#just short enough to show my thighs and then SKORT in the back so ass isnt out!!

[kweenkatsuki-main]

Why am i just now finding out how amazing tennis skorts are???

[remotewatch]

no class, some integrity!

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.3k wc

Summary: All Jack wants is a round of golf, what a bore!

cw: shameless smut, fingering, outdoor recreation, sorry to the landscapers, and the ducks, unprotected sex, cum eating, if you want to safely reenact this get your ass up and VOTE, reader is on birth control but what’s a little plan b nausea for peace of mind, try to guess how serious I am about that, hate sex kinda sorta, this is a comedy

this one is for my oomf in editing! see you at the greek island queen out!

minors dni! get out! fuck off! shoo!

“Jack, fuck! Slow down!” Not because it hurts, but because he’s pounding you so hard he’s pushing you downhill, and any attempts you make to ground yourself against the grass just tear up the fresh sod in chunks. He’s bent and pressed flat against your back, panting whiny little “sorry-so sorry-I can’t, sorry-god”s into your ear as his hips piston uncontrollably.

You should’ve known better than to be all over him when you hadn’t seen each other in weeks; really, you should’ve expected this back when you selected your outfit.

-45 minutes earlier-

“Is that a skort?” You give him a half-glance over your shoulder from in front of the foyer mirror.

“No?” Jack leans back to peer under your hem in a way that only he can do without looking sleazy.

“You’re going to golf in a regular skirt?” God, he’s so simple, but you refrain from rolling your eyes.

“I didn’t pack anything else to go with this top. Does your course have a new dress code I’m not aware of?” With a practiced flick of your ponytail, you trot outside to the waiting golf cart before he can ask any more stupid questions.

As if Mother Nature herself means to mock you, the wind picks up as soon as he starts the engine. You spend the first few holes failing to hold your skirt down as Jack effortlessly outscores you, clearly not distracted enough to be beaten. If anything, the fluttering fabric is messing up your game as he watches from the drivers seat.

“If only someone would invent some sort of contraption with built in shorts, then you’d really be set.”

“Oh, fuck off!” he makes you miss your swing, sending the ball careening off to your left into a ditch. When you settle back into the cart, he’s wearing that mischievous little grin you hate to love.

“No, no, I’m serious. You should design one, bet it’d be a hit,” Alright, that’s enough of that. You swing your left thigh over his right, letting your skirt ride up enough to show off your underwear.

“Yeah, you’re always trying to get me to wear more clothes,” Jack suddenly appears very interested in the nearby duck pond despite the unmistakable tent in his chinos.

“We’re only on hole three, you know.”

“Ooh, the magic number!” He turns and squints into the sun, confirming you’re still very much in view of a security checkpoint, but you’re quick to stamp out his concerns.

“You’re seriously going to waste the one time we get the place to ourselves?” Another scoot and you’re practically sitting in his lap. “Or are you just worried about grass stains?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, but he’s steering the cart out of sight nonetheless.

The second there’s a cluster of trees between you and the checkpoint, Jack is yanking your panties off hard enough to threaten rug burn. He’s grumbling all the way down to kneeling on the grass, like you’re asking him to repaint the whole property instead of rail you.

“You better spray all over these fucking seats if you want to act like this. I actually wanted to play today.” The leather squeaks as you slide fully onto his seat and place your feet on his shoulders. Your sneaker playfully nudges his cheekbone.

“That really depends more on you, you know.”

There’s a nearly imperceptible tic in Jack’s jaw, confirming you’ve pushed the right button.

For better or for worse, his hands simply don’t get tired. One presses on your pubic bone, pulling the skin just taught enough that every perfectly metronomic stroke on your clit sings through you uninhibited. He’s two knuckles deep and humming along to his own rhythm like an asshole, and maybe you’d say so if he wasn’t yanking your thoughts out with every hook of his fingers. Under any other circumstances, you might feel some type of way about the obscene squelching being the loudest sound on the course, but Jack has been gone for two weeks, and nothing in your toy box matches his fingers. He could make you sound like a foghorn without inspiring a lick of shame.

True to your word, the chair is utterly soaked, and Jack delights in the little bit that his fingers force out of you on each reentry. His tongue is snaking under you trying to clean every drop as it works its way up to your clit, but you more or less kick him to the ground before he can settle in.

“You still want to finish the game, right? We’ll be here all day if you keep playing with your food.” Jack tilts his head to one side like he’ll try and bicker back, but he elects to lunge for your waistband and drag you down with him instead. It would look fucking ridiculous if you were visible to anyone but the wildlife: both of you rolling around trying not to gain momentum and tumble downhill, kneeing each other and ripping up your cute little outfits like kids fighting for the remote. When you let your guard slip enough to fish his cock out of his pants, he takes the opportunity to pin you facedown to the turf and flood your nose with the smell of cut grass. You throw a weak elbow trying to flip him back over, but you’re no match for his years of paddle-boarding. A muttered “-can’t fuckin’ stand you-“ finds its way to your ear, and then he’s in and immediately slamming stars into your vision as your knees divot the green.

Jack always talks your ear off when you derail plans like this, complaining to the time of his thrusts in a way that nearly sounds convincing.

“We’ve never-completed-a whole-game! Never!” The breathiness of it deflates any sense of conviction from his words. Somehow you manage to crawl forward enough to get back onto your elbows, and it takes everything in you to keep your voice steady as you turn back to scowl at him.

“Get up and keep playing if you’re so upset.”

There’s that jaw twinge again. Before you can think to regret your words, he’s twisting one hand into your ponytail and pulling hard enough to make your grip slip.

He nearly knocks the breath out of you when he follows your collapse down to the ground, loose bits of grass sticking to both of your faces as he drools down your cheek. The new angle slots him even deeper, and the ducks resting by the pond’s edge actually fucking take off when they hear the moan he punches out of you. Despite it all, Jack is still a gentleman, one hand worming its way underneath you to paw frantically, sloppily at your clit. You’re driving him insane in the process of grinding down on his fingertips and bouncing off his pelvis in the little wiggle room you have, and soon he’s squeaking out little half syllables as his composure unravels. Any attempts at telling him to cum on your back are thwarted by your orgasm crashing through you and dragging his along with it. The way you’re twitching under him would be humiliating if he wasn’t matching you spasm for spasm. When he moves to scoot back, you grab a fistful of his ruined shirt and dig your nails into his oblique striations.

“Don’t even think about it. Clean that shit up, and then you’re driving us to CVS.” Jack snorts in annoyance, but he carefully pulls out to bend down and tuck in to his meal. The vibrations of him slurping his own cum out of you are almost overwhelming, but he switches to lapping you clean before you have to tap out. One last lip smack around your clit, and he’s leaning back on his heels to catch his breath. By now, the sun is just low enough to start stretching your shadows, and he looks nothing like the menace who just destroyed your outfit when he lies down facing you to pout about finishing up the game. You don’t bother to hide a giggle when you see how green his trousers are.

“That’s up to you. Do you feel more like changing or avoiding a speeding ticket?”

[kaitlinsreality]

     I sat in the makeup chair as my team painstakingly did my eye and lip makeup, ever careful not to get any powder or gloss on my outfit. I was wearing one of the stage outfits that I designed: a candy apple red pleather two-piece, the top being a princess top with a corset waist and red lace tying it up at the back, and the bottom being a skort with the shorts being spandex enough to curve around my ass just right and the skirt being a train made of ruffled layers that stopped in the shape of a point around my knees. I wore thigh high fishnet socks around my feet that were tucked into some red, knee-high pleather boots with chains around the ankles. This was one of the favorite outfits that I came up with; fun and playful, yet painstakingly sexy. 

     My makeup was finally finished before I could even think to look up from my phone while I was interacting with my millions of fans on twitter. They were so sweet and excited, asking for behind-the-scenes pictures of my look and details on what songs I would be performing at the American Music Awards tonight. Anyways, there was black smoky shadow around my eyes, forming a puppy dog look at the crease of my eyes with white liner around my eyeline to give the look some softness. My lips were just a simple red gloss to match the outfit, with some sheerness so that it wasn’t too much. I had my hair in a slicked-back style, it being pulled back and tucked into a heart-shaped donut. There was also a slicked bang on the side and some tendrils coming down from the bun so that the look had some depth. 

     I was finally ready to go, but it wasn’t my time on stage just yet; I think Justin Bieber was still on. My team was joking with me, saying that I looked “red hot” tonight. I gigged as I turned on my Instagram live, thousands of people already pouring in as soon as I turned it on. 

     “How do we like the look, guys?” I asked, flipping my camera to the back camera and pointing it at the full-sized mirror I was standing in front of and posing. “I wasn’t showing to show you guys, but since you were all begging like sick puppies, I guess I had to.” 

   I laughed at some of the comments, answering their questions and shouting out some fans that I recognized by their usernames. Soon, a backstage worker came into the room to tell me that I was going on in five minutes. I nodded and set my phone down, beginning to walk out of the room as my team began to put my mic pack in the pocket of the shorts that I was wearing and placing my mic headset on my head so that I could sing hands-free. “Pray with me, y’all,” I said, trying to shake some of the jitters out of my body.

     We gathered hands and bowed our heads as I asked God to let this stage go perfectly right for me; I asked him to give me the strength and the breath control to stay in tune and on pitch, to hit all of the high notes in my songs with ease, and to sing well while doing my intense choreography. 

     “Amen,” I finished the prayer, and this was echoed. Just as this happened, I heard the announcer begin announcing my name, so I went and stood on the platform that was going to rise me to the stage.

     The crowd was going wild as the instrumental to my song, “See Stars”, began booming through the speakers. As they heard this, everyone in the audience was cheering even louder than before. I quickly posed as my head began peeking from the hole in the floor that I was rising out of, smiling when I was completely on stage. 

     “I see you starin’,” I began doing the choreography, cycling through singing properly and performing charismatically with ease. “I know you want a piece. There’s no comparin’, just let yourself be free.”

     It was like something came over me, and I just blacked out and became the best performer in the universe who was never nervous on stage and could perform the most tiring songs without her voice faltering. 

     I did most of my actual choreography, and added in some charming and sexy moves, which pleased the audience. Finally, “See Stars” was over, and I did a quick dance break before the instrumental to my song “Bring the Boys Out” began. I licked my lips and smiled at the camera, hearing some people in the crowd whistle at me. The crowd was especially hype to hear this song, since it was my most recent single and it was in the top 5 of every pop chart that existed, being played on radio stations all around the world.

       “Bring out the boyssssss,” I whispered in a sultry tone into the microphone before starting the actual song. I flipped my hair at all the perfect points and hit every move of the sexy, yet cool choreography that was made for me perfectly. The outfit that I designed only added to the allure of my enticing persona and the tongue-in-cheek lyrics that I had everybody all over the world singing along to. It was the most outstanding, perfect performance ever. 

      “Bring the boys out!” I sang into my microphone, hitting a quick pose as I smiled and winked at the camera before the lights cut off. The crowd cheered, whooped, and hollered for me. They even began chanting my name, “Kaitlin! Kaitlin! Kaitlin! Kaitlin!”, so loud that I could still hear it when I went backstage. I couldn’t get the blush off my face from how happy I was to audibly hear how happy everyone was from my performance. It was the best feeling ever, and I could almost feel myself floating on cloud 9 just thinking about how loved me and my music are worldwide.

      I was greeted by my team who was watching backstage. They fanned themselves, feigning being hot, as I laughed and playfully hit them. “Stop, y’all!” I covered my face in my hands. “I honestly don’t know what came over me tonight, it was crazy.” 

      “Well, all I know is they’re going to have to pay you extra to come back next year because you made their rating shoot up through the roof, baby!” My stylist yelled, and everybody laughed along with him, the room being clouded with happiness. I went over to check my phone to find my notifications blowing up. There were already videos and photos of my performance circulating around the web with compliments continuously flowing into the comments. It made my heart swell to see all the love that I was getting; I can honestly say that this was such an amazing, self-affirming night for me.