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chouxsardine · 3 months

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Warm Honey---Jake Kiszka x reader

A short blurb where me imagining getting high with Jake and listening to classical music ended up turning into some jake-playing-guitar worship and stream of consciousness smut. I just feel it's so sexy when your partner can feel the effect they have on you, and I'd like to think Jake loves that. 18+ content below cut. Enjoy!

Warning: 18+! Minors DNI, Drug use (marijuana), sexual content, body worship (kind of)

🎧: Scriabin Sonata No.4 in F sharp major, Op.30

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He is all that you can think of, all that you feel.

Whenever you smoke joint with Jake, you always like to describe your mind as being “in a stake of Jake”. He is not occupying the space as the subject. Instead, he wraps around it in an all-encompassing way. He exists as the warmth of a blanket, a scene from the rear view mirror, the tingling on your skin as the wetness from an open-mouthed kiss evaporates.

Jake is sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, you are lying down with your head on his lap. The air is damp, saturated with the earthy smell. Jake just lets out a puff of smoke. You look up and blink. The light of the floor lamp is hazy through the smoke like the moon halo. Rachmaninoff is playing at a low volume in the background. The title of the melody escapes you. It could be Symphony No.2 or something like that. You are too far gone to put any effort into trying to recall it. Life feels really good at this moment, and that’s all you want to focus on.

Jake’s hand is resting in your hair, occasionally scratching your scalp or swirling the soft strands near your hairline around his finger, sending buzzing shivers under your skin. You squirm a bit, reaching above to grab his hand in yours. The sensation of being in touch with human flesh clashes with your stupefying illusion. Suddenly, Jake’s hands become the most interesting thing in the world.

If Jake is sober enough to look down, he will find you staring at his hand intensely with dilated pupils. The skin around your eyes is tinted with a fluffy shade of pink. And you are staring with the fervent passion of a child looking into a kaleidoscope for the first time, stunned and in awe. His hands are warm. Nails always blunt and well-trimmed, receded tamely behind the finger tips. Veins visible under his skin, knuckles strong and sturdy. You hold up his hand higher to the ceiling, looking at the light seeping through the slits between his fingers as if he has magical powers.

His hands truly are magical. The way he makes his guitar whine and moan on stage. You close your eyes briefly, recalling the way his right hand firmly grasping the neck while the palm of his left hand resting on its rear body. Sometimes he does that devious thing where he pushes the guitar back and forth as if shaking someone’s shoulder, the intensity of it cushioned by their connection through the strap, thereby creating a tensile and magnetic stretch between them. Once, you asked him why he would do that; “it helps with the trills and echoes,” he said, flashing you a smirk. You don’t believe him for one bit. When his fingers slide across the fretboard in an elegantly frantic speed, you wonder why there aren’t sparks bursting out because it surely looks like swiftly striking the head of a match against the side of the box. And you love the way he does tremolo, oh, the dazzling movement of his fingers on the higher end of the fretboard, his ring finger and pinky curved, alternating so smoothly that it looks like he is tickling someone. Well, it surely tickles your heart. And your pussy, if you are being honest. That’s when you feel it. The wetness sneaks up on you slowly. Jake always turns you on at the flip of a switch, the blink of an eye. Normally, you are already soaked as your mind is preoccupied with the yearning for his mouth, his fingers, and his cock. However, the weed amplifies all senses. This time, you can almost feel the titillation trickling down your spine, like morning dew collected on rose petals.

Without much thought (not that you can form any coherent ones now anyway), you hold up his fingers, make them spider-walk across your belly before lowering them down into your panties.

Jake lets out an amusing humph. With all the sensory stimulation stealing his words, he’s not much of a talker when he’s high. Your communication during times like these are almost telepathic—you could tell from just a simple raise of his fingers that he wants another handful of chips, and he could tell just by the slightest turn of your head that you want another hit. He always jokes that you read each other between the lines. The reassuring silence weaves a velvet blanket that falls and lands on both of you in a floating manner.

You look up and find him looking down on you with a lopsided smile. So lackadaisical that it’s almost goofy but smug nonetheless. He quirks his eyebrows, and you put up a finger against your lips.

“Shh.”

You’ve always known that Jake loves to watch. He gets so hard just by watching you getting yourself off, using all of his willpower not to come in his pants while somehow managed to take mental notes of your preference. He always looks down the moment your bodies connect, whether that’s him entering you or you sinking down on him. His mind is always blown by the way he disappears into you bit by bit and your malleability to adjust him. It’s almost like you were made for each other. The combination of the visual image and the physical sensation short-circuits his brain. The sigh and moans that escape him drive you crazy. Jake loves the process as much as he enjoys the maddening pleasure. And this time, with the weed delaying the need to fuck each other, you would like to let him experience that.

At first, it’s just his dry and warm palm covering your lower belly, his finger slotted between your fold, with his finger pad resting against your hood and finger tip grazing your clit. You feel he move, instinctively wanting to rub it.

“Nuh uh,” you tightens your grip, “I want you to feel it, babe.”

You are certain you are getting there. You can almost picture it, like honey slowly descending down the wall of a glass tube. It’s an agonizingly slow process, like a golden snake with malicious intent, twisting and turning its body; its expected sweetness drawing out the moisture of the mouth, causing one to salivate.

Ah. Here it comes.

Without meeting his gaze, you know that Jake feels it too. His fingers have long familiarized themselves as the hierarch of the territory which is your pussy. He has learned, through time and experience, the prelude of your arousal. Every respond is picked up by the tactile receptors on his finger pad and his muscle memory. Much like with his guitars, Jake is always caught in an affectionate paradox when it comes to your pussy—he walks this ground with confidence and pride over the possessiveness he has over it, albeit constantly carrying a veneration for its beauty and the sincere humbleness to learn and explore.

The previous friction has now transformed into a gentle rise of temperature and the coated slickness provided by your discharge. Your clit presses more firmly against his finger tips now that it starts to swell and throb.

“Damn, love, can almost feel your heartbeat.” Jake grunts, his words a bit slurred.

“That’s the point,” you arch your back, feeling vainglorious about your little trick, “my tell-tale heart. Feel what you do to me by simply existing?”

“Gosh, you’re gonna end me one day,” Jake tilts his head backwards, his eyes rolling back too, “but I wouldn’t want it any other way. And the epitaph would say, ‘gone doing what he loves’.”

You laugh, knowing that the filter between his brain and mouth has melted away now. Meanwhile, you are getting silkier and warmer by the second. Jake feels like he dips his finger into a jar of honey, the snugness of your walls trapped him there. He’s an insect preserved in a sea of saccharin, captivated by the moment as the waves wash over him again and again, reminding him that he is the reason why his girl is so turned on, he is the reason why this body lying against him coordinates all its nerves and cells to produce such an amazing response to his touch.

You can hear the clarinet playing in the symphony. If your memory serves you right, it won’t be long until the allegro vivace of the last movement kicks in. You look up at Jake’s face again. He swallows, his Adam’s Apple trembles in a way that makes you want to take a bite. With his eyes closed, his eyebrows pulling together, and his lips pursed, that man looks like he could be having an orgasm right there. It’s almost whimsical, given that he is the one who has his hand in your pants. You let out a low chuckle.

“What?” He cracks open an eye.

“You know they said weed slows people’s movement?” You quip, tapping your fingers provocatively over his, a sultry tone in your voice.

“Oh,” Jake’s eyes darkens, the familiar devious smile shine through his relaxed features.

“Now, those are fighting words, doll. You wanna test them out?”

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#jake kiszka #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fanfiction #jake kiskza x reader #jakedown

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sparrowofrhiannon · 3 months

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SPELL ON YOU, I

WARNINGS: soft jake! x femme reader (no mention of gender.) rough kissing, f receiving oral, m receiving oral, mirror sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex (WRAP IT GUYS!!), face fucking, edging, orgasm denial, slight cockwarming (if you squint??), choking, Jake’s old blue jeans

“I put a spell on you, cause you’re mine.”

The whole rest of the night started with his hands on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, ragged breaths and shallow breathing being the only noise in the room other than the occasional creak of the mattress. You didn’t really remember how this happened, drunk on a few too many glasses of wine that was way too expensive for you to even guess the price of.

“What’re ya lookin’ at?” he tilts his head, chestnut hair cascading down his perfectly sculpted face, he slurs slightly, tipsy as ever. “Look at me, c’mon now.” he grabs your chin, turning it to him, his lips pursed.

Your eyes hit his in the dark of the bedroom, the party downstairs still roaring on. His chocolatey brown eyes looking almost black in the mooonlight, you shift your eyes down, and his grip goes from your jaw to your throat. He squeezes in warning, puffing out a breath of air. “I said look at me.” he practically whines.

You chuckle at his neediness, never meeting a man in one night who whines to get his way. It’s cute, soft, you think to yourself. “Please?” he begs sweetly, his hands traveling down your thighs, he huffs again, frustrated at the feeling of fabric. “Please, please?”

“Fuck! Fine, you’re whiny,” you spit out, immediately feeling bad as he pulls away slightly, his gaze lowering. “No, no, no.” you cup his cheeks, pulling him in to kiss him sweetly. He parts his mouth, opening it kindly as you lick into it. He groans slightly, his hand going down to palm himself through his shitty blue jeans you’ve seen at every party, doesn’t he even have another pair? You shake that thought out of your head as he lifts your shirt up, his hands squeezing at your sides.

He breaks the kiss, picking you up lazily and dropping you onto the bed, you chuckle slightly, wincing at his roughness. He winks stupidly, making you roll your eyes as he slots his knee in between your thighs, returning his lips to yours. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling his chest to yours, the chains around his neck cooling your burning skin.

He lifts himself up, sitting on his knees. “You want them off?” he gestures to his necklaces and you shake your head, chuckling.

“No, your shirt- can you take that off?” you ask him quietly, feeling slightly embarrassed asking as his eyes burn into yours.

“Only if I can take off your pants,” he winks, smirking just enough for you to notice.

You nod your head, lifting your hips, he takes his time, humming an old blues tune while he unclasps every button, zipping down the zipper. His thumbs dip under your underwear, rubbing circles into your smooth skin. “Soft.” he murmurs, lowering his head to kiss just below your stomach.

You reach your hand down to his hair, twisting at his strands. You blush at his comment, turning your head away. But, just as it started, his touch stops. “Pretty baby, I said look at me.” he says more sternly than the last time. “I don’t wanna beg, jus’ need ya to look at me.”

You oblige, looking at him as he pulls your jeans down, throwing them to the side of the room, licking his lips as he looks at you. “God, ‘m so lucky.” he hums. “Can I give ‘er a kiss? Just a tiny one?” he asks sweetly, batting his eyelashes. His hand reaches to palm you, clothed just enough for him to feel frustrated.

When you stay still, he rubs his hand up your sides. “‘S okay, pretty thing. Just wanna kiss her hello.” he says, a sly grin forming on his face, your eyes go to the ever growing dimple on his face, sighing.

“Need a yes.” he tuts as you buck your hips up.

“Yes- please do.” you whine, wiggling your hips, inching them closer to his pretty lips.

He chuckles at this, pulling the rubber band at his middle finger, wrapping his hair into a low bun as he looks again for confirmation. His lips part ever so slightly as he presses a kiss to your clothed clit, humming softly. “So pretty.”

He pauses, tilting his head up. “More?” he tilts his head like a lost puppy, if he had a tail it’d be wagging. You nod, grabbing his low bun and pushing him closer. He takes the hint and licks you through your underwear, your body jolting up as the tip of his tongue catches your clit. He chuckles again, hands places firmly on the insides of your thighs, thumbs burning circles into your skin.

“Like honey.” he comments. “Can I take them off? Please?” he looks back up at you, bottom lip tucked behind his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, please.” you sigh breathily, nodding your head frantically.

He hooks his index finger under the hem, pulling them down while kissing down your thigh, once they’re fully off he folds them and shoves them into his back pocket, smirking. You know you’ll never get those back. His thumb reaches up back to the inside of your thigh, firmly gripping to keep you parted. “Fingers too? Just my tongue?”

“Anything- fuck- anything please.” you whine, hands balling at the sheets below you, knuckles white.

“Mhmm.” he hums, darting his tongue back and taking a slow, drawn out lick from the bottom of your pussy to the top of your clit, he breaks away, licking his lips to savor the taste. “Fuck, have you ever tasted yourself?” he asks curiously.

You shake your head at his question, in response he runs the tips of his ring and middle finger through your folds, standing up and brining them to your mouth. “C’mon, taste it.” he taunts, you shakily wrap your lips around his fingers and suck, humming at the salty-sweet taste.

“So good for me.” he hums, his thumb going down to rub at your cheek. He pecks your temple, descending down again.

His thumb finds your clit and rubs tight circles, eliciting a strangled moan from your lips, you snap your mouth shut and he stops. “Wanna hear you.” he says, licking into your entrance.

You buck your hips, rocking them, but he puts a stop to that, grip firm on your thighs. You whine slightly, his tongue fucking into you as his thumb rubs at your clit. He groans softly, adding to the sensation as his tongue vibrates inside you, your dominant hand moves from the sheets to his hair, pulling at his bun, accidentally undoing his rubber band. He doesn’t mind, too focused on you to even focus on his hair that’s starting to cling to his neck. You push him closer, he chuckles into you, making you yelp and buck your hips up.

He releases you, thumb still circling your clit as he licks his lips as clean as he can, leaning down to kiss you, his tongue licking into your mouth and playing with your tongue. “Sound so pretty.” he mutters between kisses, making you blush.

“Baby,” you sigh, pulling his face closer, arms around his neck. “What about you?” you ask him, his lips still kissing you, muffling your words.

“I like it,” he chuckles, nipping and sucking at your throat, his tongue licking and soothing the wounds. “Fuck- you’re perfect, just perfect.” he purrs, his non dominant hand running up your stomach. You fight the urge to sit up and shove his face back down, the burning between your legs not soothed but teased by the slow circles around your clit.

“Please- please- just fucking-“ you rock your hips, frustrated at his slow, yet painful circles around your growing need.

“Shhh, baby, calm down- I’ll take care of ya, promise.” he hums, nipping at your collarbone with a cheeky grin, his thumb moving even slower.

“No, no, no, no!” you kick your feet, spreading your legs farther, hands balling into fists before banging against the mattress.

He grows frustrated at your small tantrum, pulling his hand away to wrap around your throat, squeezing tighter. “Fuckin’ brat.” he spits. “You’re gonna take what I’m givin’ you, and like it.” he demands, eyes boring into yours. You have the nerve to roll your eyes at him, making him groan and squeeze your throat again.

“Nuh-uh, honey.” he tuts. “You’re not five, I’m not gonna give you what you want if you throw a fuckin’ fit, baby. Gonna shut you up with my cock if you’re unhappy with what I’m givin’ you.”

Your eyes widen, not being used to being refused in this way, you open your mouth to speak but he shoves two of his fingers into your mouth, resting them on top of your tongue. “Mh, no.” he hums, smiling devilishly.

“Please?” you beg, almost choking on his fingers as he shoves them further down your throat, gagging.

“Fine.” he sighs, pulling his fingers out of you, you sigh with relief. “I’ll give ya what you want, mkay?” you nod your head immediately, feeling slightly embarrassed at your desperate nature. But, you’ll do something, anything, for him to place his hands back where they were.

He pecks your lips, settling himself on his knees, he teases a finger inside, curling it. You gasp, arching your body off the bed, he lays his arm around your stomach in response, pinning you down. You grab at something, anything, your hands yet again going to his hair. He groans as you tug at his strands, sticking his tongue out to lick you.

He pulls away yet again, you wince. “C’mon, fuck yourself on my tongue, you gotta work for it.” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling, he fucking enjoys this.

You groan. “Please, just-“ you plead, pushing himself down, but, he doesn’t move, firm on his stance.

“You want it, you gotta pursue it.” he tuts, pulling his hand off your stomach, sticking his tongue back out. “Come on, ‘m waiting like a fuckin’ dog.”

You blush, cheeks rosy from arousal and embarrassment. You scoot yourself closer down the bed, your ass nearly hanging off, you pull his head down onto your pussy, freezing for a moment. His eyes dart to yours, checking to see if you’re okay. You nod, placing your other hand into his shoulder. You rut your lips on his tongue, he doesn’t even move it, making you more frustrated.

“Baby, please.” you pull his head back then push it forward, encouraging him to move his tongue. But, he doesn’t, and you rut your hips faster, feeling like a fucking dog. “Give me something, Anything.”

He relents, wiggling his face, his nose rubbing onto your clit. You moan in satisfaction, feeling the pit in your stomach bubble. “Yes, thankyou thankyou.” you rush out, your tone whiny.

He laughs, he fucking laughs at you. You whine, feeling yourself closer and closer. You tug at his hair, throwing your head back, your eyes rolling into your head. Right when you’re about to feel the band snap, your orgasm teetering on the ledge, he pulls himself away.

“No!” you cry, tears brimming your eyes. “No! Please! I wasn’t complaining- I was- I was-“

“Save the tears,” he sighs, rubbing the teardrops off of your cheekbones. “Whining like a dog, I’ll give you what you want.” he tuts. “But you’re gonna have to get it.”

You nod eagerly, raising yourself to your knees, you crawl to him, hands immediately fiddling with the button on his jeans. “Easy now.” he pets your head, craning his neck down to kiss the top of your head.

“Pretty baby, so so so pretty.” he coos, pulling the rest of his jeans down, stepping out of them and kicking the other side off.

Your eyes immediately beat down to his boxers, American Eagle navy blue boxers, his pretty pink tip resting just above the hem of his boxers. You lick your lips, eyes going to his. “Can I?” you ask him sweetly.

“Course, pretty, bet your lips would look so pretty wrapped around my cock? You want it?” he teases, his thumbs pulling the waistband down just enough for you to see an inch more.

You tug the rest of him down, his underwear resting on his thighs. Hands clammy with sweat, you wrap one around him, gasping at the girth. He chuckles, his hand going to the top of your head, rubbing circles with his thumb to encourage you.

“C’mon baby, I’m hurting here,” he groans, tugging at your hair.

You oblige, pressing a small peck onto his leaking tip, stroking him with your dominant hand, the other holding onto his thigh, anchoring yourself. You sink down onto him, remembering to breathe through your nose. He laid a soothing hand on your white knuckled left hand, rubbing it to let off pressure. You slowly relent, knowing that they’ll be crescent shaped indents left on his tan flesh. Deep and slow, you bobbed your head down onto his heavy flesh, in response he let out a deep, guttural sigh. “Just like that, ffuuuuuuck.” he pushes your head farther down, you gag, immediately he softens his grip.

“Mhm, mhm, yes, just like that.” he groans, throwing his head back, you can feel him twitch inside you, he gulps, pulling at the roots of your hair.

He pulls you off of him, your mouth making on obscene pop. “No more, I don’t wanna cum in your mouth, too pretty for that.” he slurs, lust drunk on you. He taps your cheek. “Up, up.”

He craws on top of you, spreading your legs while he works the rest of his half buttoned down black button up. Coins rattling while his fingers shakily work down his shirt. He pulls it off, letting it fall from his arms down to the floor. Then, he pulls your shirt off, pushing you down to kiss along your stomach, pecking up your stomach, he murmured sweet nothings.

“God you’re gorgeous.”

“You smell pretty.”

“So soft.”

“Sweet thing.”

He reaches your collarbones, sucking at the tender skin he already bit, darting his tongue out to lick the wounds and soothe them. “You ready?” he asks sweetly.

“Yes, fuck, please.” you nod eagerly, bucking your hips up, sighing when you don’t get any friction.

Placing his hands on your hips, he flips you over onto your stomach, tapping your thighs. “Look at that.” he grabs your chin, callused hand pointing you towards the vanity mirror on the other side of the room. Your eyes dart down, blushing stupidly. He shakes his head, “Look.” he demands, softly at first “Look!” he says again, sharper this time.

You raise your eyes up, his hands at your sides, rubbing up and down your body, feeling your stomach, squeezing your thighs. “Want you to watch, see what I’m doing to you.” he sighs, bending his body in half to rest his chest on your back, nipping the shell of your ear. You shudder, nodding your head in agreement.

He cranes your face closer to his, pecking the corner of your lips before meeting you on the middle, giving you a sweet yet sloppy kiss. “Gonna fuck you, how do you want it?” he slurs, eyes half lidded, a dopey smile playing at his lips.

“Just- give it to me.” you demand, whining.

He chuckles, kissing your shoulder. “M’kay, I’ll take it slow.” he coos. “Gonna be rough, ‘s that okay?”

“Mhm.” you hum, wiggling your hips. His hands knead the flesh of your hips, letting go of one hand, he places it between his legs, pushing himself into you.

He watches you shudder, holding himself as still as possible. He caresses one hand around your stomach, holding you in place, kissing all over your shoulder. Thumb rubbing under your bellybutton, he whispers, “Can I move?”

Nodding, you chuckle somewhat. “Yeah, thanks.” you blush, a small smile playing on your lips at his care.

He pulls your back to his chest, chains of his necklaces dangling and clinking with each other. He slowly pulls out almost all the way, making you wince, but he slowly slides himself back in. “You feel incredible.” he sighs, pecking at your temple, hand wrapped around your throat. “Jus’ look at you, fuckin’ goddess.” His thumb swipes just above your jawline, craning your face to the mirror. Your hair a mess, eyeliner smudged down your face, panting like a dog.

You meet his eyes in the mirror, taking him in, his lips parted, eyes half lidded, tan skin damp and shiny with sweat. He picks up his pace, hand wrapped tighter around your throat, left hand still soothing circles into your stomach. “C’mon, baby, tell me you’re pretty.” he whispers into your ear, lips grazing the shell.

When you don’t respond, he pounds into you more forcefully. “I said, tell me you’re pretty.” he groans, letting his head fall back onto your shoulder.

“I’m pretty.” you pant out, one hand going to the back of his thigh and the other over his hand on your stomach, trying to keep balance.

“Fuck, you’re so good, so sweet.” he hums, kissing along your shoulder, sucking and biting. “Play with you clit, ‘m so close, so sorry.” he whines, brows furrowed, sweat beading and falling from his forehead.

You chuckle at his apology, tilting your head to the side to catch his lips. He hums in delight, kissing you deeply, tongue melding with yours. Your hand reaches down and rubs feverish circles into your clit, feeling yourself coming closer and closer to the edge, and you know the same is true for him with the way he’s twitching inside you, rhythm faltering.

you grab at the hair on the back of his head, pulling it, he groans gutturally, biting his lip to soothe the pain. “Fuck- fuckingshit.” he tries his best to continue his rhythm, wanting to get you there first.

You come undone, but he holds you still, guiding you through it, hands still firmly around you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Shit.” you sigh out, eyes rolling back in pure ecstacy.

You wince when he pulls out, his hand immediately going to finish himself off, spilling onto you back in ropes. Catching his breath, he kisses your shoulder, lifting himself off of you. “Gonna get a towel.” he explains, rushing over to the connected bathroom, the water running.

He returns with a black washcloth, wiping himself off you, handing you another clean cloth to wipe the sweat off your body as he uses the same wash cloth to clean off his dick, slowly softening.

“Thank you,” you flip over to look at him, wiping yourself off, shuddering at the sudden coldness of the room.

He pulls his pants and boxers back up, fastening the button. “You see my shirt?” he chuckles, looking around the room until you find it half tucked under the bed, throwing it his direction. “Thanks.” he smiles softly, pulling the sleeves over his arms.

He helps put your pants back on, then your shirt, kissing your forehead. “I’ll be back, you rest here.” he says softly.

“Wait.” you grip his wrist. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“It’s Jake.” Jake winks, walking out the bedroom door.

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