#joejonasfanfic

[cup-of-jonas]

Walls- Joe Jonas

Chapter 3: Behind Closed Doors

✨Masterlist✨

The final chords still rang in Joe's chest as the stage lights dimmed and the roar of Madison Square Garden thundered in his ears. He jogged down the steps, sweat cooling on his skin, crew clapping him on the back as he passed. But he barely heard them. His eyes were already searching, heart pounding harder now than it had during the set.

Claire.

He had seen her slip out during the encore, her blonde hair catching the glow as she turned down a narrow hall that led toward one of the side balconies. He muttered her name under his breath like a prayer, weaving past cases and cables. "Where are you, Claire?"

The hallway opened into the balcony entrance, the door heavy against his palm. He shoved it open and stepped into the night air.

Empty.

The city stretched out around him, lights glittering like a million little secrets. The cool air rushed over his damp skin, but the space where she should have been was bare. His stomach dropped.

He stood still for a moment, gripping his curls with one hand, pulling them back from his forehead as if that could ease the weight pressing against him. A sigh tore out of him, rough and low, and he spun once in place, shoulders tense, before tilting his head back toward the sky.

The stars were invisible against the city glow, but he searched anyway, letting the sound of the crowd's fading cheers wash through the walls. For the first time all night, he felt hollow. Maybe she had left. Maybe she had finally decided whatever was happening between them was too much.

Jaw tight, he dropped his gaze, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back inside.

The hallways were chaos. Crew moved in every direction, laughter and shouts echoing off the concrete. From one of the larger rooms, he could hear Kevin and Nick's voices tangled with their family's, hyped and celebrating, calling for him to come in. He didn't stop. His chest was too tight.

He slipped down a quieter corridor, feet carrying him toward his dressing room on instinct. He pushed the door open, ready for silence, ready for that same empty ache he had felt on the balcony.

Joe pushed open the door to his dressing room, still flushed from the stage lights, his pulse beating too hard in his chest. For a split second he thought the room was empty, another hollow space waiting for him. Then he saw her.

She was standing there, in his dimly lite dressing room. Her honey blonde hair tumbling in loose waves, her camera resting across her lap. The glow of the bulbs from the vanity haloed her face, soft and steady, and her eyes found his the moment he entered. She didn't scramble to explain. She didn't move at all.

She waited for him.

And Joe's pulse, ragged and restless a second ago, found a rhythm again.

Neither of them moved. For a moment, the silence said everything the searching, the almost-misses, the ache that had followed him since she disappeared from the crowd.

She tilted her head, lips curving as she finally broke it.

"Hi." She smiled. "I was hoping after was still going to be okay." She smiled taking a few steps closer to Joe. He kind of looked shocked. "Looking for me?"

His throat tightened, but the answer came easy, low and certain.

"Hi. Yes, actually. I was starting to think maybe you left."

The smirk that touched her mouth was half-playful, half-knowing, and it undid him. He stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind him with a soft click. His hand lingered on the knob for a beat before he turned it fully, the lock sliding into place.

"Joe," she whispered, eyes darting to the door, but her voice betrayed her breathless, expectant.

"What?" he asked, his grin lazy but his gaze sharp, fire sparking behind it. "I was starting to think after meant never." Joe smirked.

Her laugh was small, nervous, but her body leaned toward him. "I can keep my word. But I know you are... busy. I really shouldn't even be here you know."

"Yes you should," he said, his tone deeper now, stepping closer until she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. "I was looking for you the entire time. Even when I was onstage, I couldn't stop."

The way he said it quiet but full of heat made her chest tighten. She rose slowly to her feet, and before she could say another word, his hands slid around her waist and pulled her to him.

The first kiss was soft, as if to test if this was real, then it deepened quickly, desperate and certain, all the adrenaline of the stage spilling into the way his mouth pressed against hers. She dropped the camera onto the chair and slid her hands into his curls, tugging lightly as he walked her backward. Her spine met the closed door and he pressed closer, lips tracing from her mouth to her jaw and back again until she gasped against him.

"Joe," she murmured, pulling back just enough to breathe, her palms flat against his chest as if she meant to stop him, though she didn't move away. "No. I really shouldn't. We're going to get caught."

His forehead rested against hers, curls falling into his eyes, breath hot between them. "The door is locked. Let them catch us, I want this. I want you!" he said, voice low and dangerous in the sweetest way. "I don't care anymore."

She shook her head, even as her hands clung to him. "You don't mean that. You know how bad this looks and super unprofessional. You're the artist. I am supposed to be your assistant."

"Claire," he said softly, using her name like it was a secret. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "This isn't just sneaking around for me anymore. It's not a game. It's you, it's us."

Her heart stuttered at that, the weight of his words too heavy to ignore. She closed her eyes, torn between the pull of his mouth and the warning in her head. When she opened them again, he was still looking at her like he had under the lights, like she was the only thing in the room.

"We can't get caught," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Joe's gaze didn't waver. His thumb stroked her cheek, steady as his voice. "We won't."

The certainty in the words made her chest ache. Before she could argue, his mouth was on hers again, fierce and sweet, like he had every intention of keeping her right there with him no matter what waited outside the door.

[cup-of-jonas]

Dates with Joe - Clouds of Cinnamon #6

✨Masterlist✨

A Full-Length Fluffy Joe Jonas Coffee Shop Scene

The bell above the café door gave a gentle chime as Joe stepped inside. Morning light spilled across the floor behind him, catching on his denim jacket and the edge of his orange-tinted sunglasses. He looked perfectly relaxed, curls slightly messy from sleep, white tee soft from too many washes. The kind of cozy that didn’t need effort. The kind that came with time and tenderness and quiet love.

He walked up to the counter and scanned the pastry case like he was selecting something for a gallery opening. His fingers tapped lightly against the wood, like a quiet rhythm only he could hear.

“Morning,” said the barista, already smiling at him.

“Hey,” Joe replied warmly. “Iced Americano for me. And a vanilla oat milk latte for my girlfriend. Extra cinnamon. Like… a lot of cinnamon. If there’s not a little dusting on the lid, it’s not enough.”

The barista laughed, typing it in. “Got it. A cinnamon cloud.”

Joe nodded with a grin. “Exactly.”

He leaned down and pointed to the second row in the pastry case.

“Is that one of those sugar cruffins left?”

“Last one.”

“She’ll want that too!" He smiled, looking into the glass case.

There was something so casual about the way he said it, like he’d memorized every little thing you loved without even trying. Like it had all become part of him now too.

"Will that be all for you today?" the barista asked with a soft smile.

"Yes, thank you!" Joe returned the smile.

The drinks were ready a few minutes later. Joe gathered everything carefully, the two cups in one hand, the cruffin on a plate balanced in the other. He walked to the small corner table by the window, the one the two of you always seemed to end up at. The sun fell across the tabletop, warming the wood. He placed your cup where he knew you’d sit and took a sip of his own.

A moment later, the bell above the door chimed again.

You stepped in, sunglasses pushed to the top of your head, sweater sleeves pulled over your hands. Joe smiled instantly, the kind of smile that was made just for you.

He stood as you approached and handed you your drink.

"Hey babe, good morning. I am sp sorry I am late."

" Hello beautiful, your usual,” he said.

You took the cup, already catching the scent of cinnamon, and smiled as your fingers brushed his.

“Wow Joe, you remembered? You didn’t even ask.”

He kissed your cheek, his hand brushing the small of your back.

“I didn’t have to.”

You both sat down across from each other, and Joe slid the cruffin toward you like it was something special and handed you a plastic knife.

You sipped your drink and immediately let out a happy sigh. It was perfect. Warm, sweet, and dusted with way more cinnamon than anyone else would’ve thought to add.

Joe leaned back in his chair, watching you. Like just seeing you happy was enough to make his whole day.

“You always do that,” you said softly.

“Do what?”

“Remember everything.”

He tilted his head and smiled like he didn’t think it was a big deal.

“My coffee order. The cinnamon. This pastry. How I eat it. You just… you pay attention. And I love you!”

Joe reached across the table and took your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“I remember because I care, and I love you too!” he said. “Because it’s you. And I want you to feel loved in every small way I can give.”

Before you could say anything else, the barista returned with a dish of napkins and silverware. She placed it down between you, then paused and gave you both a little smile.

“I just have to say,” she said, voice warm and kind, “you two are really cute. Like… ridiculously cute together. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone order a drink with that much love in their voice.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly.

Joe gave a soft laugh but didn’t let go of your hand and gave you the biggest smile.

The barista smiled and nodded toward you.

“You guys are lucky to have eachother.” she said. “Not everyone gets someone who remembers the cinnamon.”

As she walked away, you looked back at Joe, eyes shining.

“I hope you know how much that means to me,” you whispered. “You make everything feel so easy. So good. You make me feel safe.”

Joe leaned forward, his voice quieter now.

“You’re my favorite person to love,” he said. “And I want to get it right. Always.”

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your fingers, slowly, like the moment deserved to last.

And just like that, the coffee shop faded around you. It didn’t matter that the world was still moving. For now, you were two people in a sunny window, holding hands across a wooden table, cinnamon in the air, and love in every glance.

[cup-of-jonas]

✨What This Could Be✨ – Chapter Two

✨Masterlist✨

Chapter Two: The Sound That Stayed

Joe

The city was buzzing, but Joe didn’t hear any of it.

He stepped off the subway and into the night like he was walking out of a dream. His boots hit the pavement too hard. He didn’t even notice. The strap of his guitar dug into his shoulder. He didn’t care.

All he could feel was her.

He didn’t know her name. He hadn’t said a word. But he could still see her—standing where he had been, soft hands on the pole, her honey-blonde hair catching the light like the end of summer.

There had been a moment—just before the doors closed—when she smiled.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was like she was saying I see you, without needing to say anything at all.

And then she stayed.

And he left.

He walked the few blocks to the bar with a strange kind of weight in his chest. Not heavy. Not painful. Just… full. Like something new had taken up space inside him.

The Ivy was already glowing when he got there. The lights were warm. The stage was small. His name was scrawled on the chalkboard sign outside in fading white.

He had played here a hundred times.

Tonight felt different.

He barely remembered setting up. The guitar in his hands. The mic adjusted. The low murmur of the small crowd. All of it blurred behind the one thing that had felt real all day.

Her.

He sat on the stool. Adjusted the capo. Tuned.

Then he closed his eyes.

And played like he had something to say—without knowing how to say it.

Evie

The subway doors slid shut, and Evelyn exhaled.

She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath until then. Her fingers tightened around the pole. Her heart was still thudding like it had just decided to come alive again.

What just happened?

It was one look. Two smiles. Three glances that somehow rewrote the rhythm of her whole day.

The subway kept moving. So did the night.

But something inside her had stopped.

At the next stop, she stepped off. Climbed the stairs to the street. The rain had faded to a mist, and the sky was smudged in soft gold and navy.

She walked home like someone watching the world through a dream. These were her sidewalks—familiar and worn—but everything felt subtly off. Like reality had tilted a few degrees.

Evelyn made it to her apartment. She tossed her keys into the dish by the door, set her bag down gently.and took off her boots. She was in for the night, changed into her pajamas, warmed up some tea and sat at the edge of her window opened her journal, and stared at the page. still thinking about just seeing the guy she saw on the subway. She was still thinking about him and wrote about him. For a long time, nothing moved.

Then—almost without thinking—she wrote:

He had music in his eyes.

Like he’d been carrying songs inside him for years.

And for one second, it felt like I was one of them.Her fingers trembled slightly. Not from nerves. From the way something finally felt real again.

She didn’t know him.

Didn’t know his name.

Didn’t know if she’d ever see him again.

But she knew this:

He saw her.

And tonight, somehow, that was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

She stared at the words on the page.

Then something in her chest fluttered.

A thought.

A pull.

A whisper that said, Go.

She blinked.

No—really. Go.Go find him.

Her hand hovered above the journal.

She closed it slowly.

Stood up from the chair crossed through the living room into her bedroom like her feet already knew where they were going. She changed her clothes quickly, brushed through her long honey-blonde hair, ran lip balm over her lips, and glanced at herself once in the mirror. She grabbed her jacket and bag, her heart already thudding as she stepped back into the city.

She didn’t know what she was chasing exactly. Only that she was.

One block. Then another.

Chasing a feeling. An urgency pulling and tugging at her soul. His eyes.

The rain had stopped, but the city still glowed like it was catching its breath.Streetlights shimmered on the wet pavement, and puddles reflected a thousand blurred constellations. Evelyn didn’t wait for her heart to calm down—she moved with it. She gripped the strap of her bag as if it could anchor her. Her breath fogged lightly in the night air, mixing with the steam rising from subway grates and the scent of street vendors packing up for the night. Every sense in her felt heightened, like her body knew something was coming before her mind did. Something in her was like go find him. She rushes through the city past places she knew. The night greeted her like a secret.The rain had stopped, but the sidewalks still shimmered under the streetlights. Taxi tires hissed against wet pavement. A gust of wind lifted her hair. She walked fast. Past the corner deli. Past the pole with the crumpled flyer. Past the places she’d walked a hundred times before. And that’s when it hit her. He was running late. She remembered the way he had moved on the train. The way his hand had gripped the strap of his guitar case. The quiet urgency in his posture.

He’s a musician.

He has to be playing tonight.

She turned sharply onto Avenue A. Her boots hit the pavement harder now.

And then she saw it.

The Ivy.

Still open. Still glowing red against the old brick façade. Still waiting.Tucked beneath an old brick walk-up, glowing warm behind its foggy windows. The neon sign hummed gently above the doorway, half-flickering. It has a very small intimate stage and not many people knew about it. It wasn’t the kind of place you stumbled into. You had to know it. She crossed the street without thinking. Her chest was rising and falling too fast.People were standing outside, murmuring in low tones, but it wasn’t crowded.

And then she was there.

Hand on the door.

Heart in her throat.

She stepped through the narrow doorway into a room drenched in amber shadows, low murmurs, and the faint scent of aged wood and bourbon. Soft yellow bulbs dripped overhead, and vintage concert posters lined the walls—a silent homage to countless nights of raw, unfiltered songs. The room was dim and glowing, all amber and shadows. Tables scattered with flickering candles. People leaning forward, quiet. Listening.

She stepped inside—And saw him.

There he was. Sitting under a low spotlight, head bowed slightly, guitar balanced on his knee. His hair curled near the collar of his shirt, dark and messy in the best way. He was focused. Still. Like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

The music hit her first.

A guitar. Slow, aching, real.

His voice hit her like a memory.

Low. Tender. Soulful.

She stood near the back, frozen.

He didn’t see her walk in.

He was perched on a weathered stool, guitar balanced across his lap, curls falling into his eyes. His voice wove through the room like a promise:

“I’d give up my peace of mind to lose my mind again with you…”

“Oh, it might not be safe, but I’m willing to hope…”

The words felt like they were meant for her.

For this moment.

His eyes were closed, lost in the sound—

And then, as the final lyric left his lips, his eyes slowly opened.

And found hers.

The moment shifted.

Something in Joe paused. It wasn’t the music.

It was the air.

It was her..

She didn’t move at first.

She couldn’t.

The second his eyes found hers, everything in her stilled.

And then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—she smiled.

Not a big, showy smile. Just something soft. Quiet. Real.

A smile that said I’m here.

Joe blinked. His fingers slowed over the strings, like even the music had to catch its breath. Then—barely there—he smiled back as his song ended.

Evelyn’s heart fluttered. Something loosened in her chest. She took a step forward.

The next song started, but the room around it felt faded now, like they were the only two people in color.

She weaved through the tables slowly, moving past couples, bartenders, clinking glasses. The air buzzed with that warm, low electricity that only comes from music that means something. Evelyn continued moved through the crowd like she was walking on a pulse. She found a small table near the front, left side of the room—close enough to see the flecks of gold in the wood of his guitar and the way the stage lights danced in his eyes. She sat down gently. Didn’t take off her coat. Didn’t look away.

Joe didn’t look away either.

His voice was steady again, his fingers sure. But something in his posture had shifted—his shoulders relaxed, his expression open.

Like seeing her there had anchored him.

Like she was the missing lyric to the song he was trying to write.

The final chord echoed through the air like a held breath.

Soft applause trickled in, gentle and reverent, but Joe barely heard it.

His gaze hadn’t left her.

She sat at the edge of her seat, palms folded in her lap, chest rising and falling with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

She couldn’t look away

When she smiled softly, Joe’s heart caught—

—and he finished the song slower than he began it. Like he didn’t want it to end.

But it wasn’t the end.

Joe kept playing. One song melted into the next.

Each one different—

Softer, sadder, louder, sharper.

Every lyric stretched like a thread, pulling the room quieter, pulling her deeper.

Evie sat still the entire time. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t text. She just watched.

There was something sacred in the space between songs, the way he adjusted the mic, tuned the strings, closed his eyes between verses like he was remembering something that mattered.

He never said a name.

Never said a word about the girl who walked in.

But every now and then, he’d glance toward the left side of the stage—

just for a second—

as if to make sure she was still there.

And she was.

The final song didn’t sound final.

It sounded like the sweetest goodbye and hello at the same time.

When the last chord echoed and faded into the stillness, a ripple of applause swept the room. Tables clapped gently. Glasses clinked. The spell didn’t break—just loosened.

Joe stood slowly thanked the small intimate crown. Gave a quiet nod. Stepped off the stage.And disappeared behind the curtain.Evelyn’s eyes stayed fixed on the space where he’d been as the next gig took the stage to perform.

Backstage, Joe gripped the neck of his guitar like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His heart was thudding too loud. His fingers ached. But all he could think was—don’t let her leave.He fumbled to set his guitar in its case, hands clumsy with adrenaline. He didn’t change. Didn’t wait. He just grabbed his jacket and turned back toward the crowd—

Half hoping, half praying—

That she was still there.

He pushed through the doorway.

Eyes scanning.

And then he saw her.

At the small table near the front, left side of the room.

Just where he hoped she’d be

Chapter 1 <——- ✨Chapter 3——>

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart

Chapter Nine: Just This

✨ Masterlist✨

The apartment was dim except for the golden flicker of candlelight and the soft glow of the record player turning in the corner, needle gliding through the same song on repeat. Neither of them noticed it looping until maybe the third or fourth time—but by then, they were tangled too closely to care.

Kat was curled into Joe’s side on the couch, one leg folded beneath her, wine glass forgotten on the coffee table. Her heels had been the first thing to go, kicked aside near the door like she couldn’t bear them another second. She’d changed into one of Joe’s old tees, sleeves too long, hem barely brushing her thighs, and something about it undid him entirely.

They hadn’t spoken much.

Not out of awkwardness—but out of something softer. Something that made silence feel like music. Their mouths met slowly. Again. And again. Her fingers in his hair. His hand cupping her jaw. Breath shared like wine between kisses.

It wasn’t hurried.

It wasn’t needy.

It was patient. Like two people trying to memorize each other one kiss at a time.

Sometimes she’d pause just to look at him, like she wasn’t sure how any of this was real. Sometimes he’d stare too long, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, kissing the corner of her mouth like he’d never get tired of finding new places to worship.

They talked between sips of red wine—little things. Old stories. Inside jokes forming in real time. But mostly, they kissed.

By the time she pulled the blanket around her shoulders and tucked into the crook of his arm, the record was still playing—soft and slow, like it didn’t want the night to end either.

Wrapped in one of Joe’s oldest throw blankets, they ended up tucked into his couch like they belonged there. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm draped over her side, fingers laced gently with hers on top of her thigh.

Neither of them had moved in a while.

They didn’t want to.

“You hungry?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “Not really. I think I’m just… tired.”

He nodded, brushing a thumb softly along the back of her hand. “We don’t have to do anything.”

She smiled faintly. “Except maybe not sit in total silence?”

He laughed. “Fair.”

Joe grabbed the remote, flipped through a few things, then landed on something dumb and comforting—You’ve Got Mail.

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s New York. It’s late. It’s fate. Seemed fitting.”

She leaned into his side a little more. “It’s kinda perfect.”

The movie played. But it wasn’t really about the movie…

They talked in hushed tones between scenes, joked about Tom Hanks’ hair, debated whether Joe would survive working in a bookstore, and traded small truths like secrets. Kat told him she used to believe soulmates only existed in books. Joe told her he wasn’t sure what he believed anymore, but something about this—about her—was starting to feel like a reason to try again.

They laughed softly, like people who hadn’t in a while.

And sometime after midnight, as the credits rolled and the screen faded to black, she turned to look at him, eyes soft with sleep and something else she hadn’t named yet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Joe blinked, brushing a curl away from her cheek. “For what?”

“For not asking for more than this.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his voice barely audible.

“This is all I wanted.”

And she believed him.

She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around her as she looked up at him again.

“What?” she asked with a little smile.

Joe shook his head slowly the dim lighting making his eyes sparkly as he admired her. “You’re beautiful.”

The words fell out like breath—honest, easy, without expectation. Not whispered in the dark. Not between kisses. Not in a moment designed for seduction.

Just here.

Just now.

On a couch. In the quiet. After the storm.

Kat blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to say that,” she murmured, looking down.

“I’m not saying it because I have to.”

She looked back up at him.

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he said softly. “Even now. Especially now.”

She didn’t know what to say.

So she didn’t.

She just leaned in again. Rested her head against his shoulder. Let his hand find hers once more.

And they sat like that for a long time.

No pressure. No rush. No expectations.

Just stillness.

Just the warmth of being next to someone who chose to stay.

And for Joe?

That was enough