#barbecue

❝ 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝖦𝖾𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾!, ❞

Warnings: smut but no p in v, smoking, dryhumping (what is a story of mine if it doesn't have any?!), finger sucking & soooo many pet names if you couldn't tell by the title

1 8 + , pairing: gf/ bmreader x bf/ bdmichael

a/n 1/2: your daughter is referred to as Pumpkin. there's a drought in sub mature era fics, sub doesn't always have to be equivalent to inexperienced!

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞 ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞

Today was an absolute success.

Was it chaotic?

Yes!

But still, it was a perfectly orchestrated, chaotic, success.

For the first time in the three years of you and Michael owning your luxurious family home in Malibu, you'd thrown a cookout.

The cookout was everything you'd envisioned and more.

A part of you realized that you and Michael had isolated yourselves from everyone, but the thoughts didn't really settle until it was too late.

After having your first child, the two of you had gone to unimaginable lengths to protect her. Michael especially. He'd grown this wondrously protective persona that he'd turn on and off like flipping a light switch. So when it came to his daughter.. don't let it come to her. That fierce instinct isolated you both from everyone. Including family.

You'd learned very quickly that snakes lived within every instance of your lives, but Michael — as he lived constantly in the starlight—had known that.

The morning after you found out you were pregnant Michael had already spoken to your landlord. He told you, and I quote "I'll be damned if I have my girl and child living here. You know I've been trying to move you out for months."

This was true. But you stood on the fact that you didn't want to be dependent on him. That you would still work, still live in your own house, and be the same independent woman you were before you and him became an item.

God forbid you got into an arguement with him and he left you stranded.

You knew he'd never, but thoughts like that didn't just disappear with conformation, they lingered even in your happiest moments, and furthur prevented you from moving in with him. Regardless of the fight you put up (you'd given up when he stared at you with puppy dog eyes) you ended up living with him by the end of the week.

The following week Michael approached you with various home designs much to your surprise. Once again, your complaints were futile, and when you finally gave in and accepted one the designs, Michael cheered — literally cheered —and with this he began renovations of his own home —orginally designed for one, now fit for family. Your home was far from basic, the usual minimalist coastal style of typical Malibu homes having nothing on him and his creative mind.

20 acres of beautiful green grass full of sprawling opportunity; (would've been more but you didn't want anymore land), and a custom modern lit family home spanning 6,000 feet of the property.

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞 ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞

The men tended the grill, Joseph hovering close with a watchful eye as his sons grilled ribs, hotdogs and hamburgers.

Even from the kitchen you could tell it was plethora of food, the amount where even after people grab extra plates for the ride home, there would be enough to eat off of the next three days. But by then you'd be sick of it. And Michael would serve you hand and foot to whatever your pretty heart desired, especially when it came to food.

The Jackson women (excluding Katherine because she was in the living room playing with your babygirl), were fixing sides in the kitchen. Greens, baked beans, mac and cheese, all the sweet and savory food that were usually paired with the meat.

You prepared your famous banana pudding, already having made a cake earlier in the day. Everyone kept insisting you rest and have fun like the rest of them, but you were hosting, so that was never an option.

"Word on the street is that one of y'all got a new boo and ain't tell me?" You roll your neck, tilting your head as you scanned over the three Jackson sisters with an arched brow.

Rebbie continued slowly stirring the pot of greens, an amused lilt grabbing the corner of her lips. "Well I'm happily married so excuse me."

LaToya pled the fifth, reaching into her bag and pulling out a compact mirror to fluff her blowout and reapply her lipstick.

Janet rubbed the side of her arm nervously, cracking under minimal pressure. "Okay fine! You got me.. there is someone." Quickly she shifts, changing the subject. "Don't you have pudding to finish?"

The cleanup following the phenomenal food and camaraderie was all but slow. Jackie and Tito put their muscles to work to help get everything stuff thrown away quickly and efficiently.

Mama K was simply content on the couch, rocking your toddler in her arms and passing her off to you when she notices your arrival. "She's been an angel this whole time.."

And when final goodbyes are exchanged and the last car pulls out of your long driveway? The house is still and quiet, save for the soft snores of your seven year old Yorkshire terrier, Mickey.

Michael closes the front door, and leans against it with a deep, content sigh. He pushes off the door and walks over to you, his arms encircling both you and Pumpkin in a gentle hug.

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. "Thank you, (Name). Today was amazing.."

You don't respond, relishing in the moment. And the three of you stand in the foyer like a picture-perfect family.

Carefully he takes Pumpkin from your arms, cradling her against his shoulder with practiced ease. "I'll get her to bed.."

Michael settles her in the colorful expanse of the bedroom, and gently lays her in her toddler bed, pulling the fluffy blanket to her chin. He stands there for a minute, watchig the moonlight glimmer off of his daughters radiant brown skin, her curls jumbled from her exciting day of meeting new family members and toddling around.

He exits Pumpkins room and turns to you, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the living room couch.

Instantly, you both melt into the cushions, the slight tension in your shoulders easing into the leather.

Michael's arm finds your waist, pulling you flush to his side. You rest your hand on his chest and gasp as his fingers begin playing with the strap of your thong, snapping the material on your hips over and over.

"Michael!" You slap his chest with one hand and swat his hand with the other , fighting the giggles threatening to erupt in your chest.

"What?" He asks innocently, black waves casting shadows over his forehead as he tilts his head. "Y'got your whale tale out today."

You simply kiss your teeth, leaning forward to grab a leftover blunt in an ashtray and sparking it with the Barbie pink lighter that lived on your belt.

( i am not encouraging smoking in the same household as children! but this is fictitious, read it for the plot! )

The sweet, earthy, charred scent of the blunt mixes with the lingering aroma of the cookout. Michael watches you— or rather adores you—a lovestricken smile on his face as you take the first pull.

"We should make this an annual thing, baby. We don't see family enough." You exhale the smoke, leaning furthur into Michael's side.

"I like that," he nods slowly, "A tradition for our family."

Once, twice, three times.

You notice Michael's eyes drop to your blunt three times before his tongue darts out, wetting his lips; obviously he wants to take a hit.

Now, it wasn't often that Michael smoked. But whenever you sparked up, he couldn't help but want to join in. He'd take no more than two hits, sometimes a few more. But you knew he needed to preserve his voice, so sometimes you denied him.

Thankfully, tonight was not one of those times.

"You know what the best part of today was? Watching you in your element. Hosting, laughing, making your famous pudding. You're a natural. You know how to really build people up."

You giggle, using your freehand to throw a braid over your shoulder. "You don't have to kiss my ass to get a hit.."

"No, no! I'm serious!" Michael rubbed the back of his neck, a flush crawling its way up his neck, his lips tilted in a downward bashful smile.

"Well, still, thank you baby. That's what Big Mama does." You shrug, taking the blunt from your own lips and holding it out for him.

You watch closely as he leans in — his eyes never dropping from yours —and inhales, cheeks hollowing slightly. The quiet intimacy of the gesture as tangible as the thick smoke curling between you that drifted upward, brushing the ceiling.

"Big Mama?" His voice takes an amused lilt, exhaling the smoke softly. "I like that, suits you."

"How so? Besides the fact that I'm a thick ass mother." You tease, watching Michael's eyes drop when you lightly tap your behind, the flesh recoiling despite the slight restriction of your bedazzled jeans .

"That's part of it. But the way you take care of everybody. The love you show to our daughter. The way you made our house a home."

You set the blunt down in its ashtray, eyes fluttering shut when you lean into his shoulder, inhaling his cologne. "Mhm? Tell me more, bubba."

His voice drops to a hypnotic murmur, almost enough to lull you to sleep, the sound vibrating through his broad chest. "You're the reason for it all, (Name). You built a world, with a backyard and a garden with your roses, and hibiscuses, and those stunning lilies.." He pauses, his voice taking a quieter emotional turn. "And a crib in the next room."

"That's what I like to hear.." You smile, fingers finding his chin and bringing him closer until your lips brushed against each other. "Gimme sum'.."

Michael closes the distance between you, and slowly you kiss, the peck deepening slowly, fueled by the gentle buzz from the blunt and the success of the days ventures. His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks.

The makeout session continues, lazy and deep on the plush couch. You shift closer to his side, Michael's hand sliding from your face to your waist, pulling you firmly to his side before dropping to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

"We got a sleepin' baby down the hall.. and you're kissin' me like you want another one.." His lip slips between his bottom teeth.

"It was just a little kiss.." You tease, trailing his jaw with your finger.

"A little kiss? That was more than a little kiss, mama." He leans in, nose brushing against yours. His gaze drops to your parted lips, his own parting in response, tongue brushing yours in a faster, sloppier kiss than before.

Instantly, you adjust over, thighs bracketing his hips. Michael's eyes flutter open, now dark with a fresh wave of desire.

If only walls could talk. This ole' couch has seen more things than it would've liked too, and tonight would be no different.

His large hands tighten on your waist, guiding the slow, deliberate rhythm of your hips against his growing erection.

Your lips find his neck, sucking and marking it up. His body naturally arches up to meet the slow grind of your hips.

"You're so hard beneath your jeans, baby.." You whisper, fingers tracing the fresh mark on his neck.

"Just.. being near you.." Michael strains out, his voice a low rasp, hips frantically searching for more friction.

Pumpkin shifts in her sleep, soft coos leaving her mouth and echoing down the corridor. Michael notices instantly, his ears perking up.

"We should...." He glances toward the hallway where Pumpkin sleeps, visibly torn between checking on your daughter and the sheer desire in his body.

You shake your head, manicured fingers grasping his chin and forcing his wide eyes back on yours. "We have a baby monitor for a reason.. focus on Big Mama. You said being near me gets you like this?"

His eyes lock on your own, captured by your gaze and the commanding tone in your voice. "Always.. from the first day we met. One look at me and I fall apart.."

The words land right between your thighs, and without another thought your hips are rocking faster, clit twitching. "Yeah? Don't drop my gaze."

His breathing grows ragged, matching your hips in perfect sync, a desperate rhythm. "Yes.. oh God, yes, (Name).."

You still your hips. "That's not my name, baby.."

You feel his hips stutter as he struggles to keep his focus, big hands dragging you down against him again. "Mama? Big Mama? Mommy? I don't know baby, just.. please.."

"That's it.." You rock again, feeling him buck up against you in a sharp involuntary movement that makes you gasp. "I haven't even got you out your clothes yet.."

A shudder runs through him as you nibble on his ear. The friction of your jeans against his is maddening, paired with the power in your voice, it's all pushing him dangerously close to the edge.

"You know I'm sensitive, Mama. You know what you do to me.."

"I'm so close.." Michael's eyes are glazed, still holding your stare as you commanded him earlier. He's trembling with the effort of holding back, knuckles white where he grips your hips. He's willingly submitting, and the thought alone is enough to send another wave of heat over your skin.

"Not yet.."

The sudden slow drag of your hips draws a frustrated groan from Michael's throat. His body arches up, searching for the friction you're denying him, but his attempt is futile and you hold your pace, a deliberate slow teasing.

"Please.." His forehead falls, landing right on your shoulder, placing your hand to his chest, allowing you to feel the rapid beat of his heart. "I'm listenin'.. I'm bein' good.."

"Beg f'me, papa."

And when you still? Michael whines again, his body taut as a bowstring.

"Please let me cum for you.." His hips raise in a tiny thrust, a helpless reflex. "I need it.. please, Ma.."

His expression is one of pure desperation, he's completely surrendered. Body laid bare(not physically but mentally) to your every command. And at that moment you take a second to stare at him. The waves of his hair— usually meticulously styled— ruffled and disorderly as if he'd spent a day with Pumpkin alone, pupils blown wide with desperation and desire, and the subtle twitch of his hips that's slowly becoming less subtle after every passing breath.

You pretend to ponder it, tapping your chin before resuming your fervored pace. "Let go for me.. you've been doing so good.."

Michael's eyes squeeze shut, his body convulsing beneath you. You slip your fingers in his mouth already knowing what to expect next. His lips wrap tight around your fingers just in time, tongue warm around the digits as a broken muffled moan escapes his throat, clawing it's way up from his gut.

His release is everything but subtle, body arching off the couch as he soaks the dark fabric of his deep-blue Levis. The warmth of release seeps onto your thighs and you're still rutting against him, riding out your orgasm with your own head thrown back.

Michael's chest is rising and falling quickly, one hand holding your waist and the other holding your braids away from your face, tugging your head back.

Slowly, you both collapse into the cushions, thighs drenched through the jeans with your arousal and your mixed release.

You both sit there for a long moment before turning your head, the soft pad of tiny quiet footsteps catching your attention.

"Ma-ma.." The toddler's soft voice rings out, rubbing her brown eyes with the back of her hand.

You and Michael share a quick knowing look and both stifle a laugh, tickled with your three-year-old's impeccable timing. Slowly, you pull a blanket from the side of the couch around your hips, shielding the innocent child's eyes from seeing the mess her 'mama' and 'papa' created.

"Yes, baby?"

݁♬⋆.˚𝄞 ˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞

@bawdylanguageee @slickdickwitchbitchh @triippy2hiippie