Drabbles + Oneshots | Got7

leave the heels on | jackson

smut, explicit

It began as a stupid little fight.

Curled on your side of the bed, you glanced at the clock one more time. It was well past three in the morning and Jackson still wasn't home. Batting your eyes tiredly, you were finally ready to drift off to sleep, rehearsing the vengeful speech you would give Jackson in the morning.

Then, you heard a car door close. Not long after, Jackson crept quietly into the bedroom, settled on his side of the bed, and went to sleep.

Now, you were seething.

The next morning, you sat at the kitchen table and ate your cereal in silence. When Jackson finally emerged from the bedroom, he dutifully moved to your side, planted a sweet kiss on your cheek, and greeted, "Good morning."

"What time did you get in last night?" you asked softly.

Jackson hesitated. You didn't approve of him working late and rather than listen to your disappointment that he was pushing himself too much again, he fibbed, "Around twelve thirty."

"Ah," you replied and by your tone, Jackson knew he was fucked.

Everything went downhill from there.

You were mad at him for lying. He was annoyed that you began ignoring him. You got angry when he didn't apologize. He grew furious with you for blowing the situation out of proportion.

After one rather loud - and extremely petty - fight, Jackson found himself sleeping on the couch.

Your relationship with Jackson was defined by passion. The two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other and affection was constant. But you both had another thing in common; you were stubborn as hell.

A few days in and Jackson was losing his fucking mind. You had never looked so damn good and he was hard as a rock. But if you thought he was going to give in and forsake his pride, you had another thing coming.

Meanwhile, you were desperate for physical contact. Jackson always had his hands on you, showering you with his love and affection throughout the day, but bringing you pleasure and release at night. You were getting neither at the moment and your patience was wearing thin.

So you did what any mature girl would do - you upped the ante.

Jackson sat on the couch, which was laden with blankets and pillows from his restless nights, and watched the television with disinterest. He had just returned from the gym, sweaty and frustrated. As it turned out, exercise did little to help the raging erection in his pants.

Stepping out of the bedroom, you made for the kitchen. Hearing a loud click with your steps instead of the usual pitter-patter of bare feet, Jackson glanced up and both mind and body stopped their functions.

You wore his white dress shirt and nothing else underneath. Fastening only a single button halfway down, you left bare minimum to the imagination and topped off the tease with a pair of red high heels.

Jackson watched your every move, fixated on you like his life depended on it. You, on the other hand, paid him no mind as you approached the counter and bent over to sift for a snack.

"Fuck me," Jackson growled under his breath. Your lower lips looked wet and inviting, and Jackson's cock promptly twitched at the sight.

Rising with no snack in hand, you turned around, put a hand on your hip, and asked, "What was that?"

Jackson met your eyes and he had never looked so conflicted. Damn it, he didn't want to let you win, but for fuck's sake, he needed to be inside that hot, tight cunt.

"Bend over again," your boyfriend finally said, bitter. "So I can at least look at it."

You chuckled, but you also bristled with your own frustration. Were you really that easy to resist? Swaying your hips, you pressed, "Why don't you just apologize? And then you can touch it."

Jackson made a noise. It sounded so simple, but his bull-headed pride smacked him over the head.

You went in for the kill, lifting up the shirt just barely and arching your ass into the air. "I'm so wet for you, baby. Think about how that thick dick could slide right in..."

Jackson realized by the tremble in your voice and the glistening arousal on your pussy that you were hornier than a bitch in heat. This misery wasn't one-sided, after all; it was well in good company.

Standing from the couch, Jackson pulled off his shirt at the speed of light and dropped his gym shorts, approaching you naked as the day he was born. You grinned victoriously, raking your tongue over your teeth at his hard cock curving toward his abs.

"Say it," you hissed.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Jackson deadpanned, grabbing you none too gently and hoisting you onto the kitchen counter.

You chuckled a little too smugly and your boyfriend pushed a hand squarely between your breasts and shoved you onto the flat of your back. His fingers were at your shirt next, ripping the material impatiently to finally get a glimpse of your beautiful naked body.

"Leave the heels on, baby," Jackson ordered gruffly, guiding your legs around his waist. "Just the heels though."

Pulling off the torn remains of his shirt, you were about to make a smartass remark, basking in your victory, when your lips fell open as he pushed his cock deep past your slick folds. The moment he bottomed out, Jackson pulled back until only the tip was still inside and smacked his hips into yours. Over and over, he pounded his length into you, wanting you to feel every thick inch of him penetrating you.

"Fuck," you cried out, trying to find somewhere on the counter to brace your hands. You had never felt so full, your pussy fitting snugly around him like a glove. Your walls tightened even more with satisfaction and your partner let out a throaty groan.

Jackson shifted his hands to drape leisurely on your thighs, your ankles crossed over his lower back and those red heels digging against his ass exactly how he liked it. He kept his thrusts rough, not concerned with speed, and as your face contorted with pleasure and frustration, Jackson growled, "Say it."

"I'm sorry too," you whimpered, your breasts bouncing with every smack of his hips into yours.

Jackson smirked. Then he roamed his palms up your thighs and to your waist, getting a firmer hold as he sped up his pace and drilled you both toward the edge.

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