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gretavanlace · 1 year ago

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Stars Collide

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, adult themes, semi public sexual acts, dirty talk, pet names, digital penetration, etc.

First, special thanks to this ask who got my gears turning, I know it isn’t exactly what you asked for, but I hope you love it all the same. Second, I asked for josh pics and ya’ll 👏 came 👏 through 👏 Thank you so much for taking the time to help out with my little request, you guys are the greatest! They were all incredible, but in the end @jakekiszkasbelly-button killed it with this stunning pic featuring a camera flare-halo that stole my heart. Just look at him!

Photo credit to the lovely @indigo-starcatcher

You wake with a start, eyes wide with drowsy confusion, and he thinks you’re adorable. Like a tiny baby bunny, startled in the brush by rustling leaves. It makes him want to scoop you up, to hold you cupped in his hands, safe from the world. To peer down at you and soothe your nerves softly. To pet you and marvel at your softness, your warmth….

It also makes him long to corrupt all that innocence. To strip it away down to the bones of what you’re really capable of. That wicked glint in your eye that appears when there’s no one to bear witness but him - he wants to see it.

“Josh?” Your voice is gritty with the impromptu slumber you’d fallen into after the show. Curled up like a cat in one corner of the couch in the corner of his dressing room. He hadn’t the heart to disturb you.

Instead, he’d lost the satin suit and showered, and was now slipped into something a little more pedestrian, scribbling lyrics and ideas upon the lined pages of his notebook, sipping from a glass filled with honey-laced whiskey.

He speaks softly, as is so often his way “I’m here, princess.”

Your gaze swings over to him, and he watches the tension leave your form and loves you just a little bit more. They way you find solace in his presence softens his heart indescribably.

“It’s so quiet.” You sigh, arms reaching for the ceiling in a dramatic, feline stretch. “Where is everyone? Did I sleep through the apocalypse?”

He laughs gently, eyes trained on the page where he’s finishing a rough sketch to present to wardrobe. You’re right to ask questions, he knows. Normally the energy backstage is electric before a show, and even more so after. Voices booming from all directions, golf carts grinding up and down the halls, equipment being dragged across concrete, shouts of congratulations and instructions. The rock and roll circus of live wire sound is easily tuned out as seasoned as you all are. Silence, on the other hand, is deafening.

“They’ve all gone back to the hotel.” He shrugs, setting everything aside in order to focus on you. He loves to watch you do anything, but witnessing you inch your way out of floating dreams deserves his full attention. “I told them we’d just call a car. Wanted to let you sleep.”

You shimmy your shoulders in a mock shudder. “This feels weird. It’s way too quiet.”

A smile that it feels like he can’t help, shapes his lips beautifully. You resemble a fallen angel, all wrinkled skirt and tangled hair, a groupie who just clawed her way out of the pit, disheveled and out of breath, all for him. “It is sort of weird, isn’t it?”

An idea lights his face up, urging an unsure giggle out of your sleepy chest before he’s even shared what he’s thinking.

“You want to go walk around a little? It’ll be like being at school after a play. Remember that? When the halls and classrooms were dark and it felt like you shouldn’t be there…when it felt like some strange, alien, terrain…remember?”

His enthusiasm is catching, “No, I don’t remember that…I wasn’t a theater nerd.” You toss a tasseled throw pillow at him and, in retaliation, he rises and grabs your hands, tugging you to your feet.

“That’s what’s wrong with you, my love.” He nudges you closer to your shoes and smooths out your clothes while you toe them on. “Too much time bouncing around in your little cheerleader uniform and not enough time down in the trenches with the drama club dreck.”

“I wasn’t a cheerleader and you damn well know it.” You roll your eyes with love and swing open the door to find the hall desolate and dimly lit. “You don’t think we’re completely alone in here, do you?”

“Nah,” he steps out behind you. “They’d kick us out before all that. But even if they missed us, there’d be security. Still, probably the closest to alone we’re ever gonna be.”

You spin around, grabbing up his hand tightly in both of yours…the spirited fire in your eyes lighting his own. “Let’s go check out the stage. Think anyone will stop us?”

“Pfft,” he scoffs, waving you off like he can’t believe you even said such a thing. “Do you have any idea who I am, princess?”

“Humble, aren’t you, Kiszka?” You kiss the air at him and trot off ahead in the wrong direction.

“Hey, Lewis and Clark?” He calls out smugly, “Stage is this way.”

“Look at all these seats,” you marvel, staring out at a sea of now empty chairs feeling nearly worshipful. An incredible talent stands beside you. Warm as the sun, and just as revered. You’d kneel at his feet, a peasant before her king, if it might please him…though he would likely despise it.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s thinking the same thing about you. Wondering at your beauty, and how it threatens to steal the breath from his lungs, even in the shadows of the darkened arena. Loving you and your gorgeous soul. Adoring your light. You are an angel. His angel. His princess.

“You fill these seats,” you shake your head, amazed by him as if he’s brand new. “Ever think about that? You and your brothers, you fill these seats. It’s incredible what you guys do. I’ll never get enough of it.”

He sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “You don’t get bored with it? Same show night after night? Rehearsal after rehearsal?”

“Same jokes…” you tease sweetly, “champagne, caviar, anyone?”

“Shut up,” he squeezes you with a quiet chuckle, “I haven’t used that one in a while. It’s a classic, though.”

“You look like a god, you know?” You’ve fallen hushed, picturing the way he shines, “Divine, a graven image come to life. Sometimes it’s like…it’s like I forget I even know you. You aren’t my Josh, how could that breathtaking spirit glittering under lights be mine? You’re magic.”

“Not to negate the poetry in which you’ve just showered me, but it makes my dick hard when you talk like that.” His lips have found the spot just below your earlobe that makes you shiver.

“Yeah?” You’ve begun swaying along with him to some inaudible song it seems you both can hear. “Well, what doesn’t make your dick hard?”

“Hey!” He nips at the side of your throat in punishment. “I put it away for this tour.”

You gasp and tingle beneath his kiss, but hold fast to your footing. “Mmm-hmm. We’ll see how long that lasts. You’ll get tired of tucking. Plus, you like it when they look.”

Now, his arms have loosened to allow his hands to explore the silken skin of your stomach…palms searching and slow, hidden below your shirt. “Maybe I do like it. Maybe there’s no maybe about it.” He pulls you closer and there is his cock, hard and inviting, no longer concealed behind a stage costume, but pressing into the small of your back like an offering. “Do you like it? When they look? When they want what’s yours? When they want to fuck what’s yours?”

He wants you to say yes. He wants to know that you find some sort of perverse pleasure in it, the same way he does. He wants you to love their need as much as he does. He wants you to be secure in his love enough to enjoy it all.

And he’s in luck.

“I do like it when they look. Sometimes it makes me want to go out there and drop to my knees right in front of them,” you confess, listening to his breathing pick up, “makes me want to suck your cock right in front of them. To show them that you don’t only sound pretty when you sing.”

He’s toying with the button on your skirt now, like he’s contemplating unfastening them, like he’s wrestling with the idea of something he knows he shouldn’t want.

And he is. He’s thinking about laying you right down, of giving it to you right there on the catwalk beneath both of your feet. He’s imagining how lovely you’d sound given the acoustics, he’s wondering how loud he could allow you to be. His beautiful mind is pondering how open you might be to the idea, whether you’d think about the risk of getting caught, whether you’d care even if you did think about it.

“When do I sound pretty, princess? Besides when I sing?” He gives in to how badly he wants you, but forgoes the buttons, choosing to slip his hand under your skirt from behind, instead. “Hm? Tell me.”

“Josh,” it squeaks out of you, and he’s never loved the sound of his own name more. His fingers inch under the hem of your panties in reward.

“You sound pretty when you can’t catch your breath,” the pads of his fingers circle your trembling entrance, gathering your warm, slick, desire, as his opposite forearm snakes around your throat to hold you in place. He listens with rapt attention as you whisper his praises. “And when you moan. When you get close and start to whimper, that’s pretty…the filthy things you say, pretty…even prettier when you cum. I think about it all the time, the way you sound.”

He sinks into you, curling and stroking, petting you from the inside. “Wish they could hear you. All those beautiful little whines when you’re right on the edge. You’re a star, princess. You’re a fucking star.”

Thankful for his centering hold on you, you reach back, gripping his thigh for a moment before grabbing at his cock as your body rolls and arches, free hand squeezing viciously at your breast, urgent and frantic in your need.

With a kiss bestowed upon your temple he brings his lips to the shell of your ear and hums, “Reach down and touch your clit. Rub her just right while I finger fuck your sweet little cunt. Want you to feel good. Can you do that, baby? Can you feel good for me?”

A hurried nod accompanies a breathy gasp of his name as he works you over on stage, on display like art for the gaze of anyone who might happen upon the both of you.

You can’t imagine caring any less. You want this, and you want it now. Let them see.

“Be a good girl and close your eyes, princess.” Your lids drift shut, instantly obeying his gentle command. “You listen so well. My princess likes to make me proud, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” you thrust your hips forward, wanting, needing, him deeper still.

“I’m honored, my love.” His lips are kissing over your cheek, nuzzling and pecking tenderly as he fucks against that heavenly spot deep inside that makes you want to scream. “Keep your eyes closed. Picture them out there. Watching you. Watching you flush and squirm. Watching me want you, watching me touch you, watching me take you apart. Wanting to be you. Wanting to be the girl up here with her cunt wrapped up tight and wet around my fingers…making such a pretty mess of me.”

“Fuck,” the obscenity flits off your tongue as you gush into his palm.

“Yeah?” He taunts, biting tingles into your dewy skin. “You like that? Show them, princess. Show them what a gorgeous girl you are when I make you cum. C’mon, show them how pretty my favorite star shines.”

“Josh, please,” you’re balanced upon the razor, praying to be sliced open and bared to him. It’s so close, but…

“Please what, princess?” He’s rocking his clothed cock against the swell of your ass from behind, fucking those perfect, insistent, fingers into you at a delicious clip, coaxing you nearer and nearer as you soak his skin and your thighs. “Tell me what you need. I’ll give it to you, baby, I’ll fucking give it to you. You know I will.”

Your fingernails want to bury into his flesh, but you’re careful not to leave marks. “I’m gonna cum…” it breathes out of you wildly, as an uncontrollable desperation steps in to steal your sense. “I’m gonna cum. Talk to me, Josh. Talk to me while I cum for you. I want your voice…talk me through it.”

A feral sound growls out of him, but it dissolves into something weak, as though he can’t handle you. “I’ll talk to you princess, don’t you worry that pretty fucking head. I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you. You feel that?”

He tightens his grip, holding you upright, and you fuck against his hand faster in reply, thrusting your hand back to bury into, and pull at, his curls “Yeah you do. My girl feels it. She knows. She knows I’ve got her, and she’s gonna cum pretty just for me, isn’t she?”

You explode into sensation in response. Sparks fly and batter themselves against your nerve endings as you coil up sung around his pumping fingers…pouring and dripping against his skin like warm, floral bath water.

“There you go, sweet girl…” he praises softly, in contrast with the relentless pace his hand is working away at you. “You let it all go, alright? Yes, baby, that’s it. That’s it. Let it out, princess, just for me, let it all out. good girl, fucking sing for me just like that.”

You’re wailing into the empty space, likely alerting anyone still wandering the halls, but you can’t hear yourself and he can’t be bothered to care.

His voice carries you through, groaning your praises as he ruts his aching cock against you, holding you fast and safe in his embrace until you fall limp, a rag doll with his blissful fingers still filling her throbbing cunt.

“That’s my girl, princess…” he kisses along the curve of your jaw, bringing you down gingerly. “So, so good. You’re an angel.”

Head now descending from the rumbling clouds of the storm he’s created, you realize suddenly what you’re faced with, “Josh, I was so loud…we have to go.”

“Not now,” he protests, languidly slipping his fingers in and out of you still.

“Yes, now.” Your thighs tighten, barring his movement, until he shakes out of his stupor.

“Okay, Okay…” he lowers your skirt and sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking you from his wrist and inner forearm as you begin yanking him towards the stage exit. “But I’m about to make sure the whole hotel knows how pretty you can sing, too, princess. You’re a star.”

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