JUNKIE 🪽

nyla, she/her. 23. black! 18+ multi-fandom blog.

EXCLUSIVE: local writer develops unhealthy fixation!

masterlist.

NOW SHOWING…

TELL YOUR FRIENDS, michael jackson

synopsis— older men were unexplored territory for this housewife, but your dad’s newfound best friend michael jackson has a way turning every assumption you’d had about older men on its head.

content— SMUT (18+) MDNI. baby angst, dbsf!michael, readers kind of inconsiderate, pet names (peach, sweet thing, princess, mama, papa causee duh!), soft!dom michael, two clit spanks, p in v, foot kink, dirty talk, missionary (he gives it to you on the kitchen counter ughh), creampiee.

🪽junkie— was this inspired by this post. also this video too! as always mwuah! hope you enjoyyy.

Michael took some getting used to in the beginning.

Most of your life, you never quite understood women’s fascination with older men.

Your girlfriends swore older men were more patient. More intentional. That they opened car doors without being asked, remembered the little things, called when they said they would instead of playing games. They’d laugh about salt and pepper beards and expensive watches, claiming a man with a little gray in his hair knew exactly what he wanted.

You’d only ever roll your eyes, maybe they were all suffering from a collective psychosis.

Because after watching your father jeopardize nearly thirty years of marriage over some twenty six year old receptionist who made him feel ‘alive’ again… You simply just didn’t see the appeal. If anything, older men had become the cautionary tale. Men who woke up one morning convinced commitment had stolen their youth. They traded loyalty for excitement and confused selfishness with freedom.

So no, you didn't get it. Not until your father met Michael.

Somewhere between the lawyers, custody schedules, and awkward family dinners, your father had insisted on introducing you to one of the few friendships he'd managed to build after divorce. It was a desperate hail mary really. His way of proving he’d become a different man, that he finally surrounded himself with men worth looking up to.

Little by Little this newfound consistency chipped away at every word you were forced to eat before he came around. Michael was nearly fifteen years your senior, and you wouldn't have dreamed of entertaining an older man who'd suck the excitement out of your twenties. Especially not after barely escaping your own marriage in one piece.

You thought you were living the dream.

A husband before twenty five, a sprawling buckhead home with wraparound porches, invitations to every charity gala worth attending, cameras following your every move as one of Atlanta's newest housewives. But everything that glittered wasn't gold. Your marriage had become a beautiful cage, your husband loved the idea of a wife just not the woman you happened to be. He wanted homemade dinners and quiet obedience. Eventually your marriage surrounded everything about him. His last name, his image, and opinions. Somewhere between becoming his wife and becoming his reflection, You had almost lost your voice, identity, your peach.

By the time you met Michael, you had been legally separated for over a year. The divorce dragging on because your husband refused to sign the papers. Divorce mocked everything that he believed in apparently, the ultimate betrayal of God. Which was funny, considering he’d committed one of the oldest betrayals known to man. After all that, you’d learned firsthand that younger men were no better than the older ones you’d spent years criticizing. Maybe age had never been the problem after all. Maybe it had been their character. Still, you preferred sticking with the young cats you’d already known, at least they were familiar, or thats what you thought.

Months later, Michael Jackson had somehow become your favorite familiarity. The private get together had been winding down for the evening, the house humming with low conversation and the soft clink of champagne flute. Friends gathered throughout the living room, music drifting through the speakers while laughter bounced between stories only old friends could appreciate. You stood in the kitchen assembling another tray of fruit when something suddenly came to mind.

“Oh!” you turned toward Michael, who sat comfortably at the island nursing what had to be his second or perhaps third mimosa of the evening, “Baby?”

Michael turned instantly, that soft, attentive affection already written all over his handsome face. Despite being nearly fifteen years your senior, his reaction to that single syllable was immediate. His smooth strands loose, his expensive watch catching the kitchen light, and those dark eyes settled solely on you.

"Mhm, peach?" he answered softly, tapping his long fingers against the glass rim.

“Can you check my phone real quick? Tasha sent me the name of the caterer she used for her anniversary. “I can't remember which conversations it was in”

“Mmkay let me see,” Michael nodded without question, eyes squinting at the screen. “Why is everything moving?”

His long fingers already reaching for your phone resting on the counter. He was already scrolling through your messages with practiced patience—he never made you dig through conversations yourself, never made you hunt for simple things. That was the thing about men like him; they actually remembered the little things.

“Moving? The screen shouldn’t be moving mikey..”

“I swear these phones get smaller every year..” he mumbled, fumbling around with the key pad.

“it’s a smartphone michael.” one of your girlfriends laughed.

“it’s a smart pain in my neck!”

a few people nearly choked on their drinks as the room erupted into laughter as he kept checking through the phone, tapping the screen with a surprising determination. Till eventually a small breath of relief escaped his lips, “There it is..”

His thumb has pressed the group chat and the first few messages made him smile.

‘Girl, He looks so GOOD tonight.’

‘She drooling over mr. jackson again.’

And since Michael is somewhere between pleasantly buzzed and just plain nosy, he kept scrolling. Too distracted to look for Tasha’s caterer recommendation because his sweet girl talked about him more than he’d realized. Each lazy click of his thumb uncovered another conversation, another little glimpse into that pretty mind of yours whenever he wasn't around.

It made something deep inside him swell with pride, each message making him twitch in his pants. It held date ideas, pictures of funky silk ties that brought out the warmth of his handsome complexion, your excitement over what dress you’d wear. The nerves before your first official date, and your girlfriends practically convincing you stop overthinking every little detail. it was all wrapped into those text messages and Michael loved every single second of it.

Then he scrolled too far.

‘It is taking me FOREVER to warm up to Mr. Jackson.’

‘& the names… sweet thing, princess, Peach.’

‘Feels like someone’s uncle is courting me..’

which was funny cause peach especially was one of the same names you gushed over. Whenever it rolled off his tongue. The same name that somehow coaxed that little smile before he even stepped into the room. A name that had you clenching around his fingers each time listened to the juiciest one. The name you answered without a second thought. Time had such a funny way of proving people wrong.

‘and don’t laugh! Be serious!’

‘He’s FIFTEEN years older, what if he can’t keep up with me?’

That’s when his smile disappeared and the room suddenly felt much louder than before. It wasn’t the teasing, the pet names, it was the uncertainty. He quietly clicked your phone shut, handing it back with an echo of your messages ringing through his mind.

His thumb lingered over the bedazzled gems for another second before he finally extended it back towards you “…Found it”

You thanked him without a second thought. Never noticing how much quieter he’d become. By the time the last of the guests disappeared through his front door, the silence between you had become impossible to ignore.

Michael still helped collect glasses. He still thanked everyone for coming. I still smiled but something had changed. He wasn’t avoiding you, he just simply wasn't reaching for you anymore. You found him in the back of the kitchen pouring himself another mimosa, barely acknowledging your presence.

“You alright?” You questioned, leaning against the cool marble counter of his sprawling kitchen island.

“Mhm..” Michael barely looked up, opting instead to swirl the mimosa around inside his glass as though the answer might be waiting somewhere beneath the champagne bubbles.

‘You’ve been acting funny all night.” you pressed gently.

“I’m fine.”

The words came easy enough. Convincing to some, however, if you learned anything about Michael in your time spent with him. Was that he physically wasn’t capable of hiding his emotions and with no shaded frames in sight, the words weren’t convincing enough. It was a bruised pride and a quiet frustration that he hadn’t quite figured out how to tuck away.

“You don't sound fine.” Confusion knitted in your brows, the shift had been so sudden it made your stomach tighten.

One minute he’d been smiling across crowded rooms, reaching for your hand whenever he passed by. The next? He became almost impossible to read. It reminded you far too much of growing up inside a home where affection could disappear without warning. Where the silence always arrived before your parents' arguments. Where your mother learned to study your father’s moods before speaking. Old habits died hard and apparently, so did old anxieties.

The glass touched the marble countertop with a quiet clink, Michael stood there for another moment, jaw flexed before he finally turned towards you. Time had mellowed many things about Michael. The fame, impatience, and the need to prove himself. But if anything, age had only shortened his tolerance for sitting inside uncomfortable feelings. Especially when they involved you. He’d spent the better half of the evening pretending none if it bothered him, and unfortunately, his patience had run out.

“So…” His voice was unusually calm, dangerously so. “From what I gathered from that sparkly little phone of yours, I’m corny.’

Your stomach dropped, lifting from the counter as shock etched itself in your face. “...What?”

“Too old,” Michael shrugged, taking another quick sip of the chilled mimosa sitting along the counter all while bringing himself closer to you with a dry laugh. “Can’t keep up?

“As if I'm not the one who’s worked a stage since 5 and you’ve somehow convinced yourself I need a nap. ”

Every ounce of warmth drained from your face, the words barely audible as your lips parted. “Y–You read my messages?”

“Wasn’t looking for them,” He confessed, taking yet another nervewrecking step. “You asked me to find something, but once I stumbled across ‘em…”

“Couldn’t exactly stop reading.”

Those soft doe eyes never left yours and before you realized it, your back met the edge of the sink. Michael settled behind you, just close enough that the warmth of him made your pulse stumble. Every instinct told you to turn around, to hide your face, to explain but his hand settled against the countertop beside yours before you had the chance.

“You had me sounding like somebody’s washed up old man.”

A nervous laugh escaped you, as the words rushed out. A bad habit Michael took the time to understand. “Michael, t–they’re old.”

“So old…”

“That you apparently needed your girlfriends to talk you off a ledge?” he countered smoothly, his thumb brushing the side of your neck, feeling your pulse hammer against his skin. “Old enough that you convinced yourself I was lookin’ for a distraction?”

“like my life needs to be any more complicated..”

“m—michael..” you stutter out, a gentle finger of his slipping a strap free from your shoulder, peppering wet kisses along the warm skin. all while the flushed color of your nipple peaks past the fabric, hardening from the cool graze of his silk top.

tilting his head just right as he sucks at your collarbone, soothing it over with a soft lick of his tongue.

"Mmh..." He hummed directly against your throat, reading your stutter exactly for what it was—an old childhood defense mechanism. You reverted to nervous giggles and stumbling explanations whenever you felt overwhelmed, caught, or exposed.

And Michael understood that. He understood you better than anyone. But right now? He wasn't having it.

"You had plenty to say, to your little friends Peach." He murmured against your skin, sucking another slow, devastating kiss right into the hollow of your throat.

Michael’s voice was dipped in a honeyed bluntness that curled around your spine and dripped sweetly in your ear. His hand slid to your waist, fingers dipping gently beneath the fabric of your dress. The pads grazing your skin as they run along your thigh. Pooling the champagne slip dress around your waist.

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek as he reveals the trimmed lace resting along your hip. Tracing the thin band of your underwear, stretching it aside just enough to expose the soft skin beneath.

Then letting the fabric snap back into place with a quick *pop*, massaging soothing circles over the sting. "you keep up just fine mikey.

You inhaled sharply, the vibration of his laugh brushing against your ear. The nickname left your lips raw and desperate, the heat of the kitchen suddenly unbearable as your knuckles turned white gripping the marble behind you.

“How would you know?” He challenged, pressing another lazy kiss to your shoulder. Pulling the second strap down with his nose, his large hand traced along the exposed curve of your waist and dipping into the crease that rested just beside where you needed him. “Haven’t even given you every part of me..”

“You’d like that huh?”

That spoiled little sound in the back of your throat telling Michael everything he needed to know. A whiny plea for him to give you something, anything to soften the buzzing in your clit.

Michael sat you atop of the counter prettily, your thighs twitch with thinning patience. Shivering beneath his cool thumbs as they dipping beneath the lace . Groaning out at the slicked fabric outline your pouty lips as he teasingly spread you apart.

“look at this..” Michael crooned, voice thick with satisfaction tracing your glossy folds with a slow, devastating reverence. pressing a thumb directly over your clit and holding it there—firm, Torturously still. "All wet, all bothered..."

He was being deliberately cruel, the kind of cruelty that only someone who knew every single one of your buttons could deliver.

“You know maybe i’m just too old,” the cool graze of his silk pants catching on your delicate lace, doing very little to mask the hard line of him grinding against you. “But as a friend of your father, i’m sure father has told you about assuming."

"You know what sayin' i'm referring to peach?"

You watched two of michael’s fingers hook into the lace, with a bite of your manicured nail. Stretching it just far enough to reveal the smooth skin, running his thumb through your flooded slit and coating your clit in the slippery essence.

It was embarrassing how wet you were really, slick dripping down the delicate fabric, and he swore he could hear you clenching stickily around nothing already. He snapped his wrist, big hands giving your clit two smacks before melting instantly into a throbbing heat under the soothing touch of him swirling lazily around the bud.

“D—Don’t make assumptions..”

"Thatsss right sweet thing, because it makes what?" Michael questioned, his thumb continued that agonizingly slow swirl, never pressing hard enough to push you over the edge—just enough to keep you hovering until he took it all away. “An ass out of you and me..”

“And don’t worry sweet girl..” Michael’s hands slid under your thighs, keeping you hooked and tilted forward. “M’gonna show you what an ass I can be.”

Michael’s long fingers curled beneath your knee, hiking your leg up just right for him to leave a scorching trail of kisses along your calf. Tugging you to the edge as soon as his hand found your ankle, pressing a wet messy kisses up the side of your foot.

All while your own fingers fumbled at his waistband, stretching the hem just enough for him to spring free. Dribbling a bead above your clit at the sight of your fresh french styled pedi.

Michael’s long fingers curled beneath your knee, hiking your leg up just right for him to leave a scorching trail of kisses along your calf. Tugging you to the edge as soon as his hand found your ankle, pressing a wet messy kisses up the side of your foot.

All while your own fingers fumbled at his waistband, stretching the hem just enough for him to spring free. Dribbling a bead above your clit at the sight of your fresh french styled pedi.

A low, ragged groan vibrated through his chest as his dark eyes locked onto the fresh French tip polish gleaming under the kitchen lights.

"S'grown n sexy." Michael murmured, dropping sloppy kisses to the acrylic tips, sucking your big toe into his mouth before his gaze trailed to his flushed tip drooling that pearlescent bead right over your pretty clit.

Gripping at his thick base, giving him a stuttered rolled of your hips at the praise. Tapping the heavy tip of him against your swollen clit, every wet *plap, plap, plap* making your entire pussy flutter and clench. Sweet voice whining out for the full length as you tapped it one last time, digging into his shoulder with a curl of your toes.

"Sound s'pretty..."

Michael drops your leg over his shoulder, eyes dropping to watch your clit bounce under the heavy weight of him. pressing the wet tip right against your opening, softness spreading over him— pink flesh blooming around his dick. “Talk to me princess, what is it?”

“Want all of you Michael..” lashes fluttering to his, pushing back against him enough for your slick to leave a clinging string. a possessive marking of you both.

Tugging his handsome face closer to your to capture your lips with his, the curve of him snagging just as he nips at your bottom lip before soothing the dizzying sting with his tongue. He groaned against your mouth, swallowing your desperate plea with a languid swipe of his tongue, his hips rolling in a slow, devastating grind that fed the thick, slick head into your tight, fluttering heat.

“Mm, i’ll give you all that i’ve got..” stretching that tight little ring of muscle until it gave way, sucking him in inch by greedy inch. giving him the most intimate view possible—your glistening, needy pussy barely containing him. “All that i’ve got sweet girl..”

“Just relax and open her up for me..”

“Ooh my g—” you mewled, listening to each stirring squelching as he settles on a steady pace.

Michael gave you just a few inches, hips chasing after his to mold around the curve of him. face crumbling beautifully as he works you open, welcoming him with a airy squelch and a deep roll of your dazed eyes. “Y’giving it to me s’good papa..”

"Such a good girl.." Michael praised, watching your face crumble with each agonizingly slow inch, his thumbs anchoring your thighs as he worked you open. Pulling out slower this time, giving you the full view of his thick, glistening dick sliding free.

Revealing a streaky, white cream before sinking back in and stuffing you breathless with a grinding circle that kept him buried balls deep inside you. He loved how you struggled to take the slow, deep strokes that had you whimpering and begging. You clung to him like he was your entire world. The strokes so devastating—long, deliberate, and deep, hitting that spot inside you that made your brain melt. Your thighs were shaking, your pretty little mouth hanging open as he fucked you stupid.

“Yeah? Feels good huh, such a pretty thing..” Michael whined, his forehead pressing against yours. pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your slack lips, relishing the glazed look in your eyes.

Dragging every thick inch out until just the tip remained, before rolling his hips deep and grinding into your spongey spot.

“S—So fuckingg good!” greeting your cervix with a devastating whine— slow and deep enough for you to whimper into his mouth.

Both your eyes dropping to watch the way your creamy ring slid down the thick length of Michael, dragging his lip beneath those gorgeous teeth as His pace picked up—deep and punishing strokes that slapped your sensitive clit against his base.

“J—Just wanna love ya y’know..” Michael panted, one hand leaving your thigh to grip the back of your hip, pulling you onto him harder. “Always wanted a pretty girl just like you..”

He caught your gaze again, hips snapped forward one more time. holding himself inside you, making you feel every pulsating inch of him as he bottomed out. “To make you feel all good inside… Yeah, like that.. just like that”

“It’s so good, s’good inside fu—“ A broken, desperate whine tore from your throat. nails digging into his shoulders, completely overwhelmed. “even when you mad papa..”

Giving him a sloppy kiss to the corner of his lips, moaning into each other’s mouths the moment those soft lips connected. Sucking your tongue into his mouth, timed perfectly with his deep strokes. Each one harder and deeper than the last as you cling around his neck, nipples brushing against the hard line of his chest.

"Especially when I’m mad mama," he purred against your lips, sucking your lip between his. a sharp, sweet pain that sends a dizzying throb straight to your pussy, tugging deep in your belly till it snapped. watching your juices gush around his shaft, soaking him and the marble beneath you.

“F—fuck Michael they were before I fell for you!” Coming so beautifully undone, so completely his—made every thought of the evening's frustration dissolve into nothing but raw, desperate need. “M’so sorry papa..”

“Giving me everything and moree.”

Untangling months of feelings you’d never quite put into sentences before. you’d stopped noticing Michael’s age altogether. It had quietly become the least interesting thing about him. Instead, you’d found yourself falling for the man who listened without trying to correct you. The man who never asked you to make yourself smaller just so he could feel bigger. The one who encouraged every dream your marriage had convinced you was too much, too loud, or too unrealistic for a wife to have.

Until you met Michael and for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

And Michael didn't stop—didn't slow down—just kept fucking through every splattering squirt. Every sobbing confession. He was making love to your entire soul, breaking you down to rebuild you. To reminded you that you were allowed to take up space. Fucking you with a patience that dismantled every insecurity your marriage had drilled into your head and replacing it with absolute safety.

“Forgive you.. god— I forgive you peach..” every broken moan hot against your skin hold you right where he wanted you, forcing you to take every heavy rope of his hot cum flooding your womb. “Shhh, I got you... I got you, pretty girl..”

“So perfect, pretty little thing giving me everything I ever wanted.. nghh— everything pretty girl."

NOW SHOWING…

NEEDY, michael jackson.

synopsis: after months apart you were finally able to see ‘BAD’ come all together, but after a show like that? you needed michael more than ever..

content: 18+ SMUT MDNI. fluffy moments, pet names (peach, pretty, sweet girl, baby, mama), sensual kissing, both of you are so whiny and needyy, dirty talkk, buckle riding, p in v, riding, creampie, this is filthy (i’m ovulatinggg)..

— 🪽 junkie : um, so i think i talk too damn much cause the build up is INSANE.. but thank you to this beautiful mind for sharing your idea with me, hope you enjoyy! mwuah!

The city had become familiar long ago.

Not because Los Angeles had ever managed to replace Georgia. It never could, but because somewhere between teenage summers and adulthood, it quietly became home.

Home was where careers were made. Where dreams flourished or dissolved beneath studio lights. Home was the gangly boy with endless ideas who had once stolen peaches from the box you’d carry across the country, insisting that California couldn’t ever compete.

“These are the real thing, m’ telling you tito..”

That was what he said around seventeen, juice running down his wrist while his brothers laughed at how seriously he defended Georgia peaches despite barely even letting his own feet settle in that ??? soil.

That's the reason the nickname never left— Peach.

It followed you through birthdays. Award shows, family dinners. Even the phone calls that stretched until sunrise. Years that slipped by faster than either of you realized. Long before either of you admitted there was something quietly blooming beneath the friendship.

By now, your own name carried weight. Not because of who you knew. But because of what you had built. Women had spent years squeezing themselves into impossible standards sought you out for one simple reason. You never styled a woman with the intention of hiding her, you dressed her to be seen.

Your editorials had become known for celebrating curves instead of disguising them. Designers began sending samples directly to your office. Photographers trusted your eye. Actresses requested you by name. Singers postponed shoots until your schedule opened. The little stylist who once steamed garments in cramped studio closets now approved entire fashion spreads before they even reached print.

You’d earned every bit of it, just like Michael had.

Now it's been months. Months since rehearsals became world tours. Months since magazine deadlines kept you in new york while he circled continents. Phone calls became your routine. Late nights conversations and voicemails flooding your machines. Then there was the occasional fax with doodles in the margin because Michael couldn’t resist adding something ridiculous to make you laugh.

None of it compared to standing in the same room.

Your town car had pulled beneath the awning of the hotel. It wasn’t difficult to spot which entrance had been reserved for the tour. Fans crowded behind barricades several yards away, their signs lifted high despite the late hour. Camera flashes still sparked every few seconds, hopeful that they might see someone. Anyone, emerge from those revolving doors.

A suited member of Michael’s security detail opened your passenger door before you could reach for it yourself. “Miss?”

You smiled, smoothing the wrinkles from your linen trousers before stepping onto polished pavement. “Thank you.”

The elevator climbed in comfortable silence, Carry on resting beside your heels while another member of security wheeled your larger suitcase behind him. They’d done this enough times that nobody asked unnecessary questions anymore. You weren’t introduced and you definitely didn’t need a visitor’s pass. They just simply nodded when they saw you, almost like coming home.

The elevator chimed softly as it reached the top floor.

The suite nearly occupied the whole top floor, tucked away from the rest of the hotels guest.

“Oh miss peach,” Bill, an honorary member of the security detail, gave you the warmest hug, taking one proud glance before gesturing toward the suite. “he’s been asking every twenty minutes if you arrived.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips. “Has he now?”

“Just you wait and see..” Bill laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. unlocking the suite door before turning the handle with a grin. “Go on in, princess. He’s been driving everyone up the wall.”

“Think he’s more excited than he was before the tonight’s show.”

You shook your head, warmth blooming deep in your cheeks as you adjusted the straps of your overnight bag. After three months apart, of course he was. Something never changed.

You’d barely had the chance to raise your hand toward the door before it swung inward. Revealing Michael in rare form. His curls were still slightly damp from a shower, an oversized button-down hanging loosely over black trousers he’d likely change out of before heading to the venue. He’d looked almost younger, like the boy who’d used to sit on the havenhurst porch and complain that california peaches had ‘no soul’.

The smile that spread across his face was immediate.

“Peach..”

You’d barely managed a breath, “Hi Michael..”

He’d crossed the room in seconds, your purse slipping from your shoulder onto the entryway table as his arms found your waist. It wasn’t a polite hug; it was a crushing, desperate thing, the kind that squeezed the air from your lungs and instantly glued your chest to his.

“There you are,” it came out quieter than either of your expected. like he’d been saying the words to himself all afternoon.

“I literally just got here,” you laughed, the sweet sound muffling against his shoulder.

“I know, I know. But I missed you so much..” Nuzzling his nose against your throat, inhaling deeply before setting you back onto your feet. His hands lingered on your waist, thumbs brushing gently.

“You look so pretty..” he murmured, almost absentmindedly. peppering kisses all over your pretty face, landing one right along your forehead.

Then everywhere else he possibly could, your cheek, a nose, the space just beneath your eye until you just couldn’t stop giggling anymore. “Michaelll!”

“What?” Michael could care less, dropping quick pecks at the corners of your lips. “Your supposed to be happy to see me!”

“You haven't even let me breathe.” you giggle as michael drops quick pecks at the corners of your lips.

“I'll let you breathe in a minute..” he whispered against your mouth, finally giving you a proper kiss. His hands slid up to cup your face gently as he poured every ounce of longing and relief into it. When he pulled back slightly, his forehead rested against yours. “I love you,”

Followed by yet another because apparently one wasn’t enough after months apart. Behind you your suitcase still stood exactly where security had left it. Untouched, and digging into the back of your thighs as Michael's body pressed flushed against yours.

Nipping at your bottom lip before pulling you into a slow kiss.

His fingers tangled in your coils, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss until you were both breathless. the texture familiar and grounding as his fi gers grazed along your scalp. Earning a soft mewl into the kiss, lips parting just enough for him to slip his tongue inside to taste you after all this time.

Michael hadn’t given you the chance to unpack. Hadn’t given you the chance to put anything down really. His fingers difted comfortably around your waist like letting go wasn’t a option.

When he finally broke the kiss, your lungs burned with oxygen. He didn't step back. If anything, his grip tightened, as if that would've been too far.

"Don't wanna let you go again," he whispered, his voice rough and unsteady. He looked at you, really looked at you— eyes roaming over your face.

Longer this time.

Slower.

Months of phone calls, rushed airport goodbyes, and impossible schedules melted into the simple familiarity of having him close enough to touch.

It felt unfair that someone whose life belonged to stadiums and spotlights could still somehow kiss you like the rest of the world had disappeared.

Then—Knock. Knock. Neither of you moved.

It was Bill.

You knew that rhythm perfectly. A respectful, distinct tap that signaled security without demanding entry—a habit formed over years of knowing exactly how much privacy Michael needed. It was the same knock that had interrupted hundreds of movie nights and porch conversations.

Michael buried his face deeper into your neck, groaning softly. his fingers still tangled deep in your coils, thumb stroking your cheekbone, refusing to detach from you.

"Michael?" Bills voice cut through the thick door, "We need to head downstairs in five."

Michael let out the most dramatic, long-suffering groan you had ever heard, vibrating against your collarbone. He pressed one last, lingering kiss to your neck before reluctantly lifting his head, his curls tumbling forward into his eyes.

“…Already?” he whined toward the door, resting his forehead against yours.“They always have the worst timing.”

“They usually do.” you breathed out, lashes fluttering. His fingers finally loosened from your waist, running one last time over the dip of your hips as he stole one final kiss anyway.

“I’m not ready,” he mumbled against your lips, voice dropping to that small, vulnerable tone that only ever slipped out around you. He kissed the corner of your mouth once more, then your cheek before colliding his lips against yours again.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, moaning into another desperate kiss. As though he was trying to stretch five stolen minutes into ten.

It was the kind of kiss that made your knees weak—the kind that forgot there was an audience on the other side of the door. Just the frantic press of his mouth against yours as his hands slid from your waist to your lower back, pulling you impossibly close.

Then— Three firm knocks echoed through the suite.

"Five minutes passed about three minutes ago, Mike," Bill's voice came through again—closer this time, cracking the door open. "Soundcheck. Car's waiting, Mike."

Michael whined , tongue sliding against yours one last time before he froze, lips still attached to yours, reaching one arm around you possessively. Shielding you from view as he finally lifted his eyes to glance over his shoulder.

"Come on, Bill,"

Pulling back just barely enough to speak. His curls were wild now, "Five minutes with my girlfriend and the whole state of california is falling apart,"

You laughed, brushing an errant curl back from his forehead. "The whole city is waiting on Michael Jackson."

Bill cleared his throat from the doorway. "Tour manager called twice. And Mrs. Jackson wants to know if you—"

"They can wait another five," he muttered, pressing his nose against yours, inhaling you deeply. "Let 'em wonder where I am." His thumb tracing idle patterns on your hip, a habit he'd never quite outgrown. sounding almost wounded. "Months, Peach. Months of hearing your voice through a phone. Now you're right here and they wanna pull me away."

“Give us a moment bill,” you spoke softly, flashing him a polite smile. “I’ll have him out any second.”

"Thanks, Peach," Bill nodded, closing the door with a soft click.

Michael's eyes immediately dropped back to yours, his pretty face almost pleading. His eyes—still dark with want—flickered down to your mouth, watching his thumb trace along the curve of your lip.

"The fans don't have a minute." you sighed, giving his chin a small shake. "They've already bought tickets."

He knew exactly how many eyes were turned toward him. How the stadiums swelled with thousands of voices waiting for a single moment. How the world demanded his presence as payment for tickets and dreams and devotion.

"Come to the show tonight," he murmured, his forehead still resting against yours. His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "Sit in the wings."

You smile, giving his nose a quick peck. shrugging your shoulders all girly, “As if I have anywhere else to be in Los Angeles.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.

He looked at you the same way he always had— like no amount of fame could make the familiar unfamiliar.When he finally pulled away, he reluctantly smoothed the front of his shirt before opening the suite. Then looked over his shoulder one last time, “I’ll be looking for you.”

Hours later, the stadium no longer belonged to him. It belonged to the noise. Twenty thousand voices merged into one impossible roar that shook the concrete beneath your heels.

Every seat had long since been filled, the aisles crowded with late arrivals trying to squeeze into place before the lights went down. Excitment bizzed through the arena like static, conversations melting together until they became one endless hum. Your own seat rested in one of the front VIP sections, close enough you could feel the anticipation vibrating through every row. To see the stage without needing the massive screens suspended overhead.

The industry had shown up full force. Actors, fellow muscians, televesion personalities. People whose names regularly occupied the entertainment industry while camera flashes bounced off the crowd. Ordinarily, your have found yourself observing the fashion.

Tonight though? Your attention never strayed far from the curtain, because somewhere behind it was Michael. Your michael.

A scream erupted so loudly it nearly swallowed the opening music whole as the arena plunged into darkness. One second, the stadium was a chaotic sea of chatter and flashbulbs; the next, it was plunged into complete, breathless darkness. The roar swelled instantly, twenty thousand voices screaming in unison, the sound physically vibrating in your chest. The static in the air turned into electricity, thick and overwhelming.

Then, a single spotlight hit the stage.

And there he was, in all his glory, ready to perform for thousands. The same man who nearly refused to let you settle into your shared suite because he couldn't stop kissing you now stood beneath spotlights in silver buckles and straps.

Somewhere between the hotel suite and this stage Michael had transformed. His movements carried a confidence that couldn't be rehearsed into existence. Every sharp turn, every snap of his shoulders, every raise of his hand commanded an arena that willingly surrendered itself to him. Song after song blurred together, the audience signing every lyric before he had the chance to sing it himself. People rose from their seats until almost no one remained sitting, even you.

Somewhere during the night, professionalism dissolved completely. The fashion editor in you disappeared. You clapped until your palms stung, sang, laughed, and forgot entirely that half of Hollywood occupied the same section. Because for those two hours, you weren't there for networking. You were there for him.

Then came Human Nature and you swore the crowd grew louder if that was even possible.

His eyes scanned the crowd, catching yours immediately. Even amidst the sea of faces, he found you. Flashing that dazzling grin, one that simply said ‘There you are’ as his voice hit a note that seemed to resonate directly with your soul, and he never looked away. The stage was his, but in that moment, his performance was entirely for you.

Followed by those infamous body rolls, slow and controlled as his eyes never left yours until he was gone again. Spinning effortlessly back into choreography as though nothing had happened as the crowd practically lost its mind. You leaned back into your seat, giggling into your hands as your heart thudded for an entirely different reason.

The final notes faded into applause that felt like it would never end. Michael took a bow, his eyes still locked onto yours across the distance. The crowd continued to cheer, but he seemed oblivious to everything except you. He mouthed something—just two words—that only you could see. His voice had taken on that raspy edge it always developed after a long performance, taking one last look around the venue before bowing humbly after giving every ounce of himself to the people before him.

The arena still trembled behind you.

Every several hallways removed from the stage, you could hear thousands of voices chanting his name, muffled now by thick concrete walls and hurried footsteps. Security guided you through corridors the public would never know existed, each turn carrying you farther from flashing cameras and encore chants until the noise became nothing more than a distant hum.

“Right this way, Miss.”

You nodded, slipping your purse over your shoulder.

Guided through the quiet service corridors that seemed worlds away from the frenzy outside. A protective hand hovering behind you as Michael's security guard opened the heavy exit door. The warm California air rushed in immediately, a line of black vehicles waited beneath the glow of parking lot lights. You recognized his before anyone had to tell you. The limousine sat tucked between security vehicles, it tinted windows reflecting nothing but the frenzy unfolding beyond the barricades. Fans still screamed somewhere in the distance. Photographers continued shouting questions that no one intended to answer.

One of the guards stepped forward and opened the rear passenger door, warm light spilled onto the pavement as you climbed inside. The door thudded shut, instantly sealing out the screaming world. The silence inside the limousine was heavy, absolute, and smelled exclusively of him—fading cologne, sweat, and that unique warmth that always clung to his skin.

Michael was slumped deep into the leather corner, legs sprawled out, chest still rising and falling with the aftershocks of the performance.

His jacket draped over the seat beside him, the white tee loosened, clinging comfortably against his frame. Evidence of two hours spent beneath unforgiving stage lights scattered on his skin as a white towel rested forgotten beside him, along with a bottle of orange juice he’d barely touched. Loose curls framing his face, still damp with sweat and he looked so handsomely spent. Exhausted in the way artists often looked after giving every piece of themselves away.

A slow smile curled into his lips the moment his eyes met yours, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d been looking for you all night knowing exactly where you were. “There you are..”

You slid into the seat beside him, and for a second neither one of you spoke, taking each other in beneath the dim amber lights of the limousine. His head tipped back against the seat with a tired chuckle, the sound lingering a little too long against your skin as the fan outside screamed his name. Inside? Neither of you said anything for a while. You just simply watched him. The rise and fall of his chest finally began to slow, lashes growing heavier as the adrenaline left his system.

Until Michael reached across the small space between you, threading his fingers through yours. Gently brushing his thumb over your knuckles, a tiny familiar gesture. But after an entire night of stolen glances and impossible distance. It felt like finally coming back together. The limousine continued its slow crawl through the parking lot, the screams of the fans fading into a distant roar as Michael focused solely on you.

“What’s the matter sweet girl?” rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand as his eyes flickered around your pretty face.

Without a word, he lifted your intertwined hands between the two of you. His eyes never left yours. He turned your hand ever so slightly before pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles.

You didn't answer, just simply leaning forward until you were settled into his lap, forehead resting gently against his. The space between you disappeared so naturally it felt almost inevitable. His nose brushed yours when he exhaled– warm and familiar. There wasn’t much left to say. Not after learning to love each other across time zones instead of dinner tables. Through phone calls interrupted by rehearsals. Not after letters tucked between garment bags and tour itineraries. Not after searching for each other across an arena full of thousands.

His arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you closer against him as Michaels eyes slipped closed. One hand slid up your back, fingers threading through the thick coils of your hair while the other pressed flat against your waist, holding you steady against the shifting of the limousine.

"I know, Peach…” his own voice barely a breath, as his thumb slowly swept along your sides. “I missed you too,”

“So much it hurt.”

And the words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You cupped his face, fingertips brushing against his cheek before disappearing into the damp curls resting at the nape of his neck. Carefully combing through the soft coils, untangling them little by little. Brushing a stray curl away from his temple, Without thinking, you tilted your head just enough for your lips to brush his, capturing his lips in a slow suckling kiss.

Michael's eyes fluttered closed at the gentle touch of your lips against his. For a moment, he simply melted into the kiss, his body relaxing against the seat. He let you explore his mouth softly, his own lips moving slowly against yours.

Reeling back just enough for your eyes to wander over the remnants of his stage clothes. Fingers curling around the oversized buckle, biting into your soft lips as you ground your buzzing clit into his lap.

“Y’did so good baby,” you cooed between each kiss, draging your hands up his chest. “Need you so bad..”

Michael let out a ragged breath against your mouth. a low, rumbling sound vibrated through his chest, something between a hum of approval and a tired groan. his head falling back against the leather seat as your weight settled perfectly over him. letting you press kisses wherever you pleased, as your slicked panties rubbed against the growing hardness beneath his zipper.

“Yeah?” His eyes, heavy-lidded and dark with exhaustion, locked onto yours as his hips chase the slow roll of yours. encouraging the slow grind you’d started. “My sweet girl missed me huh?”

You nod, your face crumbling beautifully each time your clit grazed along the cool metal. Michael pressed a kiss to your collarbone, large palms dipping beneath your skirt as they explored the soft flesh of your ass.

Watching your face with heavy, adoring eyes, large palms spread wide, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him with a deliberate, slow rhythm. Every slow roll of your hips dragged your clit across that firm metal buckle.

"I know baby," he rasped, his voice thick and wrecked. “ I can tell…”

“It’s been so hard without you…”

“Dreaming of you every night, only to wake up to a basket full of peaches and notes in your memory.” leaning back just enough for him to watch you grind down on him. groaning at the way the slicked lace clung to your pouty lips. “Tasting every peach except my sweetest one..”

Your hands smoothed up his chest, moaning each time his throbbing hardness swipes deliciously along your slit. dragging a long kitten lick up the column of his throat, just before sucking at that precious spot beneath his ear.

Stopping you in your tracks with a whiny buck of his hips, snagging your clit along the silver grooves of his oversized buckle

“Fu— Mich.. Michael..” your voice cracking on a moan, chasing after the stinging pleasure that rang through your clit. “Please..”

It was a needy invitation that michael couldn’t bring himself to ignore.

His thumb found the soaked fabric between your thighs, hooking it to the sides just before pressing hard against your clit. The fast heat pooled deep in your belly as Michael continued to press wet, open kisses along your collarbone. The adrenaline was gone, leaving behind a raw, unfiltered need only you could satisfy.

“There y’go pretty,” His grip tightened on your ass as you whimpered against his neck, fingers digging into soft flesh with no intention of letting go. “Need it so bad don’t you..?”

“S’bad..” a ragged whimper escaped you, legs trembling with every torturous circle of your clit.

His hips began to move slowly against yours, mimicking the slow thrusts he wanted to give you. Thumb swirling around your clit lazily as he watches the glistening slick dribble from your folds as you clench around nothing.

“Mhm,” Michael hummed against your neck, pressing his lips against your racing pulse. every sweep of his tongue, the throbbing ache between your legs grew heavier. “Show me how much you need me..”

It wasn’t long for before you hands fumbled desperately at his buckle. Releasing him from his own constraints with a soft click, his own slick beading from the shroomed flesh with every stroke of his throbbing dick.

Leaving down to place yet another hungry kiss, moaning at the citrus on his tongue as it dragged hot against yours. Positioning yourself perfectly above him, sinking down inch by slow inch.

“Oh my g— f…fuuuck, missed you so muchh..”

“Always s-so pretty like this” Michael let out a shattered, breathless groan the moment you took him in, inch until you were seated flush in his lap. “Feel s’good.. s’perfect”

His head falling back against the leather seat as your warmth swallowed him whole. His fingers dug desperately into the soft flesh of your hips, anchoring you there while he fought to keep himself together, The stretch of you was almost too much—tight, wet, perfect after all the months apart.

You eased yourself back up to the tip, mewling at every coo that michael soothed the stretch over with. While michael watches the way your creamy ring slid down the thick length of him, dragging a lip beneath those gorgeous teeth.

Those pretty, tear-filled eyes rolled back instantly, pussy giving him that greedy, wet squeeze that had him choking on a moan. sucking him back in without permission, clinging to him like you physically needed him inside you.

Michael’s hands slid up your back, pressing you flush against his chest. Groaning against your ear, hips flexing up to meet your slow descent. His jaw going lax as he let out one long, broken whine, with every creamy ‘Schlick’ splattering heavily at his base.

"There she is... already..?" he whispered hot against your ear, hips grinding in small, torturous circles that kept him buried to the hilt. "My sweet girl... greedy girl..."

“So fuckingg good y’never lazy..”

You could only nod, too afraid of what sounds might fall from your lips if you spoke. Nails digging into his shoulders as he eased himself down into the seat, keeping himself buried inside you for several long seconds before pulling back out. Just the head staying inside as your cunt tried to pull him back in. fucking himself deeper inside you. His rhythm stayed merciless slow, deep, and absolutely devastating. Drool pooling at the corner of your mouth

One hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to expose the crumbling pout etched deep into your pretty face. thighs trembling with winding rock of your bodies colliding together.

He swallowed your moan whole, thumb pressing against that trembling pout as his hips drove upward—driving himself completely home with agonizing slowness. Every desperate roll of his hips has that silver buckle drag deliciously across your oversensitive clit.

“Nghhh— just like that peach..“ His thumb brushed that sweet drool away, dipping the slicked pad between those pouty lips for you to suck on “Let me have you just like that..”

“f-fuckk y’feel so good, g—god always s’good..”

Your head dropped l against his chest with a shattered sob, The both of you absolutely wrecked greedy, wet cling of your pussy.

Almost like it knew exactly how to love him, swallowing him deep and refusing to let him go. It melted his brain— sucking the soul right out of him.

Till the point he bruisingly kneading the flesh of your ass with every desperate wind of your body. digging himself deep like he savored the feeling of being home.

“Ooh shii— Mich…” voice breaking on his name, “I l—love youu, love y’so muchh”

The confession shattered whatever control he had left. Hips stuttering into a jagged, desperate rhythm, dragging every thick inch through your clenched heat before burying himself deep again. His soul swallowing yours just as desperately as your cunt swallowed him.

“I love you… I love you s’much more, my sweet girl…” He buried his face against your throat, surrendering himself to that sloppy, greedy rhythm. A soul-stealing embrace that felt like coming home after months of being away. “Holdin’ me so deep.. feels like home god—wanna fill y’so full..”

“Please— pleasee mama, m’gonna cum..”

There was something absolutely sacred about the way your pussy loved him— Your body knew him, loved him, swallowing him deep and refusing to let go. The both of you curing every lonely month of touring as his large hands bruising your soft ass with every desperate grind.

“Yes, f—fuckk yes.. please m’so close daddy..”

Guiding your trembling hips down slow and deep as every ounce of strength was slipping from your fingers. Thighs refusing to hold yourself up no matter how badly you wanted to. All you could do was feel it, the heavy pooling pressure of him bottoming out as while you fall apart.

That surrender was exactly what Michael needed. His massive palms caught your crumbling weight instantly, as your legs gave out completely.

"Thank you, t—thank you ..." he whimpered, feeling the wet heat drag slowly against his shaft as he pulled out and slipped back in with a sickeningly thick sound.

Digging himself impossibly deep until his own hot heavy ropes of cum hit the back of your womb, followed by another and another, till it couldn’t handle anymore. And michael whined with every slicked spurt, dipping down to press his forehead against yours, watching you submit to the need beautifully while smoothing soothing circles up your trembling thighs.

He pressed a grentle kiss to your temple, large hands sliding along your spine. fingertips tracing every bone, curve, and dip reverently as if trying to memorize every inch of you all over again.

“Welcome home peach.”