💬 。 jo has been pinning for years and all it takes to change that—is a drunken selfie
masterlist 𓋰 asakura x f!rea⠀ ✶⠀ fluff, teasing, kissing !! wc: 2784 don't copy/translate my work. i only write on tumblr.
the fairy lights are dim, your living room a mess of blankets, popcorn bowls, and giggles echoing off the walls. your friends are sprawled across the floor in their oversized hoodies and fuzzy socks—classic sleepover chaos. maki is playing a horror movie no one’s actually watching, and you’re laughing at a story about yuma’s failed situationship when your phone buzzes for the tenth time that night.
you already know who it is before you check.
jojo ♥︎
[1:47am] why am i never invited ur sleepovers? :(
[1:48am] i see the pics on your story
[1:48am] you always invite the others
you swallow hard, thumb hovering. the truth is too embarrassing to type: because if you slept over i’d probably combust from how much i like you, and what if you think it’s weird, and what if—
another buzz. this one’s a photo.
your screen fills with jo—shirtless, golden skin glowing under the warm lamp in his bedroom, sheets pooled low around his hips, one arm lazily behind his head. his abs are unfairly defined for someone who claims he “doesn’t even work out that much,” messy black hair falling into his eyes, lips parted like he just woke up (or never went to sleep). the caption in the message bar reads: this is what you’re missing btw
your face burns instantly.
you stare at the photo way longer than you should, heart slamming against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. jo’s never sent you anything like this. ever. he’s always been the quiet one—soft smiles, gentle teasing, the kind of boy that tugs at your shirt to order for him at cafes. but this? this was not like him whatsoever.
jojo ♥︎
[1:55am] the hyungs made me drink
[1:55am] i told them everything
[1:56am] k said i was acting like a jealous baby
[1:56am] nicholas-hyung kept laughing and saying “just confess already you idiot”
[1:57am] so here i am. confessing. at 2am. i really like you. i’m sorry for the photo. i feel like an absolute loser for sending that oh my god.
[1:58am] but i want to be invited. i want to be the one next to you
[1:59am] please
you stare at the last message until the screen dims, your thumb frozen over the keyboard.
the usual jo—the one who blushes cherry-red from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears and down his neck whenever you’d tease him—is somewhere in there, buried under the soju and the courage. but he still apologized for the thirst trap. still called himself a loser. your heart squeezes so hard it hurts.
you
[2:01am] jojo
[2:01am] don’t apologize for the photo… i didn’t hate it
[2:02am] i’ve liked you for so long too. since we were fifteen, probably longer
[2:03am] that’s exactly why i never invited you
[2:03am] i was scared that if you were here, under the same blanket as me, i wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore
the living room at the dorm is hazy with soju bottles and half-eaten ramyeon cups. the hyungs are sprawled everywhere—k on the couch with his legs thrown over the armrest, fuma cross-legged on the floor spinning an empty bottle like it’s still middle school, ej gone to retrieve pizza, nicholas against the wall because smirking like he knows everything. because he does... well that's the last time jo will confide in nicholas regarding his love life.
jo is sitting hunched over his phone on the carpet, knees drawn up, ears burning scarlet. his heart is hammering so hard he can feel it in his throat. the second your messages pop up, he makes this tiny choked sound that’s half wheeze, half squeak.
“fuck—fuck, she replied—”
he shoves the phone toward the group like it’s evidence in court.
nicholas snatches it immediately, eyes scanning. his eyebrows shoot up.
the slap lands square between jo’s shoulder blades, making him jolt forward with a startled “oof!”
nicholas is tipsy, grinning like a fox as he holds the phone high, reading your messages aloud in an exaggerated lovesick voice:
“'i didn’t hate it~’… ‘i’ve liked you since we were fifteen~’… bro. i think she’s been down bad for you longer than you’ve been down bad for her. this is historic.”
jo’s face is nuclear. he tries to snatch the phone back but nicholas dances it out of reach, laughing.
k lets out a loud wheeze, nearly tipping over from how hard he’s cracking up.
fuma, still lounging on the couch, kicks k’s shoulder with his foot. “you literally called him a jealous baby for three hours straight before he caved.”
jo covers his burning face with both hands, peeking through his fingers. his ears are so red they look like they might glow in the dark. “nicholas, please—stop reading them out loud… “
“you are such a loser,” nicholas teases, but his tone is warm. he finally drops the phone back into jo’s lap and ruffles his messy black hair. “a very lucky loser, though. she just handed you the green light, man. you’ve been pining like a loser for years and she was scared she’d jump you under the blanket? this is gold.”
jo makes a mortified noise and lunges again, finally managing to snatch his phone back. he curls protectively around it, knees pulled tighter to his chest, face buried halfway into his oversized hoodie sleeve. the tips of his ears are glowing crimson.
hands are trembling as he picks up the phone again. he stares at your last messages, the little heart-squeeze feeling in his chest almost too much to handle. a shy, disbelieving smile breaks across his face.
k flops down beside him, slinging an arm around jo’s shoulders and squeezing softly. “stop hiding and text your girl back before she thinks you died. this is your moment, lover boy.”
jo lets out a long, shaky breath and finally opens the chat again. his thumbs hover for a second before he starts typing, cheeks still glowing.
jojo ♥︎
[2:20am] sorry for the wait… the hyungs are being chaotic
[2:20am] nicholas called me a loser and fuma is poking my ears
[2:21am] but i don’t even care anymore
[2:21am] you’ve liked me since we were 15?? that’s…that’s so long. i liked you even before that i think. i was just too scared to say anything
he bites his lip, then adds quickly:
jojo ♥︎
[2:22am] i still can’t believe you weren’t inviting me because you liked me too
[2:22am] i thought you just didn’t want me there… it made me so jealous seeing the pics on your story
[2:25am] please let me come over
[2:25am] i’ll bring snacks or whatever you want
[2:25am] i just really really want to be with you tonight
“hyungs… i just begged her to let me come over at 2:30am. i sound so desperate.”
nicholas snorts, lying on the floor beside him. “you are desperate. been desperate for years. it’s cute though.”
fuma kicks jo’s foot lightly. “she’s gonna say yes. just wait.”
jo’s phone buzzes almost right away. he sits up so fast he gets dizzy, snatching it up.
you
[2:26am] jojo you’re so cute it hurts
[2:26am] of course you can come over
[2:27am] but… are you okay? like actually okay to walk here? you’ve been drinking and it’s late
[2:27am] i don’t want you getting in trouble or feeling sick :(
[2:28am] also warning… yuma’s here and he’s already smirking at my phone. he’s gonna tease you so bad when you show up lol
k leans over jo’s shoulder, reading the messages. “aww, she’s worried about you. she’s so sweet. i’ll take you to her—hurry reply fast before she changes her mind.”
jo’s cheeks are burning again, but he’s smiling that big, shy, heart-eyed smile. his thumbs fly across the screen.
jojo ♥︎
[2:29am] i’m okay!! promise
[2:29am] i only had like… three shots? four? not that much
[2:30am] k-hyung said he’ll take me
[2:30am] and yeah… i figured yuma would tease me lol
[2:31am] but i don’t care. i’ll take all the teasing in the world if it means i get to see you
he pauses, then adds with slightly shaky fingers:
jojo ♥︎
[2:31am] i’ll leave in like 10 minutes
[2:32am] can’t wait anymore
k grabs his own jacket and throws an arm around jo’s shoulders. “let’s go get you your girl.”
the living room is a cozy disaster of fluffy blankets, scattered popcorn bowls, and fairy lights strung lazily across the walls. the horror movie is still playing on low volume — no one’s paying attention anymore.
you’re sitting cross-legged in the middle of the blanket fort, phone clutched tightly in your hands, cheeks still warm from jo’s last messages. every time you reread them your stomach does a little flip.
“he’s coming,” you murmur, half to yourself, half to the room.
yuma immediately perks up like a meerkat, a wicked little smirk spreading across his face. he’s been waiting for this moment all night.
“ohhh? he’s actually coming?” yuma says in that sweet, dangerous voice of his. he crawls closer on his knees, peering at your phone screen even though you try to hide it.
“yuma—lay off him when he comes.” maki, who’s been half-dozing against the couch, mumbles.
“lay off him?” yuma repeats sweetly, tilting his head. “maki-ya, i would never. i’m just going to… warmly welcome our dear jojo into the sacred blanket fort. with love. and maybe a few questions about that shirtless photo he sent~”
harua snorts into his blanket. taki is already grinning, whispering something to harua that makes both of them giggle.
you shoot yuma a look. “i’m serious. don’t bully him too hard the second he walks in. he’s probably already dying from embarrassment.”
yuma puts both hands over his heart like he’s been wounded. “me? bully? i’m simply an observer of their romance. a humble narrato if you will. a—”
a soft knock on the door cuts him off mid-sentence.
everyone freezes.
your heart leaps into your throat. you scramble up from the blanket fort, legs a little shaky, while yuma’s eyes light up like a predator spotting prey.
k’s voice comes through the door, low and amused. “special delivery.”
you open the door before yuma can volunteer.
there he is.
jo is standing in the hallway, trying to remian half-hidden behind k’s broad frame despite his height, hood pulled over his hair. his cheeks are flushed deep pink—whether from the cold night air, the soju, or pure nerves, you can’t tell. his ears are glowing red. he’s clutching a plastic bag of convenience store snacks in both hands like a shield.
the second his eyes meet yours, his breath catches visibly. that shy, disbelieving little smile breaks across his face, soft and overwhelmed.
“hi…” he says, voice quiet and a little hoarse. “sorry it’s so late. i…i brought melon bread and those honey butter chips the boys like.”
yuma appears behind you like a ghost, leaning against the doorframe with the biggest, most dangerous grin. before he can even speak, you elbow him in the stomach.
“ow—!” yuma dramatically folds over, clutching his side like you just stabbed him. “betrayal! i’ve been stabbed by the hostess herself!”
he stumbles back two steps, pretending to wheeze, then immediately straightens up with a bright, mischievous grin. “fine, fine~ i’ll behave. for now.”
k chuckles behind jo, patting his shoulder once. “good luck, kid. text me if they bully you too much.” he gives you a small, knowing smile and a little wave before heading back toward the elevator.
jo is still standing in the doorway, looking equal parts relieved and mortified. his ears are impossibly redder after yuma’s dramatic performance. he glances at you with those wide, sparkly eyes, the shy smile returning full force.
“thank you…” he whispers, barely audible.
you gently take his wrist and tug him inside, closing the door behind him. the warmth of the living room wraps around both of you immediately. jo kicks off his shoes quickly, still clutching the snack bag like a lifeline, and lets you pull him straight toward the blanket fort.
the second he sits down beside you—so close that your thighs press together under the big shared blanket—the chaos resumes.
yuma flops down dramatically on your other side, resting his chin in his hands like a gossip queen. “so. jojo. be honest. did you rehearse that shirtless mirror selfie? how many takes? did you do the whole ‘one arm behind the head, sultry gaze’ pose?”
jo makes a tiny strangled sound and hides his entire face in your shoulder, burying himself against you. his voice comes out muffled and embarrassed. “yuma-hyung… please…”
harua and taki are already giggling uncontrollably. maki just shakes his head with a fond grin, passing jo a can of soda. “here. hydrate before you spontaneously combust.”
you reach up and gently tug jo’s hood down a little, brushing his messy black hair back a bit. he peeks up at you, cheeks still blazing, but his expression softens the moment your eyes meet.
“i really did bring the melon bread,” he mumbles, offering the plastic bag like a shy little gift. “and the chips…oh—and some strawberry milk because i know you like it cold.”
your heart feels like it’s going to explode.
yuma fake-cries into a pillow. “he even brought snacks. god—he’s so whipped. this is too cute. i’m emotionally damaged.”
harua and maki roll their eyes, quickly nabbing the chips from the bag.
you ignore yuma completely, and lean in closer to jo, your voice soft just for him.
“i’m really happy you’re here, jo” you whisper. “even with all the teasing.”
jo’s hand finds yours under the blanket, fingers trembling slightly as they intertwine with yours. he squeezes once, then doesn’t let go.
the room slowly settles after another round of laughter.
taki suddenly sits up straight, pointing at the tv with wide eyes. “wait—wait—everyone shut up! this is the best part! the ghost is about to appear—shhh!”
the boys instinctively quiet down (even yuma only makes one last dramatic “hmph” before flopping back into the blankets). the horror movie flickers on, casting soft blue light across the blanket fort. everyone snuggles back in, the chaos finally simmering into comfortable background noise.
you wait until the scene ends and the room is calm again. jo is still glued to your side under the big blanket, your fingers loosely intertwined. his thumb keeps brushing nervous little circles over the back of your hand.
you lean in close to his ear and whisper, “jojo…do you want to help me make more popcorn in the kitchen? i think we’re almost out.” you shake the mostly empty bucket.
jo blinks at you, then nods quickly, ears already turning pink again. “y-yeah. i’ll help.”
you both slip out from under the blanket as quietly as possible. yuma’s head pops up like a prairie dog anyway, but maki yanks him back down with a low “let them breathe, yuma.”
the kitchen is just around the corner—dim, warm, and quiet compared to the living room. the fairy lights from the living room barely reach in, leaving everything in soft shadows.
the second you’re alone, you turn to face him.
jo sets the half-empty popcorn bowl on the counter, then just…stands there, looking at you. his short black hair messy from running his hands through it—a nervous habit. his cheeks and ears are still flushed, eyes shiny and nervous and happy all at once.
“i still can’t believe i’m actually here,” he whispers.
you step closer, gently tugging the front of his hoodie. “i can’t believe it either.”
for a moment you both just breathe the same air, hearts hammering. then jo leans in first—slow, shy, almost hesitant—and presses his lips to yours.
it’s soft. sweet. a little clumsy from nerves and leftover soju courage. his hands hover for half a second before settling lightly on your waist, fingers curling into your hoodie like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. you kiss him back, tilting your head, one hand cupping his burning cheek.
when you pull apart, jo’s eyes are wide, lips slightly parted, completely dazed.
“…wow,” he breathes, voice cracking. a shy, giddy smile breaks across his face as he rests his forehead against yours. “i’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
you laugh softly, thumb brushing his cheek. “me too.”
he kisses you again—quicker this time, but still so gentle, like he’s savoring every second. his ears are glowing bright red even in the dim kitchen light.
from the living room, you hear yuma’s muffled but dramatic voice: “if they’re making popcorn, why is the microwave not on yet—?”
authors note: this was based off this ask and i loved writing this, so i made it a full post!! writing cute fluff heals something me.. i wish more people would request it ㅠ_ㅠ i hope u all enjoy this sweet piece!
The beauty of her face was beyond my wildest dreams.
Pairing: bf!Jo x fem!reader
Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, p in v, virginity loss (f), fingering, oral (f receiving), making out, soft dom Jo, sub!reader, shit ton of romance because i am sappy rn, mention of food, me being awkward as fuck with dialouge
A/N: ok this took so long to complete IZZY GOMENESAI. Yeah assume that the hands paragraph i wrote specially for you because i lob you mmwah mmwah. bro i need jo to kiss the crown of my head jebal jebal like i love him ok thats my baby he's so soft love coded. As always, enjoy, my darlings!
Word Count: 11.2K (romaaanceee)
Love is an art.
Love is the ballerina gliding across a stage no matter how worn out her feet are. It is the slash of yellow paint across a dark landscape that somehow turns into a beautiful mountain, when manipulated by the painter’s brush. It is the creator of the universe, weaving their fabric of time and space, proud of their complex, confusing creations that they call ‘humans’.
Love as a form of art can also be seen in the mundane. The sweet kiss of a mother on her child’s cheek on the first day of school, the admiration of the steam of a coffee by a burnt out teenager, the way a lover looks up at the night sky so full of stars and constellations and thinks their beloved is still more beautiful.
To Jo, love had always been you.
You with those pretty eyes, that starry soul and that beatific heart that he wanted to open the cage to and settle himself in, all comfortable with a blanket and hot chocolate. You with that laugh that made him want to live a bit more, to appreciate the way the wind moved the leaves of a tangerine laden tree and to admire the beauty of life.
The beauty of you, the essence of his life, his soul, the very blood that ran through his veins.
Love is an art, and you were his muse.
“The canvas is down there, mister.” You laughed, flicking at his forehead.
It wasn't unusual to find your lover staring at your face, like a scientist staring at her new discovery—eyes full of awe and love. You weren’t complaining though. You were highly grateful to call Jo yours.
“But my muse is up here.” He answered simply, his ears already turning red at the line. Jo sent you a sheepish smile and quickly looked down at his canvas.
The golden light of the setting sun bathed the field in a warm, amber glow, each sunflower stretching tall, their faces turned towards the horizon as if bidding farewell to the day. You and Jo sat cross-legged amidst the towering blooms, paintbrush in hand, art supplies scattered around you.
“Can I see what you’re painting, please?” You nudged him, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever he had been concentrating on for the past half hour. He looked so pretty engrossed in his canvas, brows furrowed as he brought his art to life with bold strokes of his brush.
The breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and fresh grass, ruffling your hair and the hem of your sundress and you caught his gaze properly, always so soft but now sweetly so, shaped by the tranquility of the moment, gazing at you with an intensity that made your heart flutter.
Jo hesitated; it was subtle—the way his fingers tightened around the edge of the canvas, the way his shoulders lifted just slightly. You tilted your head, smiling, your hair catching the golden light of the setting sun and for a moment Jo thought he must have gone to his heaven.
“Alright, but just—” He exhaled a quiet laugh, more nervous than amused, before finally turning the canvas towards you, “don’t laugh, hm?”
In one of the most recent art exhibitions you had attended, the hostess talked about Claude Monet—the painter known for making the movement of light across water look like a choreographed dance with just paint and colour. She went on to talk about his wife and muse Camille Doncieux, even after whose death Monet would never let the world forget about, always incorporating her into his paintings.
Artists and their muses. What a lovely poem.
“Jo…” You breathed out, after a solid minute of staring at his canvas. It was messy, imperfect, unfinished—but undeniably you. The curve of your cheek, the suggestion of your smile, the way your eyes seemed to hold light even in paint. He hadn’t even tried to hide it—his adoration of you. Your breath caught, something warm blooming in your chest as you traced your eyes over it.
“I tried to paint the field,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck, ears turning that familiar shade of red. “But you kept—” he gestured vaguely toward you, toward everything, “—being there.”
You laughed then, soft and breathless, setting your own canvas aside. “So you just gave up?”
“Mmmh. “ He hummed, glancing at you with that earnest look that always made your heart ache in the best way. “I just painted what mattered more.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The wind drifted through the sunflowers, their golden heads swaying gently around you like a quiet audience. Somewhere in the distance, a bird sang its song in praise of the sunset. The world felt slower and softer like it had paused just for the two of you.
“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though your smile gave you away.
“Yeah,” he said, smiling back. “But I’m your ridiculous.” His ears turned red again and he looked away, far too embarrassed by his line.
You reached over, brushing a bit of paint off his cheek with your thumb. He stilled under your touch, eyes flickering to yours, something unspoken passing between you.
“Hmm, I think I ought to pay you back for that.” You said, a playful glint in your eyes.
“Pay me back?” Your boyfriend blinked away. You pushed yourself up, scanning the field while Jo looked on.
“Where are you—?”
But you were already a few steps away, weaving through the sunflowers with surprising urgency. He watched, amused, as you carefully plucked a small cluster of tiny yellow blooms from a lower stem, cradling them in your hands. When you came back, you dropped down in front of him, a little out of breath.
“Give me your hand,” You said, which he obliged, watching you like you were performing some kind of magic.
His fingers were gentle as you worked, looping the thin stems together, twisting them carefully. Your tongue peeked out slightly in concentration, brows furrowed like this was the most important task in the world.
“What are you doing?” He asked, though he already had a feeling.
“Shh,” you murmured. “This is serious craftsmanship.”
Jo bit back a laugh. Your fingers moved quickly, looping and weaving, tying a small knot with practiced ease. It wasn’t perfect—one end stuck out slightly—but it held. When you were done, you looked up at him with a triumphant grin.
“There.” You said softly, “you showed me your love and now I’ve shown you mine." Jo stared at the flower ring and then at you, “It’s kind of bad, I know but I haven’t done this in a while so–”
“No it’s–” Jo interrupted, smiling shyly, “it’s perfect.”
He didn’t speak again for a moment, just stared at his hand, at the fragile little ring, like it was the most expensive thing in the world. For him, it was. His lips parted like he wanted to say something more, something bigger—but instead, he just laughed under his breath, shaking his head slightly.
“What is it?” You asked him, with curious eyes.
“I think I just fell in love with you again.”
You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed. “Again?”
“Mhm,” he nodded seriously. “Happens a lot, actually.”
You gestured toward his hand. “Want to learn?”
He sat up straighter, suddenly very focused, like this was the most important lesson of his life. You picked up a few blades of grass and handed them to him.
Jo took the blades of grass from you, his fingers brushing against yours, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He studied them intently, as if trying to decipher some great mystery.
With a small smile, you began to weave, your fingers moving with a fluid grace, years of practice guiding each motion. You showed him how to loop the stems, how to tie them together, how to create a simple ring that held all the love in the world.
Jo watched you intently, his eyes following the movements of your hands, learning from your every motion. Occasionally, he tried to mimic your actions, his own fingers fumbling slightly as he navigated the delicate task. But he persisted, determined to learn, to create something as beautiful as you.
“Okay,” you said, leaning closer, your shoulder brushing his, “you have to twist them like this—no, not that tight—Jo, you’re strangling it—”
Jo huffed—a rare adorable sight—trying again, tongue peeking out in concentration. His fingers fumbled, the blades slipping loose, the knot unraveling almost immediately. You bit your lip, trying to hold in your laughter.
He tried again. And again. And somehow, it got worse. By the third attempt, what he held in his hands looked less like a ring and more like a defeated clump of green. You stared at it, then at him, then back at it and a small laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
“Hey,” he protested, though he was already smiling. “This is hard!”
“That,” you said between laughs, pointing, “is not a ring, Jo.” You snorted, “It looks like it gave up halfway through life.”
“Wow.” He gasped, clutching the sad little bundle to his chest. “No faith in me at all.”
You laughed fully now, bright and unrestrained, the sound spilling into the open air. Jo watched you, completely distracted again—your laughter was better than anything he could’ve made.
“Stop laughing,” he said, though he was grinning.
“Why, you don’t like my smile?” You tried to suppress your laughter, failing immediately as another giggle escaped.
Something in his expression shifted then—like relief, like happiness, like he didn’t quite know what to do with how much he felt.
So instead, he stood up abruptly and held out his hand. Still laughing, you took his hand, letting him pull you up to your feet. The world tilted slightly as you stood, the sun dipping lower, painting everything in deeper golds and soft oranges.
“Alright,” he said, eyes gleaming with a rare mischief. “If I can’t make a ring, I can at least do this right.”
And then he ran.
You let out a surprised laugh as he pulled you forward, your feet stumbling for a second before finding rhythm. The sunflowers brushed against your arms as you followed, your laughter blending with his, the sound light and endless.
“Jo!” you laughed, nearly stumbling as you followed, your sundress catching the breeze, your free hand brushing against the tops of the flowers.
He didn’t stop and neither did you, the two of you running through the sea of sunflowers, laughter spilling into the open air, hands clasped tight like letting go wasn’t an option. The world blurred around you—gold and green and sky—until all that existed was this moment. This feeling.
This love.
“Jo!” you called, breathless. “Where are we even going?”
“Nowhere!” he shouted back. “That’s the point!”
You ran anyway, through gold and green and the last warmth of the evening sun, your dress catching the wind, your fingers still tangled with his. The world blurred again, but this time it felt even lighter, like nothing could touch you here.
Eventually, breathless, you slowed, your steps faltering until you both came to a stop. You were still holding his hand, smiling, looking at each other like nothing else in the world made sense except this—you and him in your little world.
For a moment, all you could hear was your breathing, the soft rustle of the field and the fading song of evening. Jo glanced down at your hands at the grass ring on your finger, then at the one on his, squeezing your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“Well,” he said, still catching his breath, “mine might be terrible…” You looked up at him. “But yours,” he added softly, “I think I’m going to keep forever.”
Your heart did that quiet, aching thing again. Jo, your sweet Jo. Whatever had you done to deserve him?
“Forever?” You tilted your head, “I thought you didn’t believe in forever.”
The wind moved gently around you, brushing through his hair, the sunflowers and the fragile little moment that seemed to stretch between your words and his answer.
“Did I?” He asked finally. You watched as his gaze dropped briefly to your joined hands, to the uneven grass rings sitting there like tiny promises.
It must have been your second or third date when he’d mentioned it. Forever wasn’t in his dictionary apparently and you hadn't questioned it, instead choosing to cheekily ask him about the mathematical aspect of infinity. Forever, for him, was something people said when they didn't know how long things would actually last.
“I think…” Jo said, his breath catching slightly when he made eye contact, “I think I want to believe in it now.” His fingers tightened gently around yours, “Because you’re here.” He chuckled softly, “And forever with you sounds really nice.”
Something in your chest softened and melted like his words had found a place they were always meant to sit.
“Have I changed you then, Jo?”
Jo didn’t answer right away, his thumb tracing slow circles over your knuckles, like he was thinking through the feeling instead of the words. Then he smiled.
“I think your love changed me.” He said, eyes so warm in a way that made your chest tighten. You watched as he immediately scrunched his nose, heat rushing to his cheeks at the cringey line he’d just uttered. You laughed again and this time he let out a small laugh too, glancing up at the sky for a second like he might find the correct words written there.
“Aww Jo…” You said in between giggles.
He groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “I know, I know. That was—”
“Adorable,” You interrupted.
“Embarrassing.” He corrected. You shook your head, stepping closer.
“No,” you murmured, “adorable.” He looked at you then and whatever argument he had seemed to disappear somewhere between your eyes and the way you were standing so close now.
You rose onto your tiptoes before you could overthink it. Your lips brushed just beneath his eye, soft and fleeting, like some sort of childish
Jo stilled completely. You felt it, the way his breath caught, the way his hand tightened slightly around yours. You smiled against his skin, pulling back just enough to look at him before leaning in again—this time pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose. He let out the smallest, most helpless laugh.
“Wha—what are you doing?” he whispered, though he didn’t move away.
You didn’t answer; you just kept going. A kiss to his cheek, another just beside his lips, one more near his jaw, light and lingering like you were mapping him, memorizing him in the quietest way you knew how.
“Hey…” he murmured, breath uneven, his hands finding your waist like they needed somewhere to be.
But you were already leaning in again and that was when he pulled you in. His arms wrapped around you, drawing you flush against him, like he’d finally decided he’d had enough of being still, of just taking all the softness you were giving him. He had to give something back, didn’t he?
Your breath hitched, your hands instinctively coming up to rest against his chest. He hesitated for half a second just long enough to search your face, to make sure.
And then he kissed you.
Soft at first, careful—like he was still a little afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough. But when you leaned into him, his hold on you tightened, his thumb brushing against your side as the kiss deepened.
The world around you faded again, neither wind nor sunflowers nor evening song remaining. Just him and the fairies of love dancing between you two. When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. His forehead rested lightly against yours, both of you a little breathless and a little dazed.
“I love you.” He whispered after a second, voice barely steady. You smiled softly, hands still curled into his shirt.
“I love you too.” You said, leaning in to brush your nose against his.
The sun dipped lower, painting everything in deeper hues, the last light of the evening wrapped around the two of you. Jo held you a little closer, like he already knew he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
And somewhere between laughter, paint-stained hands, and a crooked little flower ring—
Love became as golden as a sunflower.
__________________
Your boyfriend was a tall, lean man. Your boyfriend also had very attractive hands.
Very. Attractive. Hands.
They were a study in elegant lines, long fingers, lean tendons tracing paths beneath his skin, knuckles that were just pronounced enough. There was a sort of strength in them, a capability that was utterly at odds with the gentle, hesitant way he always moved around you. He had pianist’s hands, sculptor’s hands, hands that looked like they should be doing something profoundly beautiful.
And the veins were just visible enough to make your brain short-circuit a little every time he reached for something. It was distracting, unfairly so.
You know what else your boyfriend and you were? The shyest human beings to ever exist on earth. Masters of the lingering glance hastily averted, the accidental brush of fingers that sent you both retreating into your shells for a full ten minutes.
Which is why you were currently sitting on the couch beside him, a movie playing in front of you that you had not followed for the past twenty minutes—because Jo’s hand was resting casually on his lap.
And you could not stop staring at it. It wasn’t even doing anything—just existing. Occasionally flexing when he shifted, or brushing against the fabric of the couch, or reaching for the popcorn bowl and oh.
Oh, that was worse.
You quickly looked back at the screen like you hadn’t just been caught staring at his fingers like they held the secrets of the universe. You were normal.
You were so normal.
You lasted about ten seconds before your eyes drifted back. This time, his hand was closer, resting between you both now, fingers relaxed, just within reach. Your heart started beating faster for absolutely no good reason.
You could just hold his hand.
You could also just jump into the Pacific ocean. Free will is such a funny thing. People did that all the time, it was normal and you had held his hand before. So why did this feel different?
You were so lost in your spiral and the map of veins on the back of his hand, that you didn’t notice the movie’s scene shift to a bright panorama. The light from the screen flared, washing over the couch, and in that sudden illumination, Jo turned his head.
“Are you alright?”
And then you were a criminal caught red handed or rather, utterly transfixed-by-his-hands-handed. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. A hot, profound embarrassment flooded you, and you opened your mouth to stammer an apology for staring, for being weird, for everything. When they told you about first love, you’d forgotten everything had its shameful moments.
“Yeah, I’m good!” You responded a bit too enthusiastically, not looking at him.
“You’ve been staring at my hand for a while now.”
You froze completely. Slowly, you turned your head toward him. Jo was already looking at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips, that soft, curious one that always sent butterflies running around in your stomach. Your face burned instantly.
“I—what—no, I wasn’t—”
“Mhm,” he hummed, not convinced in the slightest. His eyes, usually so shy and darting, held yours with a gentle intensity, a faint pink touching his cheeks.
“I was watching the movie,” you insisted weakly.
“You’re facing the wrong direction.”
You glanced at the TV. You were, in fact, not even looking at it. “…oh.”
Jo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head a little before his expression softened again. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, just looked at you like he always did when you got flustered. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the TV and the frantic drum of your own pulse in your ears. He looked from your eyes down to his own hands, then back to you.
Slowly, so slowly it felt like time had thickened, he uncurled his fingers and turned his right hand palm-up on the cushion between you, an invitation, a question. Shall we intertwine our hands and souls?
Your breath hitched, the lead blanket of shyness melting in a warm, dissolving trickle. You slid your hand from your lap, your fingers trembling slightly, and placed it in his.
The contact was electric. His skin was warm, slightly dry, his fingers closing around yours with infinite care, as if you were something precious and rare. He let out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding—a soft, shaky sound that mirrored your own inner turbulence.
You blinked at him, your embarrassment warring with something softer and braver. Because lying felt pointless when he was looking at you like that.
“…they’re just…” you muttered, barely audible, “nice.”
His brows lifted slightly. “Nice?”
“Your hands.” You nodded, still not fully meeting his eyes. There was a pause, then a soft, breathy laugh.
“Is that so?”
You risked a glance up at him and immediately wished you hadn’t, because now he looked even softer, a little pink at the ears.
“Yeah.” You mumbled.
He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. His thumb began to move, stroking the side of your index finger, mirroring that same absent rhythm he’d used on his own hand moments before. It was an echo that became a conversation. Your shyness wasn’t gone, but it had metamorphosed, meeting his in the middle and creating a new, charged space that belonged only to you two.
His other hand came up, his fingers—those beautiful, impossibly beautiful fingers—brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek with a touch so light it might have been imagined. His gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back to your eyes, a silent plea for permission.
They’d told you first love would be like winter snow. So very beautiful when it first fell, but it became suffocating in the first few days. Well now that was a hypothesis without any solid evidence. Your snow felt like a hug you’d like to be absorbed into.
The first brush of his lips against yours was a whisper, a cautious experiment. It was sweet and soft, flavored with the herbal tea he’d been drinking and the underlying warmth that was just Jo.
You kissed him back, and the shyness melted entirely, replaced by a dawning, wondrous confidence. One of his hands came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a reverence that made you want to cry. Your own hands found their courage, one tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, the other resting on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your palm.
The movie played on, forgotten galaxies blooming and dying in silent bursts of color behind you. There was no world beyond the couch, beyond the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours, the exploring sweetness of the kiss deepening by mutual increments.
It was clumsy at times—your noses bumped, laughter breathed into each other’s mouths when you both turned the same way, but it was the most perfect thing you could ever ask for, a dialogue without words, a confession held in every shift closer.
When you finally parted, breathless and foreheads resting together, his hand was still cupping your face. You opened your eyes to find him already looking at you, his expression so full of awed affection it stole your breath all over again. A slow, wobbly smile spread across his face and you felt your own smile answer it, wide and unreserved.
“Hi,” he whispered, his voice husky.
“Hi,” you whispered back. His thumb stroked your cheek once more.
“Can we—” He began, taking a pause to breathe. God, he was so in love with you, “May we do that again?”
Your saccharine sweet boyfriend, always so very polite. It had been almost three months of dating now and he was still so cautious about kissing you. It was honestly one of the things you admired about him.
“Hmm.” You hummed, feeling a tad bit braver now, “Can I just….”
Without finishing your sentence, you swung a leg over to straddle his lap, feeling his breath hitch as you settled against him. His hands found your hips, his thumbs tracing small, soothing circles over your hipbones. You felt a thrill run through you at the touch, at the expression on his face, so tender it made your heart ache.
Slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted to, you leaned in until your mouths were a hair's breadth apart. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, and you watched, entranced, as his lips parted in anticipation. You took that as an invitation, pressing your mouth to his in a kiss as soft as a whisper.
It was a gentle thing, this kiss, almost chaste in its sweetness. Your lips moved against his, learning the feel of them, the taste of him. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, but the kiss remained achingly tender, a conversation held in the barest brush of skin on skin.
You angled your head, deepening the kiss just a little, and a soft sound escaped him, part moan, part sigh. It vibrated against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.
You kept kissing him, slow and unhurried, like neither of you quite knew where to go next but didn’t mind figuring it out together. His grip on your hips tightened just a little when you leaned in again, like he needed to remind himself he was on earth.
When you finally pulled away, it was only to breathe. Your foreheads rested together again, your noses brushing lightly. He opened his eyes then, and the look he gave you was so full of unabashed affection it felt like sunshine blooming in your chest. And then you were a bit shy all over again.
“You’re so beautiful." Jo let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft, “I think I forgot how to function for a second.”
You smiled, your hands still lightly gripping his shirt. “Only a second?”
“Might’ve been longer,” he admitted. You laughed quietly, the sound warm and close between you.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then his thumbs brushed over your hips again and he glanced up at you with that same careful softness.
“Was that…..okay?” he asked. The question was so very him that your chest tightened a little.
You nodded immediately. “More than okay.” He smiled at that—small, relieved and a little proud.
“Good.” He said, almost to himself. You shifted slightly, suddenly aware of how you were still sitting in his lap, how close you were and how his hands hadn’t moved.
“Your movie’s probably halfway over,” you murmured.
He glanced past you at the screen, then back at you. “I have no idea what’s happening.”
“Same.” A beat.
“…Do you want to keep watching?” he asked. You pretended to think about it, tilting your head.
“Hmm,” you hummed, then slid off his lap but instead of moving away, you tucked yourself right into his side. One of his arms wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close, while his other hand drifted up to stroke your hair. You felt him relax beneath you, his breath evening out, his body accepting your weight as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Oh,” he said softly.
“This better?” You smiled, cheek pressing against the cotton of his shirt.
“Yeah,” he nodded, pulling you a little closer. “This is…..really nice.”
You reached for his hand again, lacing your fingers together, absentmindedly tracing over them like before. The movie played on—dialogue you half-heard, scenes you barely followed but this time, it didn’t matter. You were warm, tucked into him, his fingers occasionally tightening around yours, his thumb brushing over your skin like he couldn’t quite stop himself.
“Jo?” you whispered after a long, comfortable silence.
“Yes?”
“Your hands are still very attractive.”
He let out a soft chuckle, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet room. His fingers paused their tracing to gently squeeze your arm. “Thank you,” he said, his tone sincerely pleased. “I’ll…..try to keep them that way.”
You chuckled, closing your eyes. The credits ended, and the screen went black, plunging the room into near-darkness. The only light was the soft amber from the window, painting the walls in long shadows.
In the cozy dark, wrapped in the warmth of him and the gentle circles his thumb was now drawing on your shoulder, you felt a quiet contentment. The shyness was still there, somewhere in the foundation of who you both were, but it had been built upon. Now there was this—a safe harbor of closeness, of whispered questions and answered kisses.
“We should probably get up,” he murmured after a while, but his arms made no move to loosen their hold.
“Probably,” you agreed, making no move to stir.
And so you stayed, two souls who had found a brave new language in each other’s silence, cuddled on a couch in the dark, with nothing but the sound of your shared breathing and the promise of many more movies—and many more kisses—to come.
_____________
“Jo! Over here!”
Asakura Jo was rumoured amongst his circle of friends to have come out of the womb holding a paintbrush. Ever since he could remember, he had always painted, the canvas a medium for him to express every single confusing mortal emotion swimming around in his mind. It was easier than talking.
For a second, Jo forgot where he was as your voice cut through the hum of the carnival.
The carnival was a riot of color and sound, a temporary kingdom of light and sugar that had sprung up on the edge of town. Strings of warm lights crisscrossed above like glowing constellations, flickering softly against the deepening evening sky.
A towering Ferris wheel turned slowly in the distance, each carriage glowing as it lifted people up into the horizon. To your left, a carousel spun lazily, painted horses rising and falling to the sound of cheerful music, laughter spilling from children clutching onto golden poles.
Closer by, the air was thick with the scent of sugar and butter. A stall spun clouds of cotton candy in shades of pink and blue, while another crackled with oil as vendors dipped batter into fryers, pulling out golden cakes dusted generously with powdered sugar. Somewhere behind him, popcorn machines popped relentlessly, the smell of buttered popcorn drifting through the crowd.
And there you were, right in the middle of it all, waving at him, eyes shining, a ridiculously large teddy bear clutched in your arms like a trophy.
Jo didn’t move—couldn’t move. In that moment, words failed him utterly. He stopped dead, a few feet away, the crowd flowing around him like a river around a stone. The neon lights painted his face in hues of pink and blue, but his expression was something entirely his own.
He was awe-struck.
It wasn't just that you were beautiful—though you were, with the carnival lights catching in your hair and your eyes bright with triumph. It was the entire composition of you. The way you stood, victorious and slightly silly with that enormous bear, the genuine, unguarded delight on your face, directed entirely at him. You were the still, joyful center of the swirling, noisy universe.
Jo and his artist’s mind, always observing, always translating the world into line and color and light, went quiet—no analysis, no thought of how he would capture the curve of your smile or the way the gold of a nearby prize ring stall reflected in your eyes.
There was only this peculiar feeling—a wave of it, so profound and overwhelming it stole the breath from his lungs.
Oh.
I love you.
The thought wasn't new, but the force of it, here and now, was. It was so simple and absolute, terrifying and wonderful at the same time. Like first snow and all of the beautiful perils it brought with it.
Jo must have stood there for only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity—a perfect, suspended eternity where the roar of the carnival faded to a distant hum, and the only real things were you, the bear, and the universe-expanding love swelling in his chest.
You waved again, more dramatically this time. “Jo!”
That snapped him out of it and he closed the distance between you, his long legs eating up the space. His eyes didn’t leave you once, staring at you with something that made your knees go weak.
“Look!” you said the second he got close enough, holding up the teddy bear proudly. “I won it!”
He glanced at the bear. Then back at you. Then back at the bear.
“…You did that?” He asked, playfully incredulous.
“Yes,” you said, grinning. “All by myself, thank you very much.”
“That game’s rigged.” Your boyfriend huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head slightly.
“Not for me,” you said, smug.
“I leave for five minutes and you defeat my nemesis.” Jo huffed, folding his arms like he was personally offended by your success, “I don’t know how to feel about that.”
“Impressed.” You replied immediately. These were the rare moments you cherished, when Jo would give up his usual shy demeanour and loosen up in your presence.
“Yeah,” he admitted softly with a sweet smile, “definitely impressed.”
You lifted the teddy bear between you again. “You still haven’t helped me name him.”
Jo studied it with exaggerated focus, tilting his head slightly. “He looks like he has a very serious profession.”
“He’s a teddy bear, Jo.”
“Exactly, my love. Which is why we should subvert expectations.” He paused thoughtfully. “Professor.”
You stared at him for a beat. His playful manner, that soft huff of a laugh, was a perfect counterpoint to the awe-struck silence of a moment before. It grounded you both back into the sweet, familiar rhythm of your six months together.
“Hmmm…” You pretended to think, “No.”
“Doctor?”
“No.”
“Sir Fluffington the Third?”
“Jo!” You burst out laughing. “Absolutely not.”
Jo's smile was all fondness. "Clearly not.” He said, clearly pleased with himself for making you laugh. “I think ‘Professor’ is growing on you.”
“It’s really not.”
“Give it time.”
You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “You’re ridiculous.” Your heart did that jump again as you looked shyly down, “My ridiculous.” You murmured.
His ears turned pink at that, gaze flickering away for half a second before returning to you—softer and deeper, like he was still caught in whatever moment you’d pulled him out of earlier. You shifted the teddy bear to one arm and reached for his hand with the other, your fingers slipping into his like it was second nature now.
“Come on,” you said, tugging gently. “There’s something I want to do.” He followed without question.
“Where are we going?” he asked, glancing around as you pulled him through the crowd—past flashing game stalls, the smell of fried sugar and popcorn, past couples and families and laughter that seemed to echo everywhere at once.
You pointed upward. The Ferris wheel loomed ahead, glowing against the night sky, its slow, steady rotation almost hypnotic. Jo’s steps slowed just slightly as he looked at it, then back at you.
“You want to go on that?” he asked.
“Yep.” You said, like it was obvious. “It’s tradition.”
“For what?”
“For being on a date at a carnival.” You replied. “Keep up, baby.”
“Right, of course.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head as you pulled him along again.
The closer you got, the brighter it seemed—the lights reflecting in your eyes, in the polished metal and in the glass of the cabins waiting to carry people up into the sky. When you reached the line, you turned to him, bouncing slightly on your heels, still holding the teddy bear between you.
“Are you scared?” you teased.
He raised a brow. “Of heights?”
“Of being alone with me in a tiny moving box.” You replied cheekily
“Hmm….” He pretended to think about it, then nodded solemnly. “Terrifying.”
“You’ll survive.” You laughed, nudging him with your shoulder.
“I hope so.”
The line for the wheel was mercifully short, a queue of couples and families bathed in the cool, white light of the structure's struts.You contented yourself with leaning your head against his shoulder, watching the world from your temporary perch.
When it was your turn, the attendant swung the cabin door open with a metallic creak. Jo held the door open for you, one hand steady on the frame as you climbed in, then followed, sitting across from you as the door clicked shut.
For a moment, it was still. Then, with a soft jolt, the wheel began to move and the world fell away with a gentle lurch. The cacophony of the carnival softened, becoming a cheerful tapestry of sound far below. Up you went, into the beautiful velvet sky.
Your cabin reached the apex and paused, letting new passengers on below. Here, at the top of the world, it was almost silent. The entire carnival sprawled beneath you like a spilled jewel box, a chaotic mosaic of swirling lights, moving shadows and tiny, ant-like people. The neon was a blur of color from this height, and the distant mountains were just a darker cutout against the star-dusted sky.
You leaned forward, peering out the window, eyes wide. “Look at that…….It's gorgeous up here," you whispered, your eyes on the panorama.
The shifting lights reflected across your face, your excitement quieting into something softer as you watched the world from above. The teddy bear rested in your lap now, forgotten for the moment.
“You really like this, don’t you?” he said.
You nodded, still gazing out. “It’s pretty.”
"It is.” Jo agreed, “It’s beautiful."
But when you turned to look at him, he wasn't looking at the view. He was looking at you, his profile outlined by the distant glow of a thousand lights. The reflection of the carnival danced in his dark eyes. Your smile softened. “What?” You asked.
He hesitated, trying to paint with words, struggling where a brush would have flowed effortlessly. It was the most ethereal thing you'd ever seen. Then he shook his head, a small, almost helpless smile forming.
“Nothing,” he said. But his hand found yours, fingers lacing together like they belonged there. The world felt smaller and quieter like it had made just enough space for the two of you.
Jo’s thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles, his gaze still fixed on you like he hadn’t quite come back down from whatever thought had taken hold of him earlier. A breeze slipped through the small gaps in the cabin, gentle but enough to lift a strand of your hair across your face.
Slowly—like he was handling something fragile, he lifted his free hand and reached toward you. His fingers hovered for just a second, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to.
You didn’t, so he tucked the strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips brushing lightly against your skin. The touch lingered and so did his hand. Your breath caught, just slightly, your eyes meeting his. There was something so soft in his expression it almost hurt to look at, like he was seeing you all over again, like he hadn’t quite gotten used to the fact that you were real, that you were here and that you were his.
“Jo…” You murmured, not even sure what you were going to say. How could you tell someone you loved them more than air itself? More than the essence of your very life? Asakura Jo was only human, but in your eyes, he was what you’d imagined an angel of love to look like.
“Jo I—”
A sharp crack split through the sky. You both flinched, turning instinctively toward the window. A burst of light bloomed above the carnival—gold at first, then red and then a cascade of shimmering sparks that rained down like falling stars.
Fireworks.
Another one followed, then another and the sky soon lit up in colors that reflected across the glass, across your face, across his eyes. You leaned closer to the window, your hand tightening around his without thinking.
“Oh my god…” Your voice was full of wonder.
Jo didn’t look at the fireworks. Not really. He saw them, sure—the colors, the light, the way they painted everything in brief flashes of brilliance. But it all blurred together compared to you.
The way your eyes widened with every burst, the way your lips parted in quiet amazement, the way the colors danced across your skin like they were meant to be there. And just like that it hit him again.
Oh.
I love you.
He tightened his hold on your hand, almost unconsciously. You turned back to him, still glowing from the fireworks, your excitement softening when you noticed the way he was looking at you again.
“What?” you asked, smiling faintly.
He opened his mouth and paused. For once, it didn’t feel like he could translate this into anything less than what it was. No metaphors, no half-jokes, no deflection. Just the pure truth.
The truth that you were love and love was all he needed at the moment to keep him alive and breathing. That no matter how many pictures he painted, he could never find a colour that could match the hues of your beauty. That oh, did the world always seem to be just you and him?
“I—” he started, then stopped, his breath catching. Another firework burst, gold light spilling into the cabin. He swallowed. “…I really like being here with you,” he said .
“Me too,” you said gently.
He nodded, like that was enough, like maybe, for now, it was. But his gaze didn’t waver.
And as the fireworks continued to bloom across the sky he felt it again, growing stronger with every passing second.
He loved you.
What else could an artist need?
________________
A year.
Sometimes it didn’t feel real.
Not in a dramatic way but just how had all these small moments—shared looks, soft laughs, paint-stained afternoons, late-night calls—added up to something this steady, this real.
You sat beside him now, your shoulder pressed lightly against his as he absentmindedly sketched in that little notebook he always carried. His hand moved easily, lines forming without hesitation, like they always did.
You watched him. A year in, and he still had that effect on you like your attention just settled on him without asking. Your heart picked up a little, though, your mind racing with one thought and one thought only. And the thought had been sitting with you for a while now, growing slowly like a tree.
Your boyfriend was an attractive man. A very attractive man, pulling in men and women like—something that you felt secretly proud of. He was yours and yours only, to wake up in the morning to kiss him on the nose and to die down at the end of the day and let night’s cloak wrap around both of you.
And everytime he rolled up his sleeves, everytime he hugged you from behind while you were cooking, effectively caging you in with his large frame and every time his hands rested on your skin, it sent heat rushing somewhere you couldn't talk about too easily.
A year in and you two still hadn’t had sex. It felt weird, most couples usually went at it by their fifth month according to your friends. But you two were different—that was what you told yourself.
Of course, it wasn't like you didn't want to. Who wouldn't want to do it with your majestic hunk of a boyfriend? All pretty lips and eyes and those gorgeous veiny forearms. You would have been a damned liar if you said you had never let your fingers stray between your thighs and let them slip into your heat, friction building just at the way he’d said ‘thank you’ in that deep morning voice when you’d handed him his coffee. And there arose the problem.
Pretty little virgin.
Men were said to be simple creatures. To have sex, to fuck a girl with experience would obviously be more satisfying than someone who’s farthest sexual encounter was touching herself to the image of her boyfriend. But Jo would be different, you told yourself.
And it never hurt to ask, did it?
You shifted slightly, drawing your knees up a bit, fingers fidgeting in your lap. Jo glanced up from his sketch.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
You nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I just…” Your voice trailed off. He closed the notebook without waiting another moment, giving you his full attention.
“Hey,” he said gently, “what is it?” You took a small breath.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” you started, eyes flickering between him and your hands. “And um…” you let out a nervous huff of a laugh. “I don’t know how to say it without sounding weird.”
“You can sound however you want,” he said, a tiny smile forming. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That helped a little. You looked at him properly then, gathering just enough courage to stay there.
“We’ve been together for a year.” You said.
“Best year of my life.” He added quietly, like it was just a fact. Your heart did that soft, aching thing again.
“And I…” you hesitated, then pushed through, “I feel really safe with you.” His expression shifted—more serious now, “And I trust you,” you continued. “A lot.” Jo didn’t interrupt, listening with that same calm expression. You swallowed, your voice softer now. “So I was wondering if……maybe…..you know….”
There was a brief pause. His brows softened slightly.
“Are you asking…?” he started gently.
You nodded, cheeks warm. “Yeah.”
The heavens could have struck you down right there and then and you wouldn't have minded one bit. The way he was looking at you right now, did he think you were weird? Was it too soon for this? What if he wanted to break u—
“Hey,” he said, voice soft but steady, “look at me for a second.” Jo reached for your hand slowly. When your fingers slipped into his, he squeezed them lightly. “I’m really glad you told me,” he said. “And I mean that.” You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “But,” he continued gently, “this isn’t something we have to rush just because it’s been a year.”
You nodded quickly. “I know—I don’t feel rushed, I just—”
“I know,” he said, squeezing your hand again. “I trust you. I just want to make sure we both feel completely ready. Like…..not nervous-ready. Actually ready.”
“I think I am,” you said honestly. “But I also don’t want it to feel pressured or like a big scary thing.”
He smiled a little at that. “Yeah. Me neither.” A small silence. Then he added, softer, “If we do, I want it to be because we both feel good about it.”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
“And we can talk about it more,” he said. “Figure out what we both want, what we’re okay with. Not just… jump into it.”
That made something in you relax. There your sweet boyfriend was, always so careful and kind. You felt pretty dumb for even thinking whatever you had been thinking five minutes ago.
“Okay,” you said softly. Jo leaned a little closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.
“We’ll figure it out together,” he murmured.
Silence followed again, in which two lay tangled on the couch, his finger tracing lazy patterns against the back of your hand, both of you staring into the distance.
“Jo?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we do it now?” You whispered, the words tumbling out like a secret finally freed, heat flooding your cheeks immediately.
Jo's expression didn't falter; instead, a gentle smile curved his lips. He squeezed your hand lightly. “Of course.” He said simply, his voice low and reassuring. “I'd love that, sweetheart.”
Though his voice was stable as always, Jo saw the flicker of nerves behind your eyes, the way your breath had gone just a little uneven, the way your fingers curled slightly into his.
“Hey…” he murmured, shifting just enough to face you fully. “Come here.”
You moved closer instinctively, and his arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. Your cheek rested against him, your heartbeat a little too loud in your ears.
“I’m a little scared,” you admitted quietly. He nodded immediately, like that made perfect sense.
“Yeah,” he said gently. “That’s okay.” His hand came up to your hair, smoothing it back in slow, calming strokes. “You don’t have to not be scared,” he added. “It’s new. Of course it’s going to feel like a big deal.”
You let out a small breath, your fingers gripping lightly onto his shirt.
“I just don’t want to mess it up,” you whispered. That made him pull back just enough to look at you, brows softening.
“You can’t mess this up,” he said, almost a whisper. “There’s no perfect way to do it.” He brushed his thumb lightly over your cheek, “We go slow,” he continued. “And we check in, the whole time. If anything feels weird or uncomfortable or you just want to stop—we stop. No questions, okay?”
“Okay.” You nodded, giving him a small smile.
Your beloved leaned in then, cupping your cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing softly over your skin. His touch was feather-light and reverent. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, lingering just long enough to let you feel the warmth of him. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Do you trust me, my love?”
Oh, you’d have followed him into hell if he asked.
His words wrapped around you like a blanket, easing the knot in your chest. You nodded, a small smile breaking through. Jo stood, offering his hand, and you took it, letting him pull you up.
His grip was firm but gentle, guiding you toward the bedroom with unhurried steps. The air between you hummed with anticipation, but it was laced with the comfort of knowing you loved him and he loved you and the rest would be confetti.
Once inside, he closed the door softly and turned to you, his eyes tracing your face with that softness that made you go weak.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, stepping closer.
His hands found your waist, sliding up slowly under your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin. You shivered at the contact, loving how his fingers splayed out, exploring with such care, like he was memorizing every inch.
He kissed you again, deeper this time, his lips moving against yours in a slow rhythm that made your knees weak. As the kiss broke, he trailed his mouth down your jaw, to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses that sent sparks through you.
“I love you,” he whispered against your collarbone, his breath hot, “May I?” He asked, tugging at your shirt.
Once you nodded your consent, his hands worked your shirt up and over your head, discarding it gently before his lips found the swell of your breasts, kissing the soft skin there with worshipful presses.
You arched into him, your hands threading through his hair as he knelt slightly, his mouth mapping a path down your stomach. Those hands—god, you loved his hands—hooked into the waistband of your pants, easing them down along with your underwear, leaving you bare before him. He looked up at you, eyes dark with affection and desire. “So perfect, my love.”
Jo guided you to the bed, laying you back against the pillows with infinite care. He stripped off his own clothes, his body lean and strong, movements as graceful as a ballerina.
Your breath caught in your throat as you finally saw him, really saw him, naked and exposed before you. Your eyes widened, drinking in every inch of his body, inevitably drawn to the prominent swell at his groin. His cock was long and girthy, with a prominent vein running along the underside, and you could see it throbbing.
But it was his hands that held your focus as he settled over you, one bracing beside your head while the other traced lazy circles on your thigh, inching higher.
He kissed you everywhere—your shoulders, the inside of your wrists, the curve of your hip—each touch a soft adoration that built the heat between you.
“Tell me if I need to stop,” he said, his voice husky but steady, as his fingers finally brushed against your folds. You were already slick with want, and he groaned softly at the feel of you.
“Sweetheart…” he breathed, his hand cupping you gently, one finger circling your entrance with feather-light pressure.
Jo watched your face, attuned to every gasp and every shift. Slowly, so slowly, like he was afraid you’d shatter at his touch, he pressed a finger inside, the stretch unfamiliar but eased by his care and your arousal.
“Oh…” You moaned, clutching at his arm, marveling at the way his hand flexed, those veined forearms tensing as he worked you open, “Jo…”
God it felt so fucking beatiful, feeling his long fingers reach spots you could never even imagine meeting. Hell you weren't even sure they existed until now, as his digits kissed them so tenderly.
“Hmm?” Your boyfriend hummed, eyes full of worry already. He wanted to make this experience as relaxing as it could be for you, “Are you okay, my love? Want me to stop?”
"N-No," you managed to stammer out, "don't stop. Please don't stop, Jo." His face softened with relief and something else, something heady and possessive that made your stomach flip-flop.
"Okay," he breathed, his voice low and husky, "I'll go as slow as you need me to. Just tell me if anything feels wrong, alright?"
You nodded, watching as he carefully worked a second finger in alongside the first, stretching you open bit by bit. It burned, but the burn was amazing, like the sweet sting of a deep stretch. And it was joined by so much more—the slick slide of his fingers inside you, the sensation of being filled for the first time, the ache that settled low and deep.
Jo took his time, scissoring his fingers and curling them just so, finding that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. He worked you open with an almost obsessive care, checking in with you after every new milestone.
“Jo—nghhh oh!” The sounds falling from your lips were foreign to you, and absolute music to Jo’s ears, “Hmmm—feel so—ohhhh—feel so good.”
“That's it, my love,” he encouraged, kissing your temple. “Just feel me.” He was stretching you with patience, his free hand stroking your hair, your cheek, grounding you in his touch.
He sealed his words with a kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth to tangle with yours as his fingers started to move faster, pumping in and out of you in a steady rhythm. You could feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until you were writhing against him, desperate for more.
"Jo... oh god, Jo... I'm... I'm gonna..." you panted against his mouth, too far gone to finish the sentence.
"I know," he breathes back, "I've got you. Let go for me, sweetheart, that’s it.”
And with a last deep thrust, he curled his fingers just right, rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you. That's all it took to send you hurtling over the edge, your body seizing up as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.
You cried out his name, a broken 'Jo!' that sounded more like a prayer than anything else. He kissed you through it, murmuring endearments, his eyes never leaving yours. Only when you started to come down did his fingers slip out of you completely, leaving you feeling empty and aching.
As the tremors faded, you lay there panting, your body humming with unfamiliar aftershocks. So this was what it felt to have a proper orgasm. You now understand why the French called it ‘la petit mort’. The little death—you were sure part of your soul died and transformed into something new just at the touch of his skin against yours.
Jo withdrew his fingers slowly, his hand glistening as he brought it to his lips, tasting you with a low hum of appreciation. He had that look in his eyes that was so unlike your perpetually calm, shy boyfriend, and god did it get you even wetter.
Those hands—strong and sooo veined—made your heart flutter even more now. He shifted above you, his cock hard and heavy against your thigh, but he didn't rush. Instead, he cupped your face, his thumb tracing your lower lip.
“My love,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion, “do you want to continue? We can stop if you need to.”
You met his gaze, feeling the depth of his care wrap around you like his arms. Your nerves lingered, yes, but so did your desire for him and your trust in him. Your beloved.
“Yes,” you breathed, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I want you, Jo. Please.”
“Alright, sweetheart.” His smile was soft, full of absolute adoration. “I'll go slow, ok? Just tell me what you need.”
He positioned himself between your legs, one hand bracing on the mattress while the other guided his cock to your entrance. The tip nudged against you, slick from your release, and he paused there, letting you feel the warmth of him. You loved the way his fingers flexed around his length, steady and sure.
In the philosophy of Epicurus, hedone was described as the utmost state of pleasure that may or may not derive from actions that are virtuous, whereas another form of euphoric pleasure, terpsis, would always be virtuous. And then came the question of whether or not sex was a virtuous act.
Well, you had no idea what pleasure you were feeling as Jo pushed in, but god did you feel pleasure.
He pushed in gradually, just the head at first, the stretch pulling a gasp from your lips. It burned a little, unfamiliar, but his free hand stroked your hip soothingly.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. Inch by inch, he sank deeper, his body tensing with restraint. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt you.
But god, you were tight—Jo's mind reeled at the way your pussy gripped him, velvet walls fluttering around his cock like they were made for him alone. He wanted to savor it, to make sure every moment etched pleasure into your memory, not pain. Halfway in, he stopped, his breath ragged.
“How's that feel, my love? Too much?” He leaned down to kiss your forehead, your nose, your lips—soft presses that distracted from the fullness building inside you.
You shook your head, adjusting to the sensation, your hands clutching his shoulders. “It's good. Keep going.” The ache was easing into something warmer, needier, especially with his hand now sliding between you to circle your clit gently, easing the way.
Jo nodded, pressing forward again, slower this time, until he was fully seated, his hips flush against yours. He stilled completely, forehead resting on yours, both of you breathing in sync. The thought of your tightness consumed him—how you squeezed him so perfectly, pulling him deeper without effort. It took everything not to thrust, to let you acclimate.
“You're doing so well, sweetheart,” he praised, his voice a low rumble. “Feels incredible. You feel—hah—incredible.”
“Hmmm…Jo…” You moaned feeling him fill up all your senses to the absolute brim.
After a moment, when your hips twitched experimentally, he began to move—pulling out just a fraction before sliding back in, the motion deliberate and unhurried. Each thrust was measured, his cock dragging along your inner walls, building friction without overwhelming.
“You good, sweetheart?” He stopped again midway through one stroke, checking your face, his hand weaving into yours to squeeze.
“Yes,” you whispered, the pleasure sharpening now, coiling anew. “Don't stop.”
Your boyfriend resumed the slow rhythm, his body covering yours protectively. Jo's mind swirled with how your pussy clenched around him on every retreat, tight and hot, milking him in a way that made his control fray at the edges.
But he focused on you—on the soft moans escaping your lips, the way your nails dug into his back. His hand roamed, cupping your breast, thumbing your nipple, while the other held your thigh open, fingers pressing into your skin with gentle possession.
“That's it, my love,” he encouraged between kisses to your neck. “Let me make you feel good, hmm?”
The pace stayed steady, deep glides that hit just right, his cock filling you completely each time. The intimacy of it all—the eye contact, the whispers—pushed you higher, your body responding to his every touch.
Jo's breath started to quicken as he thrust into you, the pace picking up but still maintaining a steady rhythm. His eyes were locked onto yours, pupils blown wide with lust and adoration, drinking in every expression that crossed your face. One hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your lower lip, while the other gripped your hip, pulling you into his thrusts and you almost screamed at the sensation.
"You're so perfect, sweetheart," he breathed, voice rough with need.
His words sent a shiver down your spine, your walls fluttering around his cock in response. He groaned at the sensation, hips stuttering for a moment before he regained control. He started to thrust harder,chasing his pleasure while still making sure you were right there with him.
"Jo..." you gasped, back arching off the bed as he hit a particularly sweet spot inside you. "Oh god, Jo..."
"That's it, baby," he encouraged, leaning down to capture your mouth in a searing kiss. "Let me hear you. I want to feel you cum on my cock."
The tension wound tighter, your breaths mingling as he adjusted once more, pausing to grind against you, letting the base of his cock press your clit. And then it was like sunflowers had burst into bloom all around you.
"I'm gonna... I'm gonna..." you panted, fingers digging into his shoulders as you chased your release.
"Come on, baby," Jo growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he approached his own peak. "I've got you. Let go, sweetheart."
You shattered around him, your pussy spasming, squeezing his cock in rhythmic pulses that drew a groan from deep in his chest. Your body seized up, back bowing off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. The sensation of your tightness gripping him through your climax nearly undid him, but he held on, thrusting shallowly to prolong it, his hand stroking your hair as you cried out his name. Jo followed, buried deep inside you as he found his own release with a hoarse cry of your name.
The world slowly swam back into focus, the roaring in your ears subsiding into the quiet, heavy sound of your shared breathing. Your body felt like liquid warmth, every muscle lax and humming with satisfaction.
Jo was a solid, comforting weight on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his own breaths coming in deep, shuddering gusts against your damp skin.
For a long moment, neither of you moved, suspended in the perfect, sticky aftermath. You could feel him, still deep inside you, his heartbeat a frantic echo against your own slowing pulse. Then, with infinite care, he shifted, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder, his lips tender against the flushed skin.
“Okay?” he murmured, his voice a raw, husky whisper. It was the first thing he’d said since your world had dissolved into pure sensation, and the gentle concern in it made your heart clench.
You managed a weak, breathless nod, your fingers loosening their death-grip on his shoulders to stroke lazily down his sweat-slicked back. “Mmmhmm. More than okay.”
He let out a long, relieved sigh, the tension finally leaving his own frame. He nuzzled your neck once more, then began to move—so slowly, so carefully it was almost imperceptible. He was pulling out, but it was nothing like the frantic coupling of moments before.
This was such a tender retreat, mindful of every sigh, every tiny shift of your body. He moved as if handling something infinitely precious and fragile, easing himself from your warmth with a gentleness that brought a fresh, different kind of tears to your eyes.
Once he was free, he didn't roll away, instead shifting to his side, gathering you immediately against him. One arm curled under your neck, the other draped over your waist, his hand splayed possessively on your stomach as he pressed another kiss to your temple.
“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your belly.
“I’m alright.” You assured him, your voice muffled against his chest. “It’s a good kind of trembling, don’t worry.”
Jo hummed, holding you close until the fine tremors subsided into a deep, boneless relaxation. He let the silence stretch, comfortable and warm, just listening to your breathing even out.
After a few minutes, he propped himself up on one elbow to look down at you. In the dim light, his eyes were dark pools of soft affection, tracing over your face with an artist’s attention to detail—the flutter of your lashes, the parted swell of your lips. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead.
“Would you like a bath?” He said, his voice still low and intimate, “I could…..wash your hair for you. If you want.” His gaze dipped, a faint blush coloring his own cheeks.
The offer was so tender, so domestic and sweet after the raw passion you’d just shared, that it stole your breath all over again. You looked up at him, at this beautiful man who could moan your name in passion one moment and offer to wash your hair with reverent care the next. A slow, blissful smile spread across your face.
“That sounds perfect,” you whispered.
A matching smile touched his lips, shy but deeply pleased. He leaned down and kissed you, soft and chaste, a sealing promise. Jo slipped from the bed, pausing to pull the rumpled sheets up over you, tucking them around your shoulders.
“Jo?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
Love was many things.
An art, first snow, grass rings, fireworks, poetry, complex, simple, and so much more. At least that was what they said—whoever invented the word. And whoever invented the feeling too, God must have been terribly lonely to have invented such a thing as love. But not everything feels like something else.
And as Jo watched you, gazing over your details, those eyes, those lips, that face that could have had him defying the very heavens themselves, he realised that maybe love was just this.
Just you and him and the air around you.
Love was just that.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
fin.
A/N: had a lot of fun writing this, i think this is the most romance i've ever written Mona poetic verse comeback again yay. There are some references sprinkled throughout this fic so if you notice them PLEASE TELL ME I SNEAKED THEM IN VERY NONCHALANTLY YAY
divider by @cursed-carmine
Perm taglist: @eu1joo @kwnnies @nichozzystuffs @blueuijoo @pglpblm @your-local-lune @ikigaijo @tokunodoll @leehancore @dearvampyr + comment or shoot me an ask to be added!
synopsis | the scariest things, in jo's opinion, are good horror movies, bad horror movies, and confessing his feelings for you.
details | jo x gender neutral!reader, fluff, pure sweet fluff, horror movie themes and concepts, mentions of fake blood, knives, killers, mentions of alcohol, ducks, yearning, first kiss, confession, awkward jo, cutie jo, you know the vibes, cursing, lowercase intended, kinda proofread
wc | 3k
from the author | you've met me at a very asakura jo time in my life
a list of things jo was good at: opening doors for you, syncing his calls with the very moment you slipped into bed, making you laugh, drawing and sending you cute doodles throughout the day, and essentially everything else.
a list of things jo was not good at: picking a decent movie.
you mentioned once that you like horror movies, just in passing on a call that had ran way past the normal length. your voice had melted into a lulled and drowsy swing, and it made jo's skin buzz, like the first drink of ice water in the middle of the day- you had him wrapped around your finger. and your hand. and, well, your everything. he imagined you curled comfortably against your pillow as you mindlessly listed your top three classics.
"and theres a new one coming out next year that id like to see, i think," your voice dripped through the speaker, sweet like fresh honey. even stickier, too, the way jo had the phone pressed to his ear. he wanted to crawl through. you asked, "do you like scary movies, jo?"
"oh, yeah," jo cleared his throat, "love them."
he didn't lie. not necessarily. there were other movie genres he would rank below horror, but there were movie genres he would rank above horror, too. there were many, actually. most of them. he'd watch anything with you, though. and he probably should have waited a year for that movie you were excited about, but he couldn't.
jo had been on a few dates with you so far, and every one left him more curious. he was insatiable. your first date had been to a pottery studio that hosted weekend "sip and spins," where you both spent so much time trying to throw the perfect mug that you neglected to sip at all. jo had terracotta sludge up to his elbows, and you had to wash your hair twice that night to fully remove the clay remnants. no one else in the class struggled like the two of you. and you were the only ones completely sober.
of course, there was the second date, feeding ducks at the lake until you ran out of food and they became angry, very quickly and without mercy. you lost a shoe in the great escape, and jo had to brave the flock to get it back. your courageous knight, who anxiously looked over his shoulder the whole way back to you, shoe in hand.
he knew by the third date that he wanted you to be his, but he didnt say it. jo took you to dinner at your favorite restaurant. he offered to cut your steak for you, which you thought was something people only did in movies to infantilize their partners. nevertheless, you scooted your plate toward him. but the knife... there was something faulty about the knife, surely. he turned the plate every possible way, but the steak remained whole.
you ended up cutting your own filet into bite size pieces. and then you sliced jo's.
he was completely and utterly gone.
not being able to use a knife sort of shattered any confidence he had spent days conjuring to ask you to officially be his. instead, he walked you home, kissed your cheek, and left it at that. tonight, he was going to do it.
and it was going to be perfect.
"you look great," you said, bumbling over to where jo stood outside the cinema. the sun had just started to sink below the jagged edge of the city, washing the street in a pink summer glow. he held his hand over top of his eyes to see you clearly, smiling as you bound closer. close enough to wrap your arms around his torso. he felt himself stagger back at the unexpectedly intimate gesture, face growing hot as he dropped his arm and squeezed your shoulders closer to him. you spoke, voice muffled by his sweater, "and you smell good. is this shirt new?"
jo looked between you as you stepped back from his grasp, as though he had forgotten what outfit he had put together. as though he hadnt spent three days changing out tshirts for a sweater, khaki pants for jeans. he smiled, softly, eyebrows knitting together with amusement. he welled up his freshly brewed confidence and said, "new to you."
and then, because jo wasnt the type of guy to just drop an epic one-liner, he added, "and you look really good, too. and smell. good, i mean- you smell great."
"thank you for that clarification at the end, jojo," you laughed, squeezing his arm reassuringly. jo could have died in the street from the contact, from your dulcet giggle bouncing through his ears and right to his stomach. the maestro of butterflies- thats what you were. and within him stirred an eager ensemble. you looped your arm around his, dragging him to the entrance, "c'mon, we're gonna miss the trailers."
he held the door for you, and the smell of fresh, slightly burnt popcorn hit him in a gust. at the ticket counter, jo requested two tickets for the current horror movie that was out. he hadn't heard anything bad about it. that being said, he hadnt heard anything good about it, either. but it checked all the boxes: knife wielding freak in a mask, shock factor gore shots, and a jarring, jumpscare-riddled sound design. he hoped you would enjoy it.
since you were the expert, jo let you pick the seats, and once you'd tested out the view in a few spots, he sank down beside you in the worn leather auditorium chair. obviously a popular choice, the seat reclined a bit further than intended, sending jo into a minor panic and sending a few pieces of popcorn spilling over the side of the cardboard bucket. the two of you snickered silently as the lights dimmed.
the trailers were probably good; jo had no clue. his eyes flickered to you for half of them, only catching bits and pieces watching the way the colors and shadows melted over your features. he had to be very strategic about this. if you caught him staring once, it was sweet. the second time would have to be timed perfectly to not seem like he was the knife wielding freak, meaning he would let you glance his way first, seemingly unnoticed as he would be fully and totally invested in the reboot trailer before him. and then he would pick up where he left off, his vision tracing the lines of your face in the soft glow of the projector.
the first mistake jo made was getting so much popcorn. two humans could never safely consume this much popcorn in a 90 minute timeframe, but he misheard the employee at the snack counter and somehow ended up walking away with the extra-buttery jumbo bucket. the popcorn was good, fresh, but the sheer amount of it made it very messy. any slight movement had popcorn jumping out of the tub, bouncing down jo's thigh, sticking to the sleeve of your shirt.
so, one might imagine what began to happen during the movie, the scary movie rife with jumpscares and a staccato soundtrack. the situation would have been different for a romcom or action flick, but jo discovered that he might as well have been the audience member the filmmakers imagined when working out the timing of their scares: the empathetic viewer who would become attached to the main character right as the twist is revealed, the optimistic one who would believe the killer was really dead after the first climax, the gullible one who would believe the scene was over just before the killer busts through the door.
you might as well have been watching a comedy with the way you had to cover your mouth to suppress your laughs, shoulder racking against jo's as he jumped in his seat again. every jumpscare, which in your opinion were all very predictable and not executed well, had him clutching his chest, lap covered in popcorn. one time, you reached over him to grab a handful and even the slight movement of your hand in the corner of his eye made his ass leave his chair. he was incredibly miserable for someone who claimed to love scary movies, but you couldnt even be mad at him for lying.
before the halfway mark, you'd stepped on and worn more popcorn than you'd eaten.
"sorry," jo whispered, his voice straining to convey just how absolutely apologetic he was without disturbing everyone around you. he tried to laugh it off, in the same way you had no problem doing as you picked the popcorn out of your hair, but everything felt like it was crashing down around him.
"dont be," you whispered back. you rocked slightly in your seat, nudging his shoulder with your own as you flashed him a reassuring smile. "here, i have an idea. give me this."
jo held his breath, just for a second, as you reached over him and snatched the cardboard bucket from his hold. you situated it on your lap instead, leaving jo to figet with the stray yellow kernels stuck in the fold of his sweater. he had honestly been gripping the bucket so tightly that it was concave in the middle, shaped like some misfigured hourglass.
his hands were empty now.
your attention turned back to the movie, and so did jo's. without the popcorn, he had nothing. he was vulnerable to the elements of horror, shielding his eyes behind his hands. if nothing else, jo hoped you were having a good time watching him suffer. and you seemed to be. he noticed how you would anticipate a jumpscare and smile, small yet precipitately.
the only thing that made jo's heart race more than masked killers, that made his chest throb like buckets of fake blood might pour out of him, that gave him chills up his spine, was the feeling of your hand brushing his. your pinky tentatively grazed the ridges of his knuckles. jo opened his palm, not so tentatively, and slipped his fingers between yours, feeling the weight of your hand in his, the press of your palm. and yeah, his hand was a little sweaty, but you didn't seem to mind as you pulled his arm over the arm rest between you and cradled his hand in your lap.
jo was manually breathing, now, physically expanding and collapsing his lungs because his entire body was zeroed in on the point where your fingers interlaced. relax your wrist but not too much, he thought, and quit tapping your finger. the whole time his heart was thrumming ceaselessly in his ribs, he was counting the beats and dividing it by 60. was this the end?
jo felt your fingers squeeze around his, just lightly, just a flutter. he bit back the smile that threatened his lips. and surprisingly, he bit back the yelp that escaped his throat as another jumpscare flashed on the screen. because his hand was occupied, jo could only close his eyes and pray that the soundtrack would notify him of more peaceful times.
but it wasnt the soundtrack that pulled him out of his anguish; it was you, squeezing his hand, again- a signal. a soft, warm signal at the beginning of every jumpscare, and an even softer, warmer signal when it was safe for him to open his eyes. and on top of it all, you were intermittently feeding him popcorn, smiling wide every time his mouth instinctively opened upon seeing your free hand plunge into the bucket.
by the time the credits rolled and the lights intensified to a burning flourescence, jo had probably only watched 1/3 of the movie. if someone read a plot summary to him and asked if he had seen it, he wouldn't even be able to say for sure. he could tell them what color shirt you were wearing, the material, where every jumpscare in the last half was and how long they each lasted, the maximum bpm his heart could reach without sending him to the hospital, and how absolutely tantalizing your lips were. one would think it was lipgloss, but it was butter, concentrated right on the center of your bottom lip. but he didnt know shit about the movie's plot points, aside from the killer, of which every scary movie has some variant.
as you exited the theater, you didnt let go of his hand, swiping your thumb over the expanse of skin behind his. jo sighed, maybe too deeply, too relieved, and said, "well, that was great. great movie."
"yeah, you think?" you raised a brow at him, "what was your favorite part?"
you, jo thought, always you. instead, he gulped, furrowing his own brows as he combed through his most recent memories and found only you. he pressed his lips into a fine line and said, "um, when the guy was running... from the, uh, other guy."
you looked at him, shocked, and jo could only stare blankly as he tried to read you. were you mad that he lied about loving horror movies? were you upset that he spilled the popcorn everywhere? were you confused about his intentions, inviting you to the movies and keeping his eyes closed the whole time? all of these would be incredibly valid. you smiled, "that was mine, too."
it was then that jo remembered his goals for the evening. he didnt want to see that awful movie, but he thought you would. he was always thinking about you. his brain latched onto your response. that was mine, you said. mine. jo wanted to say it, looking at you. when he thought about you, he wanted to be sure. jo wanted to keep you forever; he wanted to kiss you, to say mine, mine, mine.
but instead of saying all of that to you, he realized he had just been staring, face focused, concentrated. you waved your free hand in front of his face, slowing to a halt in the theater hallway. the digital signs above the auditorium doors moved in slow sequences, imitating the thoughts you could basically see filtering behind his eyes. you grabbed his shoulder, "jo?"
"i want to kiss you."
jo had never been this bold. it scared him, and it sort of scared you. more than anything, it intrigued you. what else was he hiding? you smiled, encouraging him to say a little bit more, "okay."
"i want to kiss you, and i want to see bad movies with you," jo breathed, like it hurt him to reveal everything in such an uncalculated manner. like he hadn't rehearsed this for days on end in the outfit he'd picked out specifically for the occasion. he tacked on, as if you were concerned at all about the ethics of his confession, "and i dont care that its a waste of money."
"okay."
"and i want to do all of that, like, officially," jo said. and he was most confident, for it was the only part of the conversation that matched the version he practiced in his head, when he finished with, "as your boyfriend."
suddenly, he felt like the man running from the other man in his favorite scene, only the "other man" was your painfully delayed answer. it was as if you were testing him, seeing how long he could live comfortably in the silence between you. in a normal circumstance, jo loved the silence. but this was torture. just him, his shitshow of a proposition, and your glossy, kind eyes looking up at him. people continued to filter out of the theater behind you, weaving around your rigid bodies. jo imagined this was what rigor mortis felt like, his hands cold at his side, blood rushing to his head. or whatever blood did during rigor mortis. maybe the movie had mentioned it but he didnt know.
"well," you finally spoke, reaching for jo's wrists and placing them on your shoulders, a hand on each side of your neck, "you know i love movies, good or bad, and especially the expensive ones." you closed the gap between the two of you, and jo's breath hitched as you kept the hold on his wrists, laying his hands flat on your neck. "kiss me, and then we'll see about that last thing you mentioned. what was it?"
"boyfriend," jo whispered, voice small, suddenly so close to you that he could feel your pulse on his palms, beating just as fast as his.
"yeah," you smiled, "boyfriend."
and then, you pulled him all the way in, hands bunched in his "new-to-you" sweater. your noses bumped, and it was impossible to slot your lips together from how much he was smiling against you, but jo would have taken anything you'd given him. he snaked one hand into the back of your hair, deepening the kiss as if you weren't standing in the middle of the cinema hall. your lips moved against his, sweet like honey just as he expected, dreamed. and then, there it was- the sting of butter, salt on your lips.
jo ran his thumb along your jaw, angling your head just right to get one final, lingering taste of you. when he pulled away, you were breathless, would have been boneless had he not still been holding onto you. he anchored you to him, pressing your foreheads together as you caught your breath. you scanned his face, closer than ever. you counted his moles like points of a constellation, memorized the point of his chin, the slope of his nose. and jo did the same, studying everything he neglected to commit to his memory in the theater. which, by the way, wasnt a lot.
he did a lot of staring.
and he planned on doing a lot more, now that you were so close, within reach. jo dragged his thumb over your bottom lip. mine, mine, mine, he thought.
as if you could hear him, in an eerily supernatural, post-horror movie paranoia kind of way, you whispered, in that sweet, sticky voice against the pad of his thumb, "i'm all yours."
classmate!jo... who you've had your eye on since the school year started.
classmate!jo who always had his headphones during break time, not wanting to be bothered by anyone else.
classmate!jo who was so quiet that people sometimes forgot he was in their class.
classmate!jo who when the teacher first called on his name for attendance, his soft deep voice made your heart skip a beat. ֶָ֢𖹭
classmate!jo who always scored really well in basketball during P.E class that the coach recruited him to the school's official basketball team.
classmate!jo who looked sooo cool on the basketball court, it had you shooting heart eyes at him. you didn't miss the pink of his ears.
classmate!jo who was the total opposite off the basketball court. so shy and polite, never starting conversations first but was a patient listener.
classmate!jo who got regular confessions by other girls but always shyly rejected them.
⤷ when he would get called outside and come back with cheeks as red as cherries, you knew he'd been confessed to once again.
classmate!jo who felt you watching him, feeling your adoring gaze at the back of his head like he'd hung the moon and the stars.
classmate!jo who felt burdened by the girls around him, but never felt that way with you, stealing glances at him from afar.
classmate!jo who was concerned when he didn't see you in your seat, you're always there before him, waiting to greet him with a head bow and a tiny wave.
⤷ he looked out the window when he heard your high-pitched giggle. you were playing around with your friend by the water fountain, splashing water at each other.
classmate!jo who was glad that you were okay, small smile on his face as he watched you.
classmate!jo who now has his own crush to admire. 𖹭
genres & tropes: established relationship, fluff, jo gaining confidence to tease you lol
word count: 1,242 (excluding summary)
author's thoughts: this has been my draft since March 18th and... yeah. Jo really gained his confidence lately and been fighting back his members, so this was purely inspired by that! enjoyy!
The view from Tokyo Skytree Cafe is magnificent – you’ve been in awe ever since you stepped out of the elevator. Though, you had to hold onto Jo tightly because the height is making you feel slightly dizzy. The cafe itself is yet to be crowded – maybe because it’s weekdays, or maybe because the cherry blossoms are yet to be in full bloom.
You and Jo looked at the menu and decided to order the seasonal food, before sitting down on the vacant table, facing each other. You then began staring out, carried away as your eyes wandered around at the sight of the vast Tokyo skyline. Both of you fell into a deep silence – the reason why Jo brings you up here is because he wants to find something to draw, so while he busies himself drawing something, you get yourself engrossed in the cityscape.
“Excuse me, here’s your order. Sorry for the long wait, and thank you for waiting,”
The waitress's voice surprised both of you, and you immediately thanked the waitress before pushing Jo’s drinks and food closer to him.
“Did you find something to draw?”
You ask Jo as you find that his sketchbook’s page has something on it – you can’t make out the thing as he covered the page with his pencil case.
“Yeah,”
“Really? What is it?”
There’s a beat of silence, and you notice that Jo’s neck and ears start to turn red.
“You.”
“Oh.”
Surprised is an understatement – you never thought that Jo would draw you. Sure, you have seen plenty of artists draw their significant others, but it just didn’t cross your mind that Jo would do the same. Before the blush was able to heat up your cheeks, a thought popped up in your mind.
“Oh! I’m sorry, I moved. Uh, what kind of pose I was doing earlier…”
You slightly panicked – you know that it’s crucial to stay still (you’ve seen the drama, like the model would spend hours standing still until their portrait completes). Jo giggles at your reaction, and shakes his head.
“It’s okay,”
“Huh?”
“I memorized it.”
He… memorized it? He memorized your pose? You look at Jo with your eyes full of questions, and your reaction causes him to giggle more.
“You, whenever you are staring at something, you always have your hand propped like this,”
He rests his head on his palm, recreating the pose that you had forgotten you did – it must be your habit.
“Oh. But don’t you need me to stay still, for, you know… to draw my eyes and stuff?”
He shakes his head at your question.
“I memorized that too.”
You can feel your cheeks begin to grow warm – the blush from earlier returns and adorns your cheeks properly.
“I spent too much time staring at you to the point I can draw you from my memory,”
You scrunched your face before turning away, feeling extremely caught off guard by his words. Yes, he’s your boyfriend – has been for almost a year now. But his words make your heart flutter still. And will make you feel like a middle schooler girl – you want to squeal, jump around, and melt over his words.
You can hear Jo giggles, before he reaches out for your hand to make you look at him again. You turn at him, trying your best to hide your love stricken face, but fail when you see Jo’s face is as red as tomato.
“Did you like me saying that that much?”
“Shut up. You’re red and still trying to flirt,”
“I’m asking a question?”
“Just draw me whatever. I’m gonna continue looking at the scenery,”
You grab your glass and turn your body slightly away from him, trying to shift your focus from blushing and recalling his words all over again, to the view of Tokyo.
“I love you,”
His words make you crumble – you turn back at him and put down the glasses before reaching out your hands to playfully tug his collar, while putting your best angry face.
“You’re teasing me!”
“I’m confessing,”
“Shut, shut! You’re red and you should calm yourself down before flirting with me again, boy.”
“Okay, my love.”
You roll your eyes and Jo laughs, finding you extremely adorable right now.
“Okay. That’s enough. You’ve spent too much time with Yuma that you’re starting to become mischievous like him. You’re not going to see Yuma anytime soon. I forbid it,”
“If it makes you happy, my lady. I’m willing to do it,”
“Okay you’re getting on my nerves. Go away,”
Jo laughs and lightly pinches on your cheeks, before he picks up his sketchbook again. You sighed in relief as he didn’t seem like he’s going to say anything more. Three hours passed in silence – you glanced at him from time to time, admiring your boyfriend's serious side. You didn’t stare at him too long, not wanting him to notice and begin teasing you again.
“I’m done,”
Jo declares as he stares at the sketchbook’s page, before smiling at himself, satisfied with his work.
“Really? Can I see?”
“No. Not yet, no, I don't think so…”
“Huh? Why? You’re not done with the shading yet?”
“No… because it doesn’t capture how beautiful you look in real life,”
Despite the blood rushing to your cheeks, you give him a deadpanned look – earning a laugh from Jo.
“What, it’s true…”
“Are you done flirting? Can we go home now?”
“Yes,”
“Great.”
You try your best to keep a cool composure even though you know your face, neck and ears are betraying you. Jo just smiles, and begins packing his things – he then reaches out for your hands, and both of you walk out of the Tokyo Skytree tower together.
“Are you seriously not going to let me see?”
You ask, breaking the silence that surrounded both of you.
“One kiss, and I might consider it,”
You quickly peck his cheek, making Jo giggle in satisfaction before flipping through his sketchbook, and shows you the drawing from earlier. Your eyes grow wide upon seeing it – he truly captures your facial features. The mole placement, the crinkles at the corners of your eyes…
“You really stared at me that much huh?”
“What can I say? You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on,”
“Jooooo,”
You whine as he’s making you flustered again, and Jo just laughs as he pulls you closer to him.
“What, did I do something wrong?”
“You and your words… Stop teasing me,”
“I can’t. You look prettier than the cherry blossom when you blush,”
You decide to hide your face on his chest, causing Jo to giggle before he wraps his arm around your waist. You truly wonder when and how Jo gained his confidence to tease you this much – usually, you’re the one who has the upper hand, flustering him to the point he stutters every single word.
“Tell me, it was Yuma, right? Yuma taught you all these kinds of things, right? I’m gonna report him to Kei,”
You ask while resting your chin against his chest, looking at your boyfriend whose smile is still carved on his lips.
“Do you think I can’t do it?”
“No. You’re pure and innocent, so somebody must have influenced you into doing this,”
“It seems like you didn’t know me well enough yet, my love,”
He booped your nose before brushing his nose against yours, and grabbed your hand, urging you to move.
…What?
additional notes: thank you for reading till the end <3
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀where - Jo has the habit of overthinking the simple things. After a conversation with Nicholas & Maki + a memory of an almost intimate moment, he's now left wondering if he is enough for you, is he your type?
⠀wc 2,600+ ⠀warnings sub! jo & dom! fem! reader, insecure jo, misunderstanding, inexperienced/virgin jo, crying, petnames (baby & love), making out, hair pulling, dry humping/grinding, teasing, oral m! receiving, overstimulation, unprotected sex, tiny bit of dom jo at the end. emotionally unintelligent nichomaki—⠀note haven't written smut in a long time but fuck it we ball.. debut fic hurray
One rule Jo swore he’d never break when it came to dating was to never listen to his friends. Although, Every now and again he ended up having dinner with Maki and Nicholas. Listening to every single questionable advice about women that came out of their mouths.
“How long should I wait before I ask her to come over?” Nicholas asks, cheeks puffed out as he’s talking and inhaling ramen at the same time.
Maki points his chopsticks at him. “Depends. Whats the relationship between you two?”
He shrugs. “Well I think she broke up with her boyfriend last week, Haven’t texted her since. Whoops.”
Maki lets out a laugh. “Dude, she’s probably over him and you by now.”
Jo never really joined in on their conversations about dating. Mainly because there was nothing for him to ask or complain about, You and him were good. Healthy. Completely in love. What did he need advice for?
“What about you, Jo?” Nicholas asks suddenly.
Jo blinks, chewing his rice a little faster as his brain snaps back to the table. “What? What about me?” he mumbles.
“How are you and your girlfriend getting along? You never bring her around so I’m curious.”
“We’re good,” Jo says quickly, blush crawling up his neck at the mention of you.
Maki clicks his teeth, leaning forward. “Always so secretive~ Come on, tell us something.”
Jo looked up to see them staring with curiosity and excitement. Have they always been this nosy? “What do you want to know? There isn’t much to say, really..”
Nicholas waves a hand. “Don’t be shy. Where did you guys meet? What is she into?”
Maki just shrugs, unfazed. “What? Don’t act like you aren’t curious too.”
They both turn back to Jo, expecting some form of squeakish timid answer but he’s gone quiet. In his mind, he’s not at dinner, He’s home. You’re tucked into his chest, breathing softly as you sleep against him. Your arm draped around his waist tightly, your head brushing his collarbone. The weight of you, the warmth of you- he’d never seen anyone look that peaceful. So beautiful.
“She’s cute.”
“Cute?” Maki repeats, one eyebrow raised.
Nicholas, who five seconds ago was cringing at the topic suddenly leans in. “Cute like she’s the innocent type or?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of sexy, freaky, quiet-”
Jo’s head jerks up, horrified. “You guys can even make sleeping freaky?”
Both Maki and Nicholas stare at him.
“Sleeping?” Maki echoes.
Jo frowns, confused. “What? That’s what you asked.”
“No,” Maki says, dragging out the word. “we meant more like-”
“We meant sex Jo,” Nicholas intervenes bluntly. “We were asking how she is in bed.”
“…Oh,” he says quietly.
Nicholas Laughs. “You actually thought we meant sleeping?”
Jo covers his face with his hands, completely embarrassed. “That’s the first thing that came to mind..”
Maki finally stops laughing long enough to breathe. “So what- Have you guys really never done it before?”
Jos silence makes Nicholas’s eyes widen. “Wait- seriously?”
He hesitates, fingers messing with the edge of his sleeve. “No. We haven’t.”
The table goes quiet for a second. Maki leans forward, elbows on the table. “Like, not even close?”
“No,” Jo says, cheeks warming again. “It’s not- it’s just never gotten that heated before. I think?”
Nicholas hums, tilting his head. “Okay, but what if you two do it in the future and aren’t compatible?”
Maki nods. “What if she tries it with you and realizes you’re not her type?”
“Wouldn’t it be better to figure out those things early on. Y’know have the big talk? See if it’ll work out?” He adds.
Jo swallows hard. He hadn’t thought about that. What if he disappoints you? What if he’s not enough? What if he’s too inexperienced, too timid? What if you expect someone confident, do you prefer confidence?
Jo grips his chopsticks tighter. “I don’t think she’d just leave me over something like that. She isn’t like that.”
“You never know”
Jo tried very hard not to think about anything said that day. Everything would happen naturally. He reassured himself with that many times.
But his train of thought decided to torture him.
He began to think about the ifs. Moments that could have led to more. Times that if he were to man up for once, would you two have done it? His mind would always circle back to one moment that happened a while ago.
It was late into the afternoon. Those awful days where your work schedules didn’t line up leaving him alone in your shared apartment. Jo waited on the couch watching television until you came back. It felt like an eternity for Jo, but soon enough you made it home.
The rustling of keys startled him out of his sleeping position. His face at ease when you came into view.
“Hey, how was work?”
You sighed, kicking off your shoes as you rummaged through your bag. “It was the worst. Sunoo ended up nabbing the lead position for the project I worked so hard to get.”
“That’s too bad my love, come here hm?”
Jo held his arms out insinuating a hug. That soft and caring expression he always had made you smile. You walked over, sitting on his lap and straddling him. Your head laid on Jos shoulder taking his cologne in. His arm wrapped around your waist tightly, moving his other hand to rub your back in slow and comforting circles. Abruptly, you lifted your face from his neck to look at him.
He looked back at you with curiosity, “What is it?” He asked, nervously smiling.
Your hands inched from his waist to his face, making him soften and melt into them, closing his eyes. Softly, you placed your lips on his, causing his eyes to fly open. It didn’t take long for him to reciprocate, following your pace. The kiss was soft- it always was. This wasn’t the first time you came home from work stressed and in need of kisses.
But this time, you did something you had never done before.. you stopped kissing him. His face was flushed, a soft groan slips out with the loss of your lips. You chuckled softly, letting a hand slide up to his hair, playing with it. Then an idea hit you. You gave it a gentle tug, watching his reaction. A choked out moan escaped him. It seemed to surprise him too with that look of shock.
“Did you like that Jo?” you whispered into his ear, lips trailing down his neck leaving marks. He didn’t respond, his throat caught in soft whines at the new sensation. Deciding to push him a little further, You rocked against him slowly, feeling him grow hard beneath you. He was so, so overwhelmed, and having you be the first to ever touch him like this? Just the thought alone made him want to cum.
Your hands slid under Jo’s shirt, nails scratching his chest with a tease making him shudder. A wet patch of precum had already seeped through his pants with all the grinding.
Before he could say or do anything, you stopped. You stopped kissing him, touching him, grinding on him. He looked up at you through his lidded eyes, panting. “What-“
“Thank you for the hug baby, you always know how to comfort me. Should we order take out?” You asked casually, fixing up your work shirt. He watched you as you did your daily routine when coming home, humming as if nothing happened. “Pick something out and i’ll call in after I shower, okay?”
And just like that the bathroom door closed, leaving Jo to stare at the spot where you’d been minutes ago.
Wondering how he was going to deal with the new found problem in his pants.
“Jo, look at this!” you chuckled, angling your phone so he could see. It was a routine you both had before bed, scrolling on your phones side by side giggling at whatever you found.
Jo laughed with you, his attention drifting from the screen to your face. For the past couple of weeks, he had been fighting with himself, debating whether to bring up your sex life. But he was genuinely curious. What were you into? Was he your type? Do you have things you want to try? The list of questions he wanted to ask felt endless.
“Jojo, what is it? You’re freaking me out,” you asked, slightly laughing at his habit to space out.
“Oh.. nothing,” he blurted. “You’re beautiful, that’s all.”
You hummed, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Thank you baby, but- is there something you want say? Something’s been on your mind for a while, I can tell, you’ve been more antsy then usual.”
“Was I obvious?”
“The day I can’t read you is the day the world ends Asakura Jo.”
Jo sat up, scratching at his neck nervously- a habit he never seemed to shake. You followed, sitting up with him, suddenly invested in whatever had been weighing on him lately.
“Well I just wanted to- I’ve been curious about you,” he stammered.
You raised a brow. “Alright. In what way?”
“ˢᵉˣ”
“Huh?” you asked, blinking.
“Your past sex life. I want to know what you’re into..” Jo muttered. He looked like he could throw up from how anxious he was.
Your eyes widened at the sudden outburst. So that’s what he’d been thinking about? Cute.
You giggled, Jo looked at you confused about what was so funny. “Ask me anything you want,” you assured him. “I’ll tell you the truth.”
He bit his lower lip, but with your small nod of encouragement, he finally continued.
“How many guys have you been with?”
“Two.”
“Do you have a type?”
“Uhm.. No. I don’t think so.”
“Any kinks?”
“Too many to name.”
Jo fiddled with his hands, uncertainty in his eyes. His voice dropped softer than before. “Am I attractive to you?”
You blinked. “Why would you even ask me that?”
He swallowed hard. “You haven’t made a move on me since that day on the couch. And I just thought maybe you weren’t interested in me anymore. Maybe I’m not what you’re looking for or something like that.”
Maki and Nicholas had a way of getting into ones head.
You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him roughly on his back. He fell back with wide eyes, surprised, and before he could get another word out, you swung a leg over him and settled on top of his waist.
You looked down at him, hands braced on either side of his body. Your voice was steady, slow, deliberate. “Jo,” you said, leaning in so your lips brushed his jaw, “the only reason I stopped that day was because I came onto you so strong. I wanted our first time to be romantic not horny.”
His fingers curled around your thighs, stunned into silence. You smirked softly, leaning up just enough to brush your fingers along his ear which were painfully red, burning from its tips.
“You asked me if I have a type,” you said, hands sliding down to his jaw, tilting his chin up so he had no choice but to look at you. “Maybe I do,” you continued, eyes locked on his. “You. Innocent looking men like you.” His eyes were glossed as he stared up at you, still trapped beneath your thighs and your hold on his chin.
“Innocent looking men like you,” you repeated, letting your thumb drag slowly across his lower lip. “Guess I was wrong, seeing that you’ve been fantasizing about what I did with you that day.”
Jo swallowed hard, cheeks flushing even deeper. “Don’t say that.. It’s not like that.” he whined, barely audible.
You let out a soft laugh, leaning down until your noses almost touched. “Oh? Am I wrong Jo?” you teased, “Are you telling the truth?”
His brows knit. “I am.”
You shifted your hips just slightly above his buldge. Enough to make his breath stutter again. “Because this,” you whispered, tapping his cheek gently with your fingers, “isn’t the look or sound of an innocent man.”
“This,” you added, tracing the outline of his chest, “is the face of someone who’s been thinking about me way too much.”
Jo froze. “I- I haven’t- I mean, I didn’t-”
“You’ve been thinking about what you want to do to me and what you want me to do to you. Haven’t you?”
His needy squirms, eyes full of want. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You pulled yourself back against Jo, creating enough room to slide his pants down. His boxers were already stained, when he tried to cover the spot, you slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch.”
You wrapped your hand around Jo’s buldge, reveling in the noises he made just for you. You could see from the print that he was huge, it was no surprise though, you felt it that day.
“Please stop teasing me,” he begged, pushing your hand away just long enough to slide his boxers down, revealing his flushed pink tip.
You laughed with disbelief. Of all times for him to finally get over his fear of taking initiative, he chose now. Should you reward him? “Don’t worry baby. I guess I’ll give you what you want.”
Jo gasped loudly at the feeling of your mouth around him. He couldn’t help arching his back off the bed, his hand sliding into your hair. You didn’t necessarily like men who pulled your hair, but you could tell he wasn’t doing it for control- he just had no idea what to do with his hands. You hummed around him, sending vibrations against his dick. It was too much.
His moans, loud before, quickly became stuttered and quiet. When you pulled him out of your mouth and pumped him lightly, he looked at you for the first time and before he even realized it, he came. His cum dripped from your chin onto his cock. The lewd scene didn’t stop the embarrassment burning across his face from cumming so soon.
“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t even- I didn’t realize.”
You coo, wiping your chin as you leaned in to kiss him. He parted his lips instantly, letting you take control. Again and again, he fell right into your mercy.
“Don’t apologize,” you murmured. “You’ll have more chances to cum anyway.”
“What do you mean? Wait-”
You slipped off your panties, guiding him with your hand as you aligned yourself over him, sinking down slowly.
“Wait- I’m still- I just came!” Jo hissed. It hurt, but it felt so good.
“I’m sorry, Jo,” you whispered, voice full with want, “but it’s my turn to be needy.”
Jo couldn’t even think anymore, his vision blurring with tears. All he could hear were your moans, was he really making you feel good? He wanted to see. He wanted to know what kind of face you were making because of him. Ignoring the ache from how hard you were riding him, he pushed himself up on his elbows, lifting himself until he was face-to-face with you. His vision steadied and then he saw you. Your brows were drawn together in focus, your mouth parted with pleasure, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.
With newfound courage, Jo grabbed your ass, forcing you to take more of him. You gasped in pleasure, startled by his sudden boldness. He rutted his hips up to meet yours, desperate and unrestrained. He was getting close- so were you, your walls clenching tightly around him.
“I- I’m gonna cum soon,” Jo groaned, thrusting faster into you.
“Cum inside,” you moaned.
Jo’s eyes widened, searching your face. “Are you sure?”
You shut him up with a kiss, the two of you moaning into each other’s mouths as your bodies snapped together. You both fell apart at the same time, collapsing onto the bed side by side.
You were worn out, eyes closed, breathing hard. Jo was just as breathless, but he stared at you in worry. “Was I okay?”
Smiling, you hummed. “Of course Jo. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
warnings: fluff!! mentions of alcohol, the existence of nakakita yuma
a/n: for my amazing mimi!!! sorry for torturing you with tyler catastrophe tiktoks this is my formal apology i sincerely hope you accept it.
asakura jo always preferred to be alone rather than around people.
people meant chaos, crowds meant exhaustion and he always valued his peace more than anything - quiet evenings spent in his apartment, soft music playing in the background as he sat down on his couch, fully and wholeheartedly invested in his hobbies and passions without any interruptions or outside distractions.
but then you came along.
his quiet, perfectly curated routine of calmness began to crumble the first moment his gaze landed upon you — yuma’s apartment loud with chatter and laughter, his group of friends chaotic as always. it didn’t bother him, at least not anymore: he’s grown accustomed to the mischief and havoc his friends brought along with them wherever they went. despite all their personalities being completely different, they all got along together perfectly — jo valued their friendship more than anything else in this world. he was thankful for how they never forced him to participate in their banter, giving him a chance to just sit in their presence instead of necessarily interacting. they were his bubble of comfort; a group of people whom he didn’t mind the loudness with, whose chaos didn’t seem to bother him. he thought inviting someone out of the group would disrupt that bubble — and yet his assumptions couldn’t be further from the truth.
normally, strangers entering his space meant discomfort — a lingering feeling which left him uneasy, unable to enjoy the function to its fullest extent. that same feeling mounted over him the moment yuma mentioned bringing in someone from outside to meet the rest of his friends: and yet when he saw you, it disappeared completely.
you seemed familiar in a way jo couldn’t quite decipher. there was something alluring about you — a quiet charm which piqued his interest almost immediately. you were much calmer than his friends, more collected, more hesitant about speaking in a group setting, settling for polite smiles and quiet laughs instead. your personality didn’t take up much space and yet, for jo, it seemed to be the most interesting thing in the room.
he wouldn’t speak up on it, though. that night, the only conversation you had with him directly was an awkward exchange of names, followed by a smile which made jo feel weak in the knees, face heating up in an instant, which somehow went unnoticed by you.
but it didn’t go unnoticed by nakakita yuma.
nakakita yuma — jo’s self proclaimed best friend, the only friend who’s known him long enough to know every little detail about him, down to his meal preferences and being able to spot that slight, almost unnoticeable change in his facial expression whenever he felt uncomfortable. they’ve been seemingly inseparable since kindergarten, a fact which surprised many due to their rather different personalities. in truth, it didn’t need to make sense for anyone else — they understood their bond perfectly, and that was what mattered most.
he was the only one jo ever went to for advice, even if he ended up questioning said advice later on, the only one jo trusted enough to fully open up to no matter the situation — which made it even more surprising for yuma when his best friend uttered no word to him about his very obvious crush on you, instead opting to stay quiet. it struck him as odd, but he didn’t push. if there was one thing that yuma’s learned throughout the years, it was to give jo time — so he let him solve this one on his own.
but he still watched with a curious eye and an amused smirk pulling at his lips, almost as if the whole thing humored him more than his friend’s shenanigans ever could.
jo tried his best not to make it too obvious — his moves calculated, his steps slow and careful. his head seemingly shooting up whenever he’d hear you start talking, soft laughter escaping his lips when you’d make a joke, making sure not to forget your favorite drink when it was his turn to provide drinks for the hangout. all casual to an untrained eye, but extremely meaningful once you realised it was jo who was doing these things. he’d smile softly when you’d thank him, your fingers brushing his as you took the beverage from his hands, trying desperately to stop the pinkish blush creeping onto his cheeks, your touch lingering where your skin brushed his.
and yet despite all this, you two barely talked — some small talk here and there when you’d be the first ones to arrive at yuma’s apartment, a look exchanged whenever one of your friends would do something particularly dumb, but nothing more. jo’s own helplessness infuriated him greatly: no one has ever made him feel this way, he wasn’t exactly sure of what to do to truly get your attention, to truly have a chance with you.
he didn’t even know you that well and yet you had already acquired a special place in his soul - a soft spot that had created itself only for your sake.
and this fine way was how he ended up in yuma’s apartment, a bag of takeout in his right hand and the most miserable look on his face.
‘i need your help.’ he mumbled between bites of rice, eyes avoiding his best friend’s gaze at all costs. yuma chuckled.
‘i know you do.’ the shorter man admitted, a can of beer in his hand as he sat comfortably at the other end of the table. ‘it’s been pretty apparent since the first moment you laid eyes on her.’
jo almost choked on his food at how quickly his friend exposed him — and yet he shouldn’t have been surprised, truly. it wasn’t the first time this has happened, with yuma reading him like an open book at almost any given occasion.
‘you’re just saying that to play with me.’ he said, turning his head to the side.
‘you blushed when she introduced herself. she literally just told you her name and you were redder than euijoo’s hair.’
jo sighed.
‘alright, maybe you’re right.’ he finally admitted, a hand running through his hair in an anxious motion. ‘it won’t work out anyways. i can’t- i don’t know how to talk to her. yeah, i’ve had crushes before, but this feels… different.’
yuma’s smile faltered for a few seconds — turning into something more serious, eyes scanning his best friend’s face with perfect focus, almost as if he was trying to read his emotions, get inside his brain. it didn’t last long, though: sooner rather than later he was back to his usual relaxed position, back leaning against the wall behind him, a grin pulling at his lips.
‘don’t you worry about a single thing, my dear friend.’ he said, voice laced with a hint of something jo couldn’t quite decipher. mischief, humour maybe. ‘i’ll gladly help you ask her out if that means not having to see your rather pathetic attempts at chatting her up any longer.’
‘were they really that bad?’ jo asked quietly, covering his face with his hands, elbows propped on the table.
‘not the worst i’ve seen, but certainly in the bottom tier.’ yuma admitted. ‘but look at the bright side! you have me as a friend — i’ll make sure that everything works out in the end.’
jo’s blind trust in yuma might’ve as well ended up being the death of him one day.
small hangout, he said. only the friend group and you, he said. what an absolute liar he was.
yuma’s apartment was filled to the brim — overflowing with people, music buzzing in jo’s ears, the limited amount of personal space making him feel slightly uneasy. he remembered what his best friend said about ‘having to get out of his comfort zone’, and yet he still didn’t expect to be thrown into deep waters like this. so many faces he didn’t recognise, so many unpredictable situations that could’ve occurred, and no corner to hide himself in from the crowd, the loudness and the absolute hell of a dance floor in the middle of yuma’s living room.
little did he know, it was all part of his best friend’s plan.
jo searched around for any faces that seemed familiar, preferably his best friend’s, when his eyes landed on you — standing in the kitchen area, back leaning against the counter and a can in your hand as you talked with the host of the party, the one who jo was trying to find mere seconds ago.
he saw the way you smiled at something yuma said and he swore his heart melted right then and there: your smile so beautiful and radiant he wanted to engrave it inside his mind and let it stay there forever. he didn’t even realise when his legs started moving in your direction — steps slow and careful, maneuvering around the crowd of people with true skill and determination only someone who hates interacting with strangers could possess.
yuma noticed his best friend in the corner of his vision and chuckled at the sight of jo’s awkward journey through the multitude of drunken individuals — waving him over to join him and you in your conversation, a grin on his face when jo finally managed to get through to the two of you.
‘enjoying the party?’ he asked almost teasingly, knowing almost too well that the answer was written all over jo’s face. he couldn’t help but let out a laugh when he saw jo shaking his head.
‘it’s, uh, it’s fine.’ he said, voice barely audible because of the loud music. his eyes drifted to your face for just a split second — and yet he looked back just as fast when he noticed you had already been staring at him. ‘just, a little um, too loud. yeah.’
‘yeah, i agree.’ you added, putting the half empty can down on the counter. ‘i’m surprised you managed to fit so many people in here.’
‘i have my ways.’ yuma answered, a grin plastered to his face as he finished his drink. ‘but alas, we have a problem. a huge, ginormous one, if i do say so myself.’
both you and jo looked at him with the exact same expression — brows furrowed in confusion, heads tilted slightly to the side. yuma chuckled under his breath at the sight.
‘we’re running out of alcohol. snacks, too.’
‘that seems like the hosts problem.’ jo mumbled, voice quiet. and yet both you and yuma heard it somehow - his best friend shooting him a glare while you giggled quietly at his remark.
you giggled. at something he said. and in that moment asakura jo felt like that was the greatest thing that has ever happened to him — his biggest triumph, an achievement he could be proud of forever.
yuma broke his quiet celebration with a cough, seemingly clearing his throat.
‘it is in fact your problem as well, my dear jojo.’ he said dramatically, poking jo’s arm in an almost cat-like manner. ‘wanna know why?’
‘no.’
‘because you, my trusted friend, my right hand, my second in command, my future best man, will be given the task of restocking my fridge with beer.’
‘you didn’t have to use so many… titles.’ jo said, looking as miserable as ever upon hearing his friend’s words. and yet, after pondering on the idea for a while longer, he realised this could actually be a perfect opportunity for him. a perfect opportunity to leave the crowded apartment and get some alone time to recharge his batteries before having to come back to this absolute hellhole.
his eyes met with yuma’s for just a second before he sighed, agreeing to his friend’s request.
‘oh, one more thing.’ yuma added before jo was able to leave, and by the smile plastered to his face he knew that his best friend was about to say something he could suffer the consequences of pretty soon.
‘take someone with you. might be hard carrying all the bags by yourself.’
jo’s initial reaction was to groan and mumble something about how he can do it himself, no help needed. he wanted to say he’s good on his own and leave the apartment as soon as humanly possible, getting to experience the peace and quiet and the fresh air the outside could provide him with. alone. no people in sight, no unnecessary interactions.
‘i can help you, if you want.’ you said over the loud music, and all of a sudden jo was nodding profusely, the sight greatly humoring his best friend as he agreed almost instantly.
‘perfect.’ yuma muttered to himself quietly, eyes scanning as yours and jo’s figures disappeared into the crowd, heading for the exit to the apartment.
his plan was going well — but from that moment on, everything was in jo’s hands.
you noticed the way jo’s posture shifted the moment he stepped outside the building — finally taking in a deep breath, the fresh air filling his lungs as his muscles loosened up, visibly more comfortable without the crowds invading his personal space.
‘not a fan of parties, huh?’ you asked, a small smile on your face as you walked, pace matching his despite his limbs being much longer. jo nodded, a soft hum escaping his lips, hands in his pockets as his gaze landed on you for a quick second before looking away. you didn’t mind his quietness at all — in fact, it made you feel more at ease, more… comfortable. familiar somehow, too. even though you hadn’t known him well at all, his silence felt cozy in the same way a warm blanket feels on an autumn rainy evening.
the night sky illuminated his face with a gentle light, features glowing in the moonlight. you noticed them ever since you first met him — his face must’ve been sculpted by angels themselves for it to look this perfect. you let your gaze linger on him as you walked: eyes tracing his sharp jawline, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the pinkish shade of his lips, a pair of the kindest looking eyes you’ve ever seen.
a pair of eyes which was, in fact, staring right back at you.
you could feel your face heat up, praying that the dim lights of the stars and the moon weren’t enough for him to see the pinkish shade of your cheeks, the colour deepening with each passing second. thankfully for you and your embarrassment of getting caught, you noticed the store in front of you, legs speeding up the pace of your walk immediately almost as if they were closing in a few minutes — a poor attempt at hiding your flustered state, and yet it somehow worked.
jo caught up to you inside the store — the sudden contrast of the bright, pale white lights inside the supermarket hurting his eyes at first before he managed to adjust to them. his phone buzzed in his pocket and he instinctively reached to check the notification walking up to your figure already standing at the alcohol aisle.
he stopped in his tracks before he reached you.
a notification from yuma. a single message from his best friend.
‘fuma brought us drinks so you don’t need to get any, dw. enjoy some alone time with your crush, coward ;3’
‘oh.’ he uttered quietly, the message staring right back at him from the phone screen. and then it clicked.
it was all part of yuma’s plan to get him to finally confess — jo couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief at how he hasn’t figured it out earlier. but then again, maybe it was due to the fact that his mind was currently occupied entirely by you; and has been for quite some time by now, making his senses duller when it came to his best friend’s antics and schemes.
‘did something happen?’ your voice tore jo out of his thoughts, eyes dropping to your face as you suddenly appeared in front of him, brows furrowed in a worried expression. ‘you stopped in your tracks all of a sudden.’
his lips curved up in a small smile, fingers threading through his hair as he exhaled with a sigh.
‘oh, it’s nothing. just a text from yuma.’ he explained, trying to seem unaffected — and yet his expression betrayed him.
‘just… a text?’ you questioned, looking at him with curiosity. jo sighed once more.
‘he doesn’t need us to buy the alcohol anymore.’ his voice was quiet, much closer to a murmur than anything else, laced with a hint of something resembling disappointment — as if the information given to him by his best friend meant you’d soon come back to the party and his time with you would be over.
you smiled, lips curving up in a way which made jo’s breath hitch in his throat for a second — then let out the most beautiful laugh he’s ever heard.
‘oh thank god.’ you stated, letting out a breath of relief. ‘that means we don’t have to go back there, right?’
‘what?’
‘we can go somewhere else instead of back to the party, because we have no obligations of bringing in alcohol for the rest of these drunkards.’ you explained, voice with a newfound hint of excitement. ‘unless you want to go back there, of course.’
asakura jo has never shook his head faster.
‘absolutely not.’ he murmured, still shaking his head as he did so. ‘do you, um, have something in mind? something else we could do.’
‘i do, in fact.’ you smiled, taking a step towards him, your hand reaching out to grab his. although a little frazzled at first, he complied with a smile on his face — letting you drag him to wherever you wanted to go without even knowing the direction you were heading in, without any knowledge about the destination or the plans you had in mind. it was different than what he would usually do — different from his routine, his perfectly curated bubble of quiet aloneness. and yet with you, like this, different felt good.
the night sky was perfectly clear, not a cloud in sight as you stepped outside, your fingers intertwined with jo’s as you led him towards a small hill in the park close to the store, a local favorite for kids in winter. and yet at this time, on a warm spring night, it was perfectly empty — only you and jo remaining as the night sky hovered above you, stars a beautiful artwork for you to admire in the peace and quiet this place provided.
you sat down on the grass and jo followed right after, allowing himself the courage of sitting right next to you, leaving little to no space in between — just enough for you to move away if need be, and yet close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of the side of your body. he sat there in perfect silence as you gazed up at the stars with a smile on your face: the brightest smile jo has ever seen, one which shone so hard that even the sun itself was jealous of the sheer power and beauty it held.
‘can i?’ you uttered, body relaxing slightly as you leaned closer to jo. he could only nod in response — a smile on your face as you noticed his answer, head resting on his shoulder as you scooted up closer to him. your gaze still focused on the stars above you, eyes tracing every constellation almost as if you’d stared up at them millions of times and knew them by heart.
and yet jo didn’t look up even once — not when the real star was right there beside him, with her head on his shoulder and a dreamy look in her eyes.
‘the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?’ you mumbled. jo nodded, muttering a quiet ‘yes’ in response.
but his eyes stayed on you.
he wanted to speak up — wanted to say something about his feelings, about how he’d love to take you out if you’d allow him to, how he’d do anything just to get a chance — and yet he felt the moment was too perfect to ruin it by interrupting the silence between you. so he left it unsaid. having you so close to him was enough to make him happy, even if it meant his feelings would stay hidden for just a little while longer. but he didn’t mind waiting, not even in the slightest. he’d do it all one day, at his own pace, on his own conditions.
synopsis: being an up-and-coming content creator is exhausting— juggling streams, dodging drama, and hiding your face from the internet. no one understands the pressure better than "jofiii", the faceless minecraft streamer everyone’s obsessed with. so... it definitely sucks when a convincing dating rumor throws both of your lives into hardcore mode... right?
featuring: fem!reader, &team, hinata (xg), maya (xg), and more!
content warning: suggestive, swearing, drinking, and smoking
author’s note: hiiii friends! surprise… my first &team smau & it’s for the severely underwritten jojo :p read the profiles and descriptions before jumping in anddd happy reading!
