your breath caught.

He winked—winked—before turning and walking away, leaving you standing there, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚　

The rest of your shift passed in a blur. Jake and Sunghoon really had something important to do that they never even bothered to show up in person even in your own group chat. Every time the door chimed, your head snapped up, half-expecting—half-hoping—to see him again.

But he didn’t return.

It wasn’t until you were locking up that you noticed it—an almost neatly sneaked receipt still on the counter's edges, bearing a familiar name scribbled in neat handwriting at the bottom.

And a phone number, plus a single word beneath it:

"Call me."

Your knees nearly gave out.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — HOW ARE WE DOING GANGGGG hopefully this suffices my almost month of being dumped and stuck in uni workkkkk!! happy to just give you guys a story so let me know if you're excited for the next drop!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — @kaiyunsim @parkalex21 @nootnootpinguuu @gnusihcom @acidangel-fromasia

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the taglist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ got me shakin' : the full masterlist

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

JSHSHSBSBS SO GOOD 😭🥰

Flower Puff Boy — p.js

park jongseong x male reader fluff with very lil angst 2.3k words

Over the past year, people have come to know you as the guy who always gives flowers. You’ve used every occasion as an excuse to purchase flowers from Jay, your neighborhood florist, and each time you walked in, you always ended up with a free flower from him. As Valentine’s Day nears, you realize what flowers truly mean to him and you.

includes: flower language! (might be wrong, i’m not good with flowers myself); a call back to my other xo era-inspired fic (pls read it too if u haven’t yet :’3) warning: n/a

You were never well-versed in the language of flowers. No special fascination, no favorite blooms nor scents growing up. But over the past year, you have come to be known as the guy who gives flowers. For friends who started new jobs, relatives who celebrated their birthdays, and even your coworker who merely complained about the blandness of her beige desk, flowers had become your go-to gift.

You first stepped into Flower Puffs on a whim, a small shop tucked into a side road with little traffic. Despite its humble appearance, its color always stood out against the dull low-rise apartments beside it. The chalkboard outside boasted seasonal arrangements and flower meanings scribbled in neat, cursive letters. It started simple: a gift for your mother on Mother’s Day.

—

Behind the counter, a young man arranges a bouquet. His sleeves were rolled up, and the veins along his arms were like vines growing on a trellis. He glances up at the sound of the bell jingling above the door. His eyes lock onto yours, lips stretching into a smile as charming as the flowers that surrounded him.

“Hey there. Mother’s Day?”

You hesitate by the entrance. His directness catches you off guard, though it makes sense—most of his clients for the day were probably here for the same reason.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Good call,” he replies, his smile reaching to his eyes. He wipes his hands on his apron and steps around the counter. “Something classic or something unique?”

You shift on your feet, glancing at the rows of flowers neatly arranged on wooden displays. “Uh… I don’t really know flowers.”

He chuckles softly, approaching the nearest display to you. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

He hums as he gestures at his different floral arrangements, voice filled to the brim with enthusiasm. It’s quite captivating—the way he spoke about flowers—detailing their scientific properties, from colors to scents, then unraveling the messages they somehow conveyed without words.

He picks up some delicate stems, their green, fuzzy leaves adorned with tiny yellow flowers that spiral upward along its length. Oddly, they remind you of the herbs you use to season food. “Agrimonias mean gratitude and protection. Old legends say that if you sleep with agrimonias under your pillow, they ward off evil.”

He then picks up another few bright yellow flowers, bigger than but as slender as the agrimonias. “These hawksbeards here mean something similar—protection and contentment.”

“And some Peruvian lilies,” he says, picking up some flowers in a darker shade of yellow, with lines of purple decorating its petals. “They mean a lot of things: wealth, fortune, and devotion. If it’s for your mom, you probably want the most for her, right?”

You nod. There’s a strange intimacy in the interaction, listening to someone speak about something they’re clearly passionate about in such a quiet environment. You reach out to take the bouquet he’s begun assembling, and for a split second, your fingers brush. 

He doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his eyes flicker to your face in amusement then he steps back with a grin. He plucks a white flower from one of the nearby displays and twirls it between his fingers.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “A calla lily. Consider it a welcome gift.”

“What does it mean?”

“Magnificent beauty,” he replies smoothly, “like you.”

You freeze, caught between surprise and amusement. The confidence in his delivery makes you think that this is a regular schtick he does with his customers; however, for a beat too long, you consider if he could be as genuine as the flowers that he sells. 

A laugh bubbles up in your throat as you notice the board on the counter that reads Flower Puffs in colorful chalk.

“Well, thank you… Flower Puff Boy,” you finally reply.

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he cackles, slapping a hand over his eyes. “But Jay would probably be better,” he corrects. “And you?”

—

It all began there, and you kept on coming back. Every occasion has become a perfect time to come visit Jay’s shop.

And each time, he gives you a flower. Even on days where you decide not to purchase anything and just pass the time at his shop, you always leave with a single flower in your hand. You keep them all, pressed in between pages of your books, tucked into vases by your windowsill, like tokens of each visit. In your mind, you’ve authored a tiny dictionary of all their meanings.

Wood sorrels for joy, when a childhood friend came to visit you in the city.

Mayflowers for perseverance, when your boss just recovered from a major surgery.

Lemon geraniums for unexpected meetings, when you welcomed a new guy in the workplace.

Then he gave you a lily of the valley for the return of happiness, because he hadn’t expected you to come back so soon.

Then milkvetches, because, as he put it, your presence softened his pains—something he didn’t explain further.

Then French marigolds for jealousy, after you mentioned to him how attractive the new guy at work was.

He didn’t seem to lie about what his flowers meant, yet you never took the time to question if the flowers really meant anything to him—to you. After all, he’s just a merchant, and you’re just a customer. Assuming otherwise would be foolish, especially when, after nearly a year of frequenting his shop, you knew nothing much other than his name and his line of work.

What do you do outside the shop? What else do you like other than flowers?

Were those even questions you could ask?

And yet, you still return. Not exactly for him, but for the giddy feeling you get when you learn something new about a flower—or so you tell yourself.

The bell rings as you step inside, and as always, the familiar florist stands behind the counter, carefully arranging a bouquet. He’s leaning over the counter, speaking with a customer—a guy around your age, donning an oversized sweater and smiling brightly. Jay notices you, glancing at you, but his attention is swiftly drawn back to the man he was talking to.

You really didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the shop is too small not to overhear everything. Turning to the wooden displays, you pretend to browse through the flowers, testing yourself on the meanings you’ve learned.

“With a love letter and everything,” the guy says.

Jay chuckles. “Sounds… romantic… Who’s the lucky guy?”

Mustards. Greenish-yellow, as in the plant with the seeds that are used to make the condiment with the same name. It meant indifference, Jay said, when you wanted to buy something for a leaving coworker who you really didn’t care about.

“No idea. The flowers had me thinking they got it from you.”

Jay hums. “Sunoo got one. Then I think Heeseung?”

Cobaeas. Large, bell-shaped, and violet. Gossip, like you tuning in more to their conversation. Who are these people that they’re mentioning?

“Heeseung?” the guy repeats.

“Said he’s getting ‘em to cheer someone up. Maybe it’s him?”

The guy laughs. “I don’t think he swings my way. If it’s Sunoo or Heeseung, then this person probably bought it elsewhere.”

Goldenrods. So small, Jay just uses them to fill up his flower arrangements. He said they could mean precaution, but for what exactly?

“I hope you find out soon, or maybe not. Then I’ll make you a better bouquet. No secret messages though, just a delicate arrangement of flowers from your favorite florist.”

French marigolds. Jealousy. Huh.

You turn back to the couple by the counter, finding the guy chuckling and shaking his head. “I’ll take that offer when the mystery turns exhausting. But I’m pretty invested right now.”

Jay smiles at him, all easygoing and warm as usual. “Let me know how it turns out then.”

The guy waves goodbye, taking one last look at the bouquet in his hands before heading out. Jay then exhales, fingers tapping against the wood. He notices you again, now with his full attention, and grins.

“What’re you doing over there? Come tell me your excuse for visiting today. Don’t tell me it’s Lunar New Year.”

You force a chuckle, stepping closer. “Birthday of a friend. Was just testing if I remember the botanical stuff you’ve taught me.”

Jay tilts his head. He points to some oxeye daisies, petals white with a yellow center. “What do those mean?”

“Patience. Purity. The he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not flower.”

“Correct,” he replies, picking one and twirling it between his fingers. “Is this friend you’re talking about a friend-friend or…”

“Or?”

“Friends with ulterior motives,” Jay laughs. “Friends from a different dimension.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “No. A real, very existing friend.”

Jay studies you for a moment, an embarrassing warmth creeping into your face. You might make every occasion an excuse to visit Jay, but you won’t stoop so low as to invent stories about imaginary people. 

“You have to stop giving out flowers on a whim like that, your friend might misinterpret,” he says.

You hesitate briefly, then you roll your eyes in realization. “I could say the same thing about you giving free flowers to all your customers.”

Jay furrows his brows. “I don’t?”

“Huh?”

A beat passes.

“I don’t give free flowers to all my customers,” Jay repeats.

“Just me then?”

If not all customers, then maybe just the ones who buy a lot. That makes sense. Definitely not just you, don’t be delusional.

“Just you, yeah.”

“Oh.”

The guy from earlier left with his bouquet and nothing else. Another beat passes. Then Jay claps his hands together.

“So! A birthday bouquet. Got flowers in mind or you want my floral magic again?”

You blankly nod, mind still reeling from what Jay has just told you. “You do your magic, I’ll watch.”

Jay begins to work, slow as he selects the first few flowers, then fingers moving more efficiently as the flower arrangement grows into something more colorful and “meaningful.” You shift your weight from foot to foot as you watch him, letting the faint snip of scissors and rustling of wrapping paper fill in the silence.

After a moment, you find yourself asking: “Do you really believe in it?”

Jay glances up, pausing from cutting a length of pink ribbon. “In what?”

“Flowers and their meanings,” you clarify.

“Well, they mean something if you want them to,” he replies, before resuming what he was doing with the ribbon, gently tying it around the bouquet. “I mean,” Jay hesitates. “Flowers are just like any other gift or gesture. They only matter as much as you let them.”

He pushes the finished bouquet towards you, giving you a warm smile. “Or maybe you just like giving beautiful people something beautiful, and that’s as valid as any other reason,” he adds. “I’ve never been good with words anyway, so I’d appreciate flowers even if they really meant nothing other than pretty, colorful things.”

You nod, smiling back in understanding. Then the words tumble out before you can think too hard about them, a joke too sincere, a humorous statement that’s been stripped of its humor. Because you’re just that good with words unlike this Flower Puff Boy.

“Would it be fraternization with the enemy if I brought you flowers for Valentine’s?”

Jay stills, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then he catches on. “I guess I’ll give you white catchflies then. Betrayal!”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, prodding at the bouquet on the counter. “Have to check out the competition.”

Jay gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “After all the free flowers!?”

Your lips twitch. “Wasn’t exactly a fan of such a manipulative business tactic,” you joke.

He clicks his tongue in mock offence. “Guess I’ll have to stop the freebies then.”

The playful banter comes easily, but your heart stutters, thumping in your chest and wavering your voice in the process. For almost a year, you thought that Jay’s easy charm was just part of customer service. Maybe it was, but now, it definitely doesn’t feel like it.

“Valentine’s, huh?” Jay grins. “Receiving flowers on that day instead of selling them would be a change.”

You glance at the long-forgotten bouquet for your friend, your fingers idly brushing over the brown paper wrapped around the flowers.

“Actually,” you start, voice a little quieter, “could you make another bouquet for me? To pick up on a different day? Forgot something.”

Jay lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? What occasion?”

You smile, keeping it light. “Secret.”

Jay playfully narrows his eyes. “Am I gonna be jealous of another ‘friend’ of yours?”

“Should you?” you laugh, making Jay grumble in fake frustration. “I’ve got specific flowers in mind.”

“Okay, tell me what flowers you want,” he sighs. “I’ll prepare them by the date you need them.”

White chrysanthemums. Moss rosebuds. Peach blossoms. And lastly, yellow jonquils.

“Do you know what these flowers mean?” Jay slowly asks, as if he’s still processing the list of flowers you just gave him.

You nod, heat once again rushing to your face. “Do you?”

Jay shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We might have different dictionaries. Spell it out for me, please?”

You take a moment, the words spilling as if it came from a script, though your voice shakes. “I’m not lying when I say that this is a confession. You have captivated me and I desire a return of this affection.”

“That’s quite a specific message,” Jay replies, exhaling. “Who’s it for then?”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of what this scene means. “You.”

Jay shakes his head, but you see the fondness in his expression. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters. “When will you be picking it up?”

“On Valentine’s, of course.”

He laughs. “I’m a florist. Wait for my reply in flowers by then.”

A sense of ease washes over you. “I’ll see you by then, Flower Puff Boy.”

Jay watches you with a smile as you turn toward the door, the familiar chime ringing once again.

For the first time, you leave the shop with no free flower to take home. And for the first time, you’re comfortable admitting that it wasn’t just the flowers that you were always looking forward to.

author's note: it’s over 2 weeks too late for valentine’s but hey i made it! would y’all believe me if i said i broke my arm a few months ago and it stalled everything for a while 😭 i hav a lot of drafts ongoing so let’s hope i don’t disappear for another few months ADF:gpzicvbpzpvo sorry for always slacking y'allllls

references: Flower language taken from the 1867 book “The illustrated language of flowers” by Mrs. L. Burke: https://archive.org/details/illustratedlang00burka

— moriwood.

⋆｡°✩ way back into love ✦ park jongseong

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ start — APRIL 9 2025

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ status — ONGOING

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ masterlist

✦ — for when you miss me

✦ — for when you see me

✦ — for when you want me

✦ — for when you know me

✦ — for when you need me

✦ — ???

✦ — ???

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — YOOOOOi never thought this day would come BUT does this qualify for angst? i'm not too sure cuz i've never really dove into the trope in terms of writing and also just had this asone of those dream fics i really wanted to write basedon tropes from the 2000s movies I oh so loved to watch RAHHHHH BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY ITTTTT !!!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — get in here and request down below!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

legacy masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

one reason i couldn't write smut ... it just feels bland because i feel like everyone has already written about it 😭😭 also teasing you guys about it is more fun 😈

unpopular opinion i'm getting bored of smut they all sound the same

⋆｡°✩ [ch.1] for when you miss me

Songs on the charts, sold-out shows, the kind of career most musicians dream about—everything’s perfect. But success doesn’t fill the emptiness. And then, just when you think you’ve moved on—there he is. Your past, standing in front of you like a love song you never finished.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ pairing — park jongseong x male!reader

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ word count — 1.5k

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ tags — male reader, jay x reader, estranged exes to lovers, famous singer!reader because we're built like that, is this angst? i have no clue, memories of your past together just hits hard ughhhh, jay has a new lover omg the drama-mama-mamah, you are dramatic as hell but we love you for you, you are insane to still think of him, i understand though you are in love with jay we see each other WE SEE EACH OTHER, more to come!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ warning + notes — use of male pronouns, has some implied relationships, swear words, mentions and use of alcoholic substances, author's interpretation of the people in this fic might not reflect them irl, story update lengths may vary~

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love: the full masterlist

The stage lights are too bright.

They always are—blinding, artificial suns that bleach the room into a watercolor blur. You squint against them, fingers absently strumming your guitar as the crowd murmurs beneath the clink of champagne glasses.

The venue is all exposed brick and twinkling fairy lights, the kind of place you’d have mocked two years ago. Now, you’re just background noise to someone else’s love story.

"You’re up next." Leah’s voice cuts through the hum, her manicured fingers digging into your shoulder—nervous energy. The sequins on her dress catch the light like shattered glass.

"Play something romantic. But, like… not too romantic. Sarah’s grandma thinks love songs are ‘sinful.’"

You snort, plucking a sour note on purpose. "So, no ‘Careless Whisper’?"

"God, no." She grins, but it fades fast.

Her eyes dart toward the crowd, then back to you. "Hey… you okay? You’ve been a little bit pale lately—"

"I’m fine." The lie tastes stale. You twist a tuning peg too hard; the string protests with a sharp twang.

“Oop?”

“There it goes~”

“Psh.” Leah exhales through her nose.

"Heads up, but Jay’s here."

Your fingers freeze mid-strum. You think the discordant echo hangs in the air—a fitting soundtrack.

"Shit," you mutter.

"She was Sarah’s tutor, so she had to invite him," she adds, her voice low.

"Just… brace yourself."

Your stomach knots. "… anyone with him?’"

"Tall brunette girl. Clean fit with a high pony. Around our age. Pretty. A lawyer too, I heard?" Leah grimaces. "She’s got that whole ‘I do hot yoga and would destroy you in court’ vibe."

"Fantastic." You reach for your water bottle, but your hands betray you—trembling just enough to make the plastic crinkle. The condensation drips onto your jeans, cold and clammy.

You don’t look. Not at first.

Instead, you bury yourself in the set—some anemic Ed Sheeran cover, then a neutered Beatles rendition.

Safe. Soulless. Distracting.

The crowd barely reacts. A few aunties tap their heels; a groomsman drunkenly mouths "play ‘Wonderwall’" at you. You ignore him.

But then Sarah, Leah’s new wife, commandeers the mic. Her grin is all mischief.

"Okay, time for a special request!" she announces like she’s not about to detonate a grenade in your chest.

"This one’s for all the hopeless romantics."

She looks at you with a grinning smile, almost teasing.

"Play Way Back Into Love!"

Of fucking course.

You haven’t touched this song since the breakup. Since … him.

Not because it’s hard—it’s easy, four chords and a melody so saccharine it should come with a dental warning—but because it was yours. The song you and Jay butchered in the car, harmonizing off-key until your lungs ached. The one he’d hum against your collarbone at 3 AM, his voice gravelly with sleep.

Now, here it is. Taunting you.

You take a breath—shaky, unsteady—and start playing.

"I’ve been living with a shadow overhead…"

Your voice cracks. You clear your throat and try again.

"I’ve been sleeping with a cloud above my bed…"

And then—because the universe is a sadistic bastard—you look towards the audience.

There he is.

Jay.

Sitting at a table near the back, wearing something so elegant you know the gods made it for him and only him to wear. His hair is bleached now, swept to the side in a way that suggests actual effort, and his fingers are wrapped tight around his champagne flute, knuckles blanching white.

And at that moment? He’s staring at you.

Not the polite, detached gaze of an ex. No—this is raw, hungry like he’s trying to memorize the way your lips shape the words he once whispered against your skin.

Your brain short-circuits.

"I’ve been—uh—" You fumble the lyric. "Solitary… something."

A few guests chuckle, mistaking it for charm.

Jay doesn’t laugh. His lips part, just slightly, like he’s about to sing along—but then she leans in.

The girlfriend.

Tall, brunette, with the posture of someone who’s never slouched a day in her life. She murmurs something in Jay’s ear, her manicured hand settling on his forearm—possessive.

Jay flinches. Just once. Then he looks away.

And just like that, the spell breaks.

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

You flee the stage the second the song ends, beelining for the bar like it’s salvation.

"Whiskey. Neat please," you tell the bartender. "Actually, make it a double."

As you sit there all alone, the first glass burns; the second barely registers. You’re halfway through your third when that voice cuts through the haze.

"You still forget the lyrics."

You turn.

Jay’s standing there, smirking, but his grip on his drink is white-knuckled.

"Yeah, well," you shrug, "some things never change."

A beat of silence. And then:

"You still sound good," Jay says softly.

"You look good," you blurt.

Shit.

His cheeks flush pink, but he doesn’t call you out. "Thanks.”

Just then, you notice an unfamiliar motion near you, a person almost to your side.

“Uh… and this is Naomi." He gestures to the woman beside him.

"Hi, Naomi Natten." She says, extending a hand. Her grip is firm, her smile polished. "Jay’s told me a lot about you."

You force a grin. "All lies, I’m sure."

Jay chokes on his drink.

Naomi, oblivious, laughs. "He said you’re a great musician. And, uh…" She glances at Jay. "That you burn toast like it’s your job. Is that true?"

"Wow," you deadpan. "That’s what stuck?"

Jay’s expression flickers—guilt? regret?—before he forces a chuckle. "Among other things."

Another silence.

You then stare into your whiskey, searching for words that don’t exist.

"So," you finally say, "how’d you two meet?"

"Law school," Naomi says brightly. "He was assisting one of our professors in one of my course subjects. I then had the guts to torture him into asking me out."

Jay rolls his eyes, but there’s affection in it. "She’s joking. Mostly."

"Mhm." You swallow the rest of your drink.

"Congratulations." God, it’s burning hot.

Silence stayed for a minute and let a smooth breeze in before a loud soundtrack played in the middle of the venue.

“Wait, let’s dance!” Distracted, Naomi pulled Jay’s arm, talking as if you weren’t even there.

"W-We should go," Jay says abruptly. "But… it was good seeing you." His voice was faltering as the music drowned his cadence.

He hesitates like he wants to say more, but Naomi’s already steering him toward the dance floor.

You watch them go, whiskey burning your throat.

"Yeah," you mutter. "Good seeing you too."

˚　　✦　　.　. 　 ˚　.　 . ★⋆.　　✦　.　　.　 ˚　.　　✦　˚ 　　 ˚　.˚

It was quiet when you got home, the kind of silence that makes your ears ring. The wedding's music still echoed in your head, as if remnants of melodies that wouldn't leave you alone.

As heat crept up your body, you took off almost everything that wrapped you until you got to your room - your suit jacket first, then the tie that felt like it had been choking you all night, and finally those fancy shoes that never quite felt right.

Feeling the bits of tiredness and exhaustion from the event you played in, your eyes landed on a simple cardboard box in the corner. It sat there like a time capsule, gathering dust in the shadows of your bedroom.

As simple as it was, it wasn't ever just one. It was tons of stacked boxes, old and new, each one holding pieces of your past. It wasn't noticeable to anyone else, but every box with it was tucked into the side after you moved in almost eight months ago, like you were trying to hide them even from yourself.

Walking groggily, fighting against the whiskey still warming your blood, you manage to carry one of them and land it on top of your soft mattress. The cardboard felt rough under your fingers, worn at the edges from too many moves.

Scrounging through your messy stuff - old receipts, notes from physics, forgotten birthday cards, ticket stubs from concerts you barely remember - you notice a gleaming antique at the bottom of it all. An old CD case with a scratched plastic cover, the kind nobody uses anymore.

With one gust of air, you wiped down every dust on its surface, watching the particles dance in the dim light of your bedroom lamp.

Opening the case with shaking hands, you see a vintage disk that almost shone brightly with its rainbow colors, like an oil slick caught in sunlight.

The sharpie on the label has faded, but the words still gut you:

FOR WHEN YOU MISS ME — JAY

You pop it into your ancient CD player, just an arm’s length from the box you’ve got it from.

Right there, the first and only track plays. Silence plays in the back as dread looms over what could play from this relic of your past.

"I’ve been living with a shadow overhead…"

You close your eyes, lingering in the presence of his silky voice.

And for the first time in four years, you let yourself remember.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ kai's notes — YOOOOOi never thought this day would come BUT does this qualify for angst? i'm not too sure cuz i've never really dove into the trope in terms of writing and also just had this asone of those dream fics i really wanted to write basedon tropes from the 2000s movies I oh so loved to watch RAHHHHH BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY ITTTTT also enha in la WOOO GO TEAM

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ story taglist — get in here and request down below!

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ can i join the masterlist? — sure! i do frequent posts and updates so just be warned! leave a reply on any posts and i'll add ya in the future updates, much love~ 

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✦⋆˚ way back into love : the full masterlist

my masterlist! | made by writhyv 💘

why tf is he extra scrumptious here omfg ...

I MISS YOU GUYS

IM TIRED IM ITEIROUAFIAUIAUOIUWAOIFAW NISHIMURA 😭😭😭😭

You're so cool, Ni-Ki

he's so expensive i can't with this man 😮‍💨🖐️

[JAY] Black & Gold 🖤 @.pomellato