summary: you never earned any superlatives in high school, too busy being an anxious little nobody, counting down the days until you'd be free. now though, you're pretty sure you'd win the vote for "most likely to fuck your fiancé who is twice your age in the on-campus chapel because you got jealous" in a landslide.
warnings: age gap (r is 28, jack is however old jack is), established relationship, sacrilege?, catholic school, high school reunion, anxiety, jealousy, possessive!reader, and jack is way too into it, a little toxic? but they both love it, sub!jack, fucking in a church, fucking on campus, semi public sex, riding, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie, we don't pull out in this house, kissing, biting, dirty talk, hair pulling, name calling, mild slut shaming (not towards reader ;) ), choking, they're so in love
an: guys I am a California girl through and through and it's still insane to me that people's high schools were indoors??? like wdym the hallways weren't open air and you had indoor lunch rooms instead of just picnic tables outside on the fucking asphalt????
HEAVILY inspired by this post by @thatcorporategirlie, my own daddy issues, and the absolute misery that is the private religious education experience
“Jack, please,” you were begging, pleading with him to not make you.
“We’re already here,” he gestured to the open doors, sitting just up the stairs. Light was spilling out, flashing in shades of red and gold with a horrible decade old pop song blasting somewhere inside. It looked like the gates of hell.
Your own personal hell.
“This was a terrible idea,” Jack just barely stopped you from running your fingers through your freshly curled hair.
“Stop that, you’re gonna mess up those pretty curls you worked so hard on,” he held your hands in his, leaning down into your personal space. “It’ll be fine. Tonight doesn’t mean anything.”
You took your bottom lip between your teeth. Why did you think coming here was a good idea? You’d be free for ten years, nearly ⅓ of your life spent blissfully far from this place. And now, on a whim, you were back, visiting the last place you wanted to be, for probably the most painful event you could imagine.
“It’s not too late to turn around and fly home,” you probably sounded crazy. “We could be on a flight back to Pittsburgh in two hours, we can forget this ever happened.”
“Take some deep breaths, ok? Can you do that for me?”
Jack had let go of your hands to take your face between his palms, forcing your eyes onto his. “In and out, c’mon, you can do it.”
You forced yourself to breathe with him, carefully pulling air in and out, following his rhythm until you were breathing easier and the panic was disappearing slowly.
“That’s it,” he leant in, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “You can do this, pretty girl.”
You really weren’t sure that you could, but you had dragged Jack all the way back to your hometown, thousands of miles from your shared home for this. It would be a waste of time, money, and energy to turn around now.
“Yeah, I can do this, I’m fine,” you certainly didn’t believe yourself, and you could tell by Jack’s face that he didn’t really believe you either, but he thankfully didn’t call you out on it.
“That’s the spirit,” he cracked a half smile, releasing your face to grab ahold of your hand. “Now, can we go inside? I know this is a Catholic party, but I’m really hoping there’ll be spiked punch somewhere.”
You snorted a laugh, but let him tug you up the steps, towards the open gym doors. “It’s the 21st century, Jack. No one spikes punch anymore.”
“Let an old man dream, sweetheart.”
Jack dropped your hand, choosing instead to settle his arm around your waist, holding you to him as the both of you stepped inside. The warmth seeping through your dress kept you grounded as you braced for impact in this metaphorical car crash.
‘HAPPY 10 YEAR REUNION CLASS OF 2016’ was printed in gold on a deep red banner hanging on the far side of the gym. Beneath the words sat the logo for Saint Mary’s Catholic High School.
You didn’t have long to stare at the words, regretting every choice that led you here. Before you could get more than 5 feet into the room, you were stopped by two people, a man and a woman, sitting at a folding table, covered by a red plastic table cloth decorated with golden glitter. They weren’t familiar to you, but their name tags designated them as current teachers.
“Hi,” the woman spoke first, her eyes quickly sliding to Jack. His hand was still on your back, his shoulder positioned slightly behind yours as he let you take the lead. “Name, please?”
You gave it to her, watching as she checked her list and the man scribbled it down on a sticker name tag. He held it out to you and you hesitantly took it, placing it over your heart.
“And your… companion’s name and relation?” The woman was once again looking at Jack. But this time, her attention lingered, raking over the hunter green jacket and slacks he wore.
“Jack Abbot,” he answered. He seemed to notice the woman’s eyes raking over him. His hand moved again, this time settling on your hip as he shifted even closer to you. “Fiance.”
The woman hummed noncommittally, seemingly unbothered that Jack had just announced his relationship status. She continued to look him up and down for a moment longer, eyes only dropping to the ring on your finger for a second before she continued her visual exploration of him, unbothered. Until, finally, the man beside her handed Jack his own sticker, your name written below his in parenthesis, denoting his reason for attendance.
“Thanks,” you were well aware that your tone sounded rude, but your apprehension and nerves combined with how this woman ogled your fiance was wearing your patience thin already. And the pounding beat of Closer by the Chainsmokers wasn’t helping, either.
“C’mon,” Jack’s voice was low in your ear, meant only for you as he pulled you farther away from the woman and into the fray. The low spark of something that wasn’t quite jealousy settled low in your stomach.
You finally took a minute to scan the room. It was rather empty, but that wasn’t surprising. Your graduating class had been small, only 97 students, and even if all 97 came and brought partners, the massive gym would still have felt half empty. As far as you could tell, maybe ¾ of your graduating class was there and maybe half that amount had brought plus ones.
Standing there, on the sidelines avoiding the majority of people milling about on center court felt painfully familiar. Except this time, you had Jack, and you knew he wouldn’t let you suffer this alone.
High school had been rough. You weren’t specifically bullied, but teenagers were brutal and cruel, even when they didn’t realize it. Constantly being the odd one out, kept at arms length, especially in a group of kids as small as your class had been was tough. Your invisibility and their indifference to it had been it’s own form of torture. You were too awkward, too nondescript, too shy to catch anyone's eye, for both the right and wrong reasons.
It took quite a few years after graduation and some effort on your part for you to really grow into yourself, physically and mentally.
It took a few years for you to figure out your style, to change your hair from a shield to hide behind into a feature to accentuate your looks. Once you’d started to find who you wanted to be on the outside, you started to get comfortable with who you were on the inside.
Graduating law school had certainly helped grow your confidence, and finding a job as on-site legal counsel at PTMC helped even more. So did falling into your little workplace romance with Jack a few years ago that had turned into so much more since. He had a way of making you feel like the only woman in the room, all of his attention focused on you no matter where the two of you found yourselves.
But now?
Standing there, on the sidelines avoiding the majority of people milling about on center court felt painfully familiar. Reliving those awkward, painful memories of sitting alone and being picked last was starting to leech that confidence out of you ever so slowly. Except this time, you had Jack, and you knew he wouldn’t let you suffer this alone.
You knew Jack could tell you were uneasy, could feel how your shoulders climbed as your body tensed and curled inwards.
“Hey,” his hand squeezed your hip once. “It’s alright.”
“Jack,” you turned, his hand slipping from your hip, dragging across your back to the other side as you faced him. “I really don’t-”
Your name being called forced your attention away from him.
“Oh my god, it is you!” Coming towards you was a group of 3 girls, a blonde and two brunettes. It took you a second to recognize them, your mind floundering to put faces to names after 10 years of no contact.
You were pretty sure the blonde was Anna Johannsen, and her nametag confirmed you were right. Dina Hernandez and Melody Simpkins flanked her. All three had been in your home room, but you’d never been close. Certainly not close enough for them to justify looking so excited to see you.
Anna pulled you into an unexpected hug, Jack losing physical contact with you for just a moment as Dina and Melody followed suit. As soon as they released you, you were stepping back, Jack immediately reaching up to anchor you to him again.
“It’s been so long! I heard you were some big shot lawyer in Philadelphia, dating some DILF," Anna glanced at Jack, her posture instinctively straightening as she took him in.
You and Jack looked at each other. Your cheeks flushed at Jack’s flirtatious little smirk as he winked at you.
“Pittsburgh, actually,” you ripped your gaze away from him to focus back on the three women currently looking at your fiance like he was a fresh piece of meat. You held up your hand, perhaps being a little too eager to show them the diamond on your finger. “And engaged.”
“Jack Abbot,” he gave her a polite nod, that self-satisfied smile still tugging at his lips. You noticed how he didn’t offer her his hand to shake, choosing instead to keep physical contact with you. “Though, I’m not too sure I qualify as a DILF. No kids. Yet.”
“Technicalities,” Anna looked downright predatory as she stared him down.
Jack shifted his stance, moving his weight onto his prosthetic in a way that you knew was uncomfortable for him as he leaned a little into you, placing himself slightly behind you. Once again, his hand moved to your waist, but it slid a little further onto your front. With his hand almost laying squarely over your stomach, your back was nearly pressed entirely to his front, but he kept you off to his right, on just barely on the acceptable side of PDA.
This was his favorite move whenever someone got a little too bold with him in front of you. At first, you’d been a little pissed, thinking he was using you as a shield, throwing you into the firing line. Over time, you realised he was actually reinforcing your claim on him to these people who didn’t seem to get the hint, giving you the power and deferring to you. He was physically putting you first, showing the women who targeted him that there was someone else already holding his leash, someone else he refused to let go of.
The way he held you close in these moments was still appropriate for a public setting, but was deeply intimate and impossible to miss. Usually, it did the trick, most people backing off at the blatant display.
After you figured out exactly what he was doing when one particularly flirty woman took exceptionally long to get the message at a bar, you’d joked it’d be a little more subtle if he got a tattoo of your name on his forehead. He’d rolled his eyes and pulled you close, much too close in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by other patrons who were definitely taking notice.
“If that’s what it takes to show the whole world I belong to you, I’ll do it.”
You’d melted, dragging him down into a filthy kiss that had his fumbling for his wallet. He’d thrown a $100 bill, way too much money for your singular glass of wine and his half finished beer, onto the bartop before the two of you were rushing to get home.
It thrilled Jack to no end when you got possessive. That was a fact proven by how often women tried to flirt with him, only to get shot down by a glare or a sharp comment from you as he assumed his position over your shoulder, his insufferable, cocky little smirk and apologetic shrug as they backed off. More often than not, you’d feel the steadily growing outline pressing into your back, proving just how much he enjoyed this little game.
But it wasn’t a game to you.
At first, you’d been a little ashamed. You’d never been a jealous person before him. In fact, you weren’t even sure jealous was the right word to use. You weren’t worried about Jack stepping out on you. But the way women swarmed him had an unfamiliar fire burning in you, anger at them coveting what was yours.
But then, after you’d finally broken down into a fumbling, anxious mess and told Jack exactly how you felt about all these people who kept approaching him, he’d rewarded you. He’d buried his head between your thighs for hours that night, only coming up for air when your legs wouldn’t stop shaking and tears dripped down your cheeks, telling you he was yours and yours alone.
Even now, it still angered you to no end that people still tried to get a piece of him right in front of you. Especially after Jack reassured you that he belonged to you. But the more it happened and the more Jack reminded you exactly where his loyalties lay, the faster you found that familiar angry knot in your stomach turning to heat and your own desire for him growing.
It was a vicious cycle you’d found yourself in, but not one you’d ever willingly give up.
And you could feel that knot growing, rapidly pushing your anxiety and fear and dread out of the way the longer they stared at your fiance.
“I think we should mingle a bit more, right honey?” Jack’s voice drew you back to the gym, back to the overly warm haze of flashing lights and music so painfully unpopular nowadays.
“Yeah,” you smiled at him over your shoulder before sparing a rather nasty glance at the women before you. All of them, but especially Anna, were giving him bedroom eyes.
“Oh of course,” the blonde fluttered her eyelashes. “We’ll catch you later.”
“Yeah, sure,” you weren’t sure if she even heard your reply as Jack dragged you away.
You waited until you were far enough away before turning to him. With steady hands and poorly concealed anger, you smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket.
“What the fuck is wrong with these people,” your voice was low, nearly a growl. “You’re my fucking fiance. I brought you here, you’re mine, and all they care about is trying to get into a taken man’s pants. It’s like I’ve got the shiniest new toy on the playground and all these motherfuckers are trying to steal it.”
You could feel the vibrations in his chest from the laughter he could barely contain while he pulled you close. He looked much too satisfied for your liking at this turn of events.
“At least you’re not anxious anymore, sweetheart.”
“No, I’m fucking pissed,” your grip on his jacket suddenly tightened, pulling his body even closer to yours. “You’re here with me, can’t keep your hands off of me, I’ve got your ring on my fucking finger, and yet everyone in this room is acting like it’s open season on hot doctors.”
Letting your eyes wander from his handsome face, you could see that your 3 classmates and the teacher from earlier weren’t the only ones who’d taken notice of your silver fox.
Angelica Garcia from your 10th grade English class was a little too interested in eyeing up his legs.
Isabella Michaels from APUSH seemed incredibly fascinated by the way his jacket and plain white button down underneath hugged his chest.
Phoebe Peterson, your old doubles partner from your brief stint on the JV tennis team couldn’t look away from the silver stubble along his jaw and the smile on his lips.
And everywhere you looked, gradually more and more of the women you went to school with found their eyes drawn to Jack. Hell, even one or two of your male classmates kept finding their eyes glued to him.
You couldn’t even chalk it up to surprise at his age. Yes, he was the oldest plus one here, probably by a few decades, but the hunger and desire in their eyes and the curiosity written plainly across their faces told you all you needed to know.
Every person in this god forsaken room, who had tortured you (mostly unintentionally) throughout your adolescence, was coveting your fiance. Yours.
“Let’s go,” you let go of his jacket, snagging one of his hands away from your waist and tugging him towards the exit.
“We’re leaving already, sweetheart?”
“No,” you glanced over your shoulder at him. Jack seemed more than happy to let you pull him out the doors, down the stairs, and onto the grass of the little courtyard. “I’m giving you a tour.”
“Oh by all means,” his handsome face and the fact that you knew him were the only things keeping the smile on his face from being sleazy. “Lead the way.”
The campus was small. St Mary’s never had more than 400 students at a time, so four open air blocks of classrooms and a smaller building that served as the front office were all that laid before the two of you. You could see practically all of it from where you stood among the picnic tables on the front lawn. You could have given him a quick tour from this spot, pointing out everything besides the football field which was hidden by the gym.
But instead, you found your feet leading you to the one place still unlocked at this hour on the deserted campus, hand still tightly gripping his.
You didn’t bother pointing out the statue where the football team had prayed before every game, or the spot where Jeremy White, another loner and outcast, had shyly asked you to homecoming your sophomore year.
No, none of that was important. As much as you knew Jack liked to hear you talk about anything and everything, you were sure his mind was right beside yours in the gutter, eagerly awaiting whatever filthy plans your jealousy had concocted.
It was a quick walk through the open air corridors, past lockers and dark classrooms until you reached your destination. At the back corner of the furthest block of classrooms sat the chapel.
You turned the handle, happily finding that they still kept it unlocked at all hours. Probably to encourage prayer or some other bullshit reason. Your intentions for this secluded room were less than holy, though.
The chapel was small, the size of a standard classroom with 4 rows of pews on either side of the aisle leading up to the altar. Behind the altar stood an absolutely massive wooden cross. The whole room was draped in blood red with golden accents, an over the top display of the school pride and devotion.
Thankfully, it was dark and empty, the only light coming from the streetlights outside shining through the stained glass windows.
“Is this a fucking church?” Jack seemed almost startled by the destination of your rushed little journey, but you didn’t give him long to overthink it.
“Yes,” you were spinning around to face him once the two of you made it through the door. You still had the presence of mind to turn the lock before you were pushing him towards the back row of pews. “Sit down.”
He listened, eyes wide and lips parted as he watched you slide into his lap. His hands came up to grasp your waist as your legs parted around his thighs, pressing the already damp fabric of your panties against the semi hard bulge in his pants.
“Oh fuck,” he dragged your hips over his, the pressure hardening him even further. “Oh you’re fucking filthy, babygirl. You wanna fuck me in a fucking church?”
Your dress was riding up over your hips as he continued to rock you against him. Every movement sent a shock of pleasure up your spine as your head dropped down. Your forehead met his as the two of you shared the same air.
“Couldn’t wait,” you gasped out, one hand tangling in his silver curls. “Everyone in that room wanted you, but only I get to have you.”
“Fuck,” Jack groaned when your fingers tightened, pulling at his hair and tipping his head back while his hips bucked up into you. Your lips met his jaw, nibbling and kissing along the stubble you found there. The gasp he let out when your teeth snagged against the shell of his ear was downright pornographic.
“You’re mine.”
“Sh-shit, babygirl, I-”
“Shut up,” you tugged harder at his hair, slowing the rolling of your hips against him, even as his hands tried to coax you into a faster rhythm. Both of you knew he was more than strong enough to manhandle you exactly how he wanted, but he let you take control. “You enjoyed all of those women flirting with you.”
“Didn’t even notice,” his hands slid up your body to cradle your breasts gently. His voice was shaky. “Only had eyes for you, sweetheart.”
“Fucking liar,” you pulled back and away from him, sitting up straight in his lap as your grinding stopped. “You loved the attention.”
Jack looked halfway ruined already. His chest heaved and his hair was a mess, but more importantly, he was looking up at you with what you could only describe as devotion. His eyes were wide and pleading as he made little aborted thrusts in an effort to get you to resume your movements.
“My handsome, sweet, brilliant fiance is a slut,” your hand not in his hair cupped his jaw, keeping his head angled up and facing you even as his eyes fluttered shut.
“Please, baby, please.”
You very rarely got to see Jack like this, completely at your mercy. Even in other instances where your jealousy had gotten the better of you, usually the two of you came together with the same intensity, the same desire to stake your claim. It was rough and messy and possessive, both of you fighting for control.
But sometimes, when you broke him down or caught him off guard, you’d get him like this; aching for you and willing to let you do absolutely anything to him.
The power was intoxicating. Here you were, the great Dr. Abbot, a man almost twice your age, falling at your feet and begging for whatever you were willing to give him.
“Aww,” your tone was condescending as you leaned into him, your lips almost brushing his. When he tried to shift up and close the distance, you used your grip on his hair to pull him back slightly, earning yet another gravely groan from him. “Did you want something, Dr. Abbot?”
“God, sweetheart, please,” his hands were roving over every inch of you he could reach. “Need to feel you, need to be inside you.”
“Mmm, I’m not sure…” You were toying with him, like a cat with a mouse.
“I’ll make it so good for you, please,” he squeezed at your breasts, your hips involuntarily jerking and grinding down at the feeling. “I’ll be so good, make you feel so good.”
“I don’t know,” he whined as you rolled down once against his erection, slow and deliberate. “I might just use your thigh. Get these pretty little pants all dirty, show everyone of those women in there exactly who you belong to.”
“Please, I swear to god I’ll be good,” Jack’s thumbs brushed over nipples through the thin fabric of your dress, causing a shiver to rush down your spine. “I’m so hard for you. Only for you.”
“Yeah?” You finally let your lips brush over his, the kiss so soft and barely there it almost didn’t count. “You gonna make me feel good?”
“So fucking good,” the words were breathy, his eyes heavily lidded as he gazed up with need.
You pretended to think it over for just a moment longer, dragging out your torture.
“Alright.”
Finally, you took mercy on him. Your lips connected with his as your hands fell to his belt and the fastenings of his pants. You let him set the pace, his lips opening and tongue sweeping against yours almost frantically while you met his intensity. It was hungry and messy, his tongue gliding over the back of your front teeth as he devoured you.
He only stopped when your hand found his throbbing length, thick and just long enough to hit all the right spots inside you, his head falling back as you pulled it out of his boxers.
“Shit, fuck,” your hand wrapped tight around him, using the copious amount of precum to ease the way while your hand twisted and stroked from the base to the head.
“You’re so hard, Jack,” he jerked in your grip as you smiled down at him. You lifted up slightly, to pull your soaking panties to the side. “Is it fucking me in a church that gets you off or was it all those women fawning over you? Hm?”
“You-” he cut himself off with a whimpering moan as you notched the head of him against you and slid all the way down. “Oh fuck, babygirl. It’s you, only you!”
Your own breathing was picking up speed as you ground your hips down against his in small circles. As you did, his thick length twitched and pulsed within you, amplifying the pleasure from your clit rubbing down against his pubic bone.
“Fuck you feel incredible,” Jack’s hands landed on your waist, attempting to guide your movements until you were grasping his wrists, pulling them off your body.
“Uh-uh,” your grinding stopped and instead you started rolling your hips, lifting just a few inches off his length to then drop back down. “Keep your hands on the bench. No touching until I say so.”
Jack groaned in frustration, hips jumping to thrust hard up into you on your downward stroke as his palms slammed flat against the cushion of the pew.
“Fuck!” The pleasure was sharp, almost on the edge of pain as his tip made contact with your cervix. It felt good, but there’d be time later to let him fuck you into oblivion. Here and now, this was about control, about your power.
“None of that shit,” Jack visibly swallowed at your growled words, his breath faltering when your hand found its way to his throat. Your thumb and index pressed into the skin, just on the edge of his jaw, careful to keep the pressure off his windpipe. Exactly the way he’d shown you.
Your fingers tightened, watching as his eyes fluttered shut and his fingers dug in tight, nearly ripping the cushion. The muscles in his legs tightened beneath you as he fought not to thrust up into your body.
“Good boy,” you whispered into his ear as you began moving.
You settled into a rhythm, squeezing intermittently at his throat while thrusting down onto him. It took a moment for you to find the exact positioning, but in no time, every movement had his tip dragging over the sensitive spot deep inside you.
The chapel was filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking pew beneath you protesting loudly as you fought to keep your noises under control. You were whimpering and gasping with every downstroke, pushing yourself so close to the edge.
You could feel it rising, the pressure building in your lower stomach. As it got more intense, your grip on Jack’s throat faltered, hand falling to his shoulder as you leaned in.
His lips found yours again, and you allowed it. Both of you were too close to the edge to really put too much effort into the kiss, and it quickly devolved until you were panting and moaning into each other's mouths.
“Touch me, Jack.”
His body exploded into motion when you finally gave him the permission he’d been so diligently waiting for.
Jack’s broad hands grasped your hips, his thumb coming to rub tight little circles over your clit as his hips snapped up. He dragged you down until he was buried to the hilt, thrusting deeper than should be possible.
“Oh, fuck!”
Your nails dug into his shoulders through his jacket. You were right on the edge.
“Gonna come for me, sweetheart?” Jack didn’t slow, continuing the punishing pace, his thumb putting even more pressure exactly where you needed him. “C’mon, I wanna feel it, pretty girl. Fucking cum all over me. I need it, please.”
His voice, low and gravely and begging pushed you right over the line, but he didn’t stop. Wave after wave of toe curling pleasure rushed through your body, blurring your senses to anything that wasn’t his hands, his cock, his voice as he gave you no reprieve. Your legs were shaking, hips jerking involuntarily in his hold.
“Oh, oh fuck,” Jack was fully controling your body now, lifting and slamming you down as you continued to tremble through your climax. “Oh fuck, babygirl, I’m gonna cum, fuck, fuck!”
The heat of him spilling deep inside you was overwhelming while you twitched through the aftershocks, walls still pulsing around him.
The two of you stayed there for a moment, breathing through the last few jolts of pleasure as your faculties slowly came back to you.
Jack’s hands were slowly rubbing up and down your back. His eyes were shut and his breathing was almost level as he held you there until you could move.
“Can we go home now,” you pulled to look at him. “Please?”
He cracked a smile, eyes sliding open to take in what you were sure was your ruined makeup and messy hair. “Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
The chemistry in my brain was altered the day I saw @stump-not-found draw for the dress up Ford week AND I'VE BEEN WANTING FOR SOOO LONG TO MAKE THIS ONE DRAWING 😭😭😭😭😭
I'm sorry for the tag I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THE VISION
