GretaVanLace

All things Greta, but mostly smut

[gretavanlace]

Thank you for stopping by!

This masterlist exists solely to make me look organized. Don’t be fooled, I’m never going to actually get my shit together.

ALL work is 18+ so minors, move along. 

* - Indicates smut

Let Me Call You Sweetheart  *

1 | 2

You Feel Like Home *

Little Spoon *

Across the Miles *

Soft and Wet *

Stage Presence *

Hold My Heart, Keep Me Warm *

Missing Buttons *

Missing Buttons ll *

Warm Reunion *

Let Me Love You *

Golden Afternoons *

Plain White T-shirt *

Divinity *

Starry, Starry Night *

Light My Love *

Golden Nights *

Garnet *

Purple Haze *

Christmas Mouse *

Watching Over *

Choker *

Little Comets *

Valtava *

Stars Collide *

Sun & Moon (Josh/Jake blurbs) *

Blank *

Hush *

Softer, Softest *

Poppins (Josh & Jake) *

Tease | Josh & Jake *

1 | 2

Sugar | Josh & Jake *

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

17| 18 | 19

Sugar II *

Beg For It *

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Lessons  *

Whispers In the Dark *

Cabin In the Woods *

Cabin in the Woods ll *

Transcendence *

Guitar Fingers *

Guitar Fingers ll *

Firsts *

Champagne Smiles *

Truth, Lies, & Consequences *

Silver Secrets *

Adoration *

Baby Doll *

Sweet Little Toy | Jake & Danny *

Sweet Little Toy ll *

What You Need *

Alabama Song *

Call and Response *

Decorum and Refinement *

Silent Night *

Crybaby *

Dirty Filthy Things 2 *

The Emperor’s New Clothes *

Blurred Lines *

Welcome To Hell *

Debauchery Defined *

Anathema *

Animosity *

Beloved *

Crime and Punishment *

Through the Looking Glass *

Feels Like Gold *

Breña *

Sleeping Beauty *

Angel, Straight From Hell *

Princess *

Pink *

Little Bird *

Dripping Drumsticks *

Incubi *

1 | 2

[gretavanlace]

MY SWEET SWEET LACE. I loved sweet leaf so so much. I missed your writing. I NEED MORE. A second part perhaps? 👀 more one shots? More? pretty pleaseeeee 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

Thank you, sweet pea. We shall see what happens. The writers, we are awakening

[danakin-skywalker]

Man whose fuckin nose is THAT

[gretavanlace]

Yeah, this just looks weird. Who’s that guy and what has he done with Daniel?

[holdingup-fallingsky]

Maybe one of the hottest things Danny has ever done

[gretavanlace]

Sweet Leaf

Jake kiszka x Reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult content, language, alcohol consumption (discussed), drug use, sexual content, oral sex (f/rec), dirty talk, idk this is all Jake’s fault just like always. Absolutely zero editing, don’t bring up any mistakes I’ll cry

Jake’s boots are dangling over the back of your sofa when you slip through the front door, right sole tapping at the air. Keeping time, though it sounds like all he’s doing is strumming the exact same chord over and over against the strings of his worn acoustic.

Ambling deeper into the room, he finally clocks your presence when you lean over, smiling at his upside down face.

“May I ask why you’re upside down on my couch, Jacob?”

He shrugs you off with a slow blink, still calling forth that monotonous, humming collection of sound. “No, you may not. S’my own business, nosy-rosy.”

“Okay,” crouching down, you plant a gentle kiss upon his forehead, “What about, how did you get in here, might I inquire about that?”

“No.”

Rising to your feet, your eyes roll fondly, “Stop breaking into my apartment, Kiszka. I’m going to figure out how you’re managing it, eventually.”

“Doubt it.” He lifts his head, and you find his cheeks have gone pink…sporting a lovely little blush thanks to gravity. “Hey, did you know they used to call couches Davenports? That’s much better, don’t you think? Davenport. Sounds very regal.”

“What are you even talking about right now?” You can’t help the huff of a laugh that escapes you as you pull off your coat, anxious to strip the day away.

“Are couches and sofas the same thing?” He ponders. To himself? To you? Who’s to say? “I mean, is it a regional dialect thing? Or are they actually different somehow?”

Hands on your hips, you turn firm. “Are you drunk? I swear, Jake, if you drank my last bottle of red, may god have mercy on your soul.”

He has slowly rolled into a sitting position. settling his guitar against the end table with one hand, waving you off with the other. “Shut up, sweetness. It’s in there. M’not drunk.”

“We’ll, you certainly aren’t sober.” Your voice travels back to him over your shoulder as you tromp your way into the kitchen to ensure the safety and well being of your wine.

When you return, he’s stretched out upon the cushions, lazy as a cat, lips curled into a lopsided grin, eyes glassy and half-lidded.

All at once, the pieces shuffle into place, “Oh my god, you’re such a drug addict.”

This widens his smile, glazed gaze dancing with affection, “I love you. Know that? Let's calm down though, my dramatic little thing. It was only an edible or two. Fruit snacks, really.”

“You’re making bad choices.” You have always played this role with your closest friend who is often more than a friend. The nun who lost her habit, watching over an unruly choir boy.

His shrug is heedless, “I’m a person who makes bad choices.”

Sliding in beside him, you notice, “Why is your hair wet?”

“Took a shower.” He hums, delighted with himself.

“So let’s go over the chain of events, shall we? You casually made me the victim of a home invasion, again, got high, probably scavenged snacks like some smoked out raccoon, then took a shower?”

“I mean, you got the sequence of said events wrong, but yes, close enough.” He’s pecking kisses against your cheeks now, fingers twisting at the ends of your ponytail. “I like showering here. I use up all your expensive products and come out smelling like—” he pauses to sniff his hair, “almonds.”

“You wasted all my products?” Annoyance is creeping in, but you know it won’t stay long. It never does when it comes to him. And that’s true of Jake for anybody, really. He flashes a smile at the world and gets away with anything and everything he wants.

“Yes.”

Your face scrunches, determined to stay cross. “You’re replacing them.”

“No, thank you.” His thumb smooths down the bridge of your nose, softly relaxing your muscles. “How did your little date go the other night? Did he sweep you off your feet, take you someplace nice? Were there flowers? Was there sex?”

With a huff, you begrudgingly respond. Might as well, since he won’t leave it alone until you do, anyway.

Jacob treats his curiosity like a living, breathing entity that stands beside him…guiding him. Urging him to poke, and prod, and hunt until he finds the answers he seeks.

He is a preschooler in a toy store. starstruck and beaming childlike primary colors. Touching shiny things on shelves, pressing buttons that call forth light and jaunty little tunes from plastic. Begging his mother for a special treat until she relents.

Shutting him down is useless, and as such, you present the answers he seeks in short order.

“No. Sort of. Yes. And none of your business.”

“Ah,” he raises his eyebrows sluggishly, still floating through his buzz. “I see. There was bad sex.”

“I didn’t say anything like that.” Your feet tuck beneath you, a ritual you only lean into when you don’t want to feel seen.

“Didn’t have to.” Jake is fiddling with his thumb now. Inspecting it with intent as he picks away at a hangnail. “Did he get you off?”

Again, resistance is futile and you damn well know it. “No. He just kept changing things up. When I’m close, I need—”

“Steady rhythm,” he interrupts, “Consistency. Praise. Words of encouragement, Darling.” There’s that crooked grin that makes your thighs inch apart, “Surely you don’t truly believe that what you need is a subject that needs to be explained to me.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” Heat crawls up your spine. An uneasiness you can’t begin to understand…you have found yourself in situations more vulnerable than this by far when it comes to Jacob.

“You guess you don’t.” He parrots, petting at his chin as he is wont to do. “Have I not proven countless times that I know exactly what you need?”

“Do you need me to stroke your ego that badly?” It lands with a bit more sass than you’d intended, but he laughs, endeared as ever by your bratty mouth.

“No.” He offers a lazy wink as he kisses your cheek with such tenderness your throat aches with confusing and unwelcome tears, “you needn’t do anything but exist to satisfy me, sweetness.”

Opting for safer territory, you cling to nonsense humor “There you sit, a smug and gorgeous thief, smelling of all my hard earned money washed down the drain.”

With an elegant roll of his body, he’s practically lying atop you, but he feels weightless somehow…forever a ghost standing in the flesh. “Better than you smelling of it. I hate it when you smell like that shit. Hate when you taste like it.”

His lips are wet and slick when they meet the thrum of pulse at your throat. “I don’t want you to taste like body wash, I want you to taste like you.”

A quiet sigh trips out of you…your very own vocal cords betraying you shamelessly “I suppose this is where you tell me I taste like strawberries or something equally ridiculous.”

“No,” he’s rolled you over effortlessly and is working your jeans down your thighs now, tugging and pulling at the denim with a languid eagerness “you taste like pussy. Like pretty, perfect pussy. I like to eat pussy. Especially yours. And I want it to taste like pussy when I do. Like your pussy.”

“Jesus, Jake…” you could happily curl up and die of embarrassment tinged with throbbing lust. “…could you cram one more ‘pussy’ into that sentiment?”

A hitching groan shakes his shoulders silently, “Say pussy again.”

Face flushing furiously, you avoid his line of sight, suddenly shy, “you’re vulgar.”

His eyes roll back in his head, but it’s so subtle you can’t be sure you haven’t imagined it. “What else? Tell me what I am. Go on.”

“You’re obscene, and indecent. Filthy.”

“And?” He presses, moving in closer.

“And you’re a fucking whore.”

He smirks, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh, “Yes, I suppose I am. But you, my love, are soaked, so what’s that say about you?”

“Are you going to do something? Or should I just accept that you’re going to babble at me all night long with your face between my legs?”

Smarting off earns you a slightly clumsy smack, just below your hip. “Don’t be sassy. I’m too stoned to be quick-witted enough to keep up.”

You spread a touch wider, lifting nearer to his mouth in invitation.

“Yeah?” When he looks up at you, there is a hungry energy floating around him like a darkened aura. But paired with his blissed out state of THC induced calm, it paints a curious expression across his breathtaking features. “What’s that mean, angel? Pushing this soft, dripping cunt in my face? Hmm? What’s that for? Are you asking me to lick it?”

“I can’t stand you,” it’s a hush into the room. a soft, meandering murmur that quakes gently with your poorly hidden want.

“Awe,” a wicked glint flashes in his upturned gaze like fire, “lovely girl hates me. And yet,” his lips, all velvet warmth, sweep over you with slick, gliding reverence, “she’s got these thighs spread wide right in my face.”

“Go home, Jacob…” your fingers tangle through chocolate locks to yank him closer.

“Go home?” He nuzzles against your aching center, tip of his nose catching at your swollen clit. Absently, you wonder if he can feel your wild, frantic pulse within it.

“Yeah,” you slur, intoxicated on Jake Jake Jake once again.

“Yeah?” He sounds like lazy trouble, “go home? Or get you off like he couldn’t? Hm? Would you like that? Right in my mouth? Down my chin? Let me drink it?”

The obscenities that he spoon feeds you are delectable in every way imaginable. When you’re alone at night, each word dances through your mind like prodding, persistent promises. Reminding you of what he’s done to you, guaranteeing what he’ll do next.

“Do I have to ask for it?” Your voice trembles in a way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes. He makes you weaker than you’d ever care to admit.

“No, sweetness…” he tilts his head, eyeing you in a way that tells you he doesn’t plan to be as kind as he sounds. “You don’t have to say a word, baby.” His lips, full and soft and so fucking warm, bestow the gentlest kiss over your clit, “why don’t you show me instead? Go ahead and touch this gorgeous cunt exactly where you’d like to feel my mouth.”

You’d love to comply, but there’s a fight in you, a needless, unwarranted fight that won’t relent. “Fuck you, Jacob. I told you to go home.”

His eyes, that’s all it takes…he cuts those brown eyes up at you and when your own lids flutter, he winks. Just a flash of motion, and that’s it, you’ve melted into his clutches. But you’ve wanted that from the start anyway…

“Show me, sweetness..” your thighs soak his kisses in and spread wider.

With trepidation, your fingertips crawl towards the throbbing ache he has created, strumming at your desperate clit tenderly, as you can’t take much more.

You’re close, and you’re furiously needy for it..but you want him to soothe that pulse inside you. Him.

“Don’t make me, baby…” it’s so hushed you hardly make a sound “I want you to do it.”

His pupils blow wide and frantic, but he’d deny it if you called him on it “What does my pretty sweetness want me to do? Does that gorgeous little pussy want to cum?”

You nod a bit too eagerly for your liking.

“Yeah?” His lips quirk upward so perfectly. “Right in my mouth?”

“Oh, fuck you,” you kick away, twisting on the cushions until you can crawl off.

His grip, firm and sure, wraps around your hips “who said you could leave, sweetness? I’ve got a pussy to lick and it’s right between these legs, so simmer down.”

You loathe your own vocal chords for the soft moan that answers him.

And you expect a bit of shit-talking, he’s so fond of it…instead, you’re wrenched around and pinned, helpless as his mouth, so wet and soft, sucks your clit in like he’s hungry for it. Starved.

When you begin to rock against him, he nods in earnest, sending his kiss sliding this way and that against your cunt as he stares up at you, heated and ready for you to give him whatever you decide he deserves.

Jacob is always so dominant until your pussy is in his pretty face, then he unravels, just as he has now.

“Cum in my mouth,” it begs out of him on a trembling breath that warms you, “please,”

“Make me,” you counter, fighting hard to cling to the dominance you don’t really feel.

“Make you what?” He murmurs, slurred and muffled against your skin, “make you cum? Say it. Tell me to make you cum.”

Yanking him in closer you shiver as a fervent moan vibrates into you, his tongue lapping at your clit like it’s candy. “Make me cum, Jake. Please, fuck, please baby, please…”

Trailing off as you thrust against his perfect mouth, dominance is lost completely. You are both reduced to the want of the other. His want to taste your release on his lips, to give you what someone else couldn’t. Your want to let him, to let him take and give and twist you ‘round his fingers until you come apart and shake for him.

He reaches up, smoothing your hair back behind your ear with his tongue still drawing tight circles right where you need them, steady and rhythmic. Just perfectly right, and it makes you smile. It breaks across your face in the unsexiest way imaginable, but he loves it. God, how he loves it.

“There she is,” he whispers against you, “smile for me, pretty girl.”

Furrowed brow, teeth buried in your bottom lip, you couldn’t smile for him if he begged you’re so close. But he knows you through and through, and that’s alright, too. “Whatever you need, sweetness. C’mon…”

And that’s all it takes, that quiet, muffled encouragement while he watches you like you’re a goddess sent to ruin him, and you’re falling apart, trembling and whining while he cradles your thighs, following every jerk and rock of your hips until you’re fighting away, pleading for reprieve.

“That’s it,” he cracks his palm against your calf and grabs it mercilessly, as he lazily pulls himself into a more presentable position “that’s a good girl. He missed out.”

His face, so pretty and smug, shines with you and he makes no move to wipe it away, “So you’re just gonna get me off and then, what? That’s it?”

“Yeah,” he nods and grabs up his guitar while you’re sprawled, disheveled and panting, at the other end of the couch. “Pretty much. Why? Would my favorite girl like something else?”

You’re crawling toward him before he can finish his quip, because of course you’d like something else. Of course you would.

[gretavanlace]

I’m rusty, had to check back to see how I titled and labeled everything 😭

[gretavanlace]

Gonna post a little post. No taglist, no whatever, just my nonsense. If it finds you, that’s just the best 💕

[gretavanlace]

So this guy I have a thing for, his names Jake btw, anyway he’s just out here posting guitar thirst traps like nothing even matters and I’m like Jake, wth are you doing? And he acts like he doesn’t even know me in real life, like this is some one sided shit and I just can’t deal any longer. I just CANNOT

[cyborg-furby]

Welcome to my escape room. *places an affectionate cat on your lap*

[gretavanlace]

Danny cracking open Sam’s beer with his drums?! Yes fucking please! These Danny moments creep up on me and I just…..Jesus fuck

[ofthecaravel]

in josh kiszkas defense it probably feels good as fuck to be gay and little and evil and get filler and yell and put on a jacket nobody's ever worn before and make himself everybody's problem

[proteinmom]

i love turning off lights. no need for all that

[sixty-silver-wishes]

sorry america but you’ve been really mean. and I don’t want to go to your birthday party in two days

[gretavanlace]

As much as I wish we got to see husband!Jake and girl dad!Jake in the Sugar series, I am so beautifully pleased with how it all wrapped up so sweetly ❤️

I’m so glad 🥹

[gretavanlace]

you mean… jakey & sugar got their tomato garden after all? 🥹

Absolutely they did. But they grew cucumbers and squash too. One year, they tried watermelons but couldn’t decide when they were ripe enough to pick. Jakey really loved frying green tomatoes for her and they would talk to each other in over the top southern accents while they ate them

[gretavanlace]

“warning: death”…… right right so im going to pass but all the best to yall 😃

Oh c’mon, you know you wanna

[gretavanlace]

Sugar 11 (epilogue)

Warnings: death, angst

*I knew how I wanted to end this revisit to Sugar months before I’d even written the first word, and then my world became chaotic, leaving this much overdue— but never overlooked, in my heart. Sugar Jake is my most beloved — nod to the actual beloved ;) — and here, though short and sweet, you will find his heart mended. Goodbye, Sugar Jake, how we have loved you ❤️

Josh

I knew it. The moment she’d gone, I mean.

It felt more concrete than when he’d taken his leave three weeks prior, though she — and likely the rest of the world — might have called me a liar.

No, I knew she’d gone because my soul felt his own breathe a sigh of relief. The feral, ancient content that radiated from his being, wherever it was, reached me loud and clear.

His great gig in the sky had fallen into place.

I, with my grief, and he, with his girl.

You see, Jacob passed on a night as still as glass. The universe was hushed. Did it understand?

Mother Earth quieted her creatures and calmed tempestuous skies for Jacob Thomas. Bowed in honor of the music man.

He, who created so much joyful noise, had earned a solemn silence.

I was there to watch Jake draw his last ragged breath, as I was witness to his first.

I told him, that still and cloudless day, that it was time to relax his fist. That he should let go of that rage for the dying of the light. “Learn to leave a room, brother. I’m sick of you.”

“Fuck you, Joshua.” Had been his response. That biting, perfect sentiment is tattooed upon my waning heart.

As the blues record spinning like a whisper in the corner skipped as though it somehow knew, she had fallen to the floor. Crumpled down against the scuffed wood like waterlogged tissue paper when the light in his eyes had gone out.

She’d been so strong for him.

When his memory failed, she was his unwavering hippocampus. She filled in the blanks happily, readily. She kept his mind whole by lending bits and pieces of her own.

Songs. She’d learned those too. Meticulized over the chords and frets of his favorites. When arthritis marched in to cruelly snatch the melodies from his hands, she’d done her best to make sure that the walls of their home always knew music from the hand of someone who knew how it craved him.

Yes, their home craved him.

Jacob’s gait had echoed the halls for decades. His voice, his laughter, tunes coaxed from strings. Sneezes muffled into the crease of his arm. Earnest timbres when he felt passionately about a subject. Murmured timbres secreted when he felt passionately about her in the night.

That house, the one he’d promised her, the one he’d built her, mourned for him like a living being. His absence hurt us all, even those inanimate. He became our collective lost limb.

But his sugar……

Every star in the sky might as well have been snuffed out. She no longer saw them. She simply closed her eyes and forgot anything beautiful that wasn’t her Jakey.

She held fast for her girls, two of them…and even faster for their third, a wild-child son who they both claimed was nearly my clone. I still think I might be the only one who sees it, how much like my twin my favorite nephew really is. He makes me feel less adrift, and there are many days when my grief is thankful for his anchor.

But yes, she had been strong for them.

They had lost their father, those babies of theirs who were so grown it was difficult to believe they were ever small to begin with….

However, as hours turned to days and they began to rediscover their rhythm, she turned desperately inward.

I tried to hold on to her. I struggled to keep her face upturned..fought to warm her cheeks with light rather than let her skin ache with the salt of tears. Tried to carry her through the way he would have.

In those moments, I know our hearts remembered the love. That seemingly endless well of devotion..the fire that once licked at the walls of anything that threatened to touch it insidiously.

She and I….

Once, it was she and I…

And how we burned.

But we loved him. We both loved him. So, so, much more. She and I never stood a chance, and maybe I knew that the moment I watched his eyes track her in that crowded bar so long ago I can’t remember when.

I miss him.

‘Miss’ feels like such a lie. A blatantly deceitful word. I don’t miss him…I lament and throb in my sorrow. I would swallow this entire world, gnash it to pieces and callously spit it out if it meant one more moment with him.

She was not alone in her grief. And she was never alone in her devotion to Jake.

I knew it wouldn’t be long. Knew she had yearned to stumble along behind him the moment he’d breathed his last.

He belongs to the ages now, I’d wanted to hush. He’d always thought those words, murmured after Lincoln had succumbed to his assassin, were reverent, and a touch pretentious in a way that he’d liked.

If anyone on this earth deserved reverent and pretentious, it was my other half.

But he didn’t belong to the ages then, and he doesn’t now…

He belonged— belongs, to her.

So yes, the night she left this world, I know he was there, watching in the shadows of the room they’d shared for so many years. He would have burned this entire universe to ashes to ensure she crossed over peacefully.

Jake’s sugar would come home to him, but she would make her way without so much as an unsure breath. Her hand was nestled within his before she could worry for a blink, I know this as well as I know the sun will rise tomorrow.

He would have died a thousand deaths in her stead if it meant she would know a gentle peace, always.

I dreamt of her the night after she’d gone to join him.

She was young again, and so was I…

The waters lapping at the shore were a strange, crystalline pink…shimmering and shifting like a cut glass held up to the light.

I reached out, tucked a salt-kissed lock of hair behind her ear, “He’s waiting for you,”

“Yes,” turning to the glittering, shifting haze where the sand disappeared, she’d sighed in the softest content, “…he is. It’s forever now, isn’t it?”

My hands cupped her face and held on gently for a breath “It is.”

I could feel her energy shifting, and I could feel his becoming, what I can only describe as tenderly impatient. So, with a brush of a kiss upon the apple of her cheek I asked one last favor of her,

“Will you tell him how much I love him?”

In return, her lips found my own cheek, “he knows, Josh. He has always known.”