can I humbly request manager!micheal actually having to discipline you after you've been bratty all day (maybe saying some slick comments) and the look doesn't stop you in your tracks like normal πββοΈππΎ
michael's patient.
unreasonably so, at times. when you announce suddenly while on the phone with him that you can't record that day because you "just don't feel like it", he's nothing but understanding. "sure, yeah... feel better soon, okay?" he murmurs, fidgeting with his old wedding ring, spinning it around his finger. when you decide two days later that day-partying takes priority over one of your dance practices, he's understanding again. you're young, and it's not a crime to want to have fun every now and then. when the week goes on, and you become uncharacteristically bossy, demanding specialized coffees or smoothies in the middle of production sessions and complaining about costume outfits you'd previously approved of, michael's understanding still. you're having a bad week, maybe. probably.
then you decide to skip a formal dinner on friday, forcing him to cancel on two artists who were very interested in collaborating with you. it was embarrassing, making that call and having to offer a small "hopefully we can reschedule"! it made him look bad; it made you look bad. that's when michael decides that maybe he's indulged you enough.
...and now you're here, legs spread in his lap while one of his sizeable, capable hands holds you still by your stomach. the other's busy between your thighs, lazily pumping two fingers in and out of your aching cunt. it's nothing short of heavenly when he slides them in knuckle deep, though he always slips them out again before you can fully enjoy it.
you've been here for god knows how long. all you can think about is how badly you want to finish. mr. jackson ("i'm mr. jackson to you," he'd said earlier, when he was sliding the first finger in, "not michael. you've lost that privilege.") doesn't flinch when your nails dig into his thighs or when you whine, plead, and groan about being sorry. he just keeps working you close to your climax, pumping until you're twitching and panting, and then withdrawing his fingers almost completely until only the pads remain inside. when you've calmed, he starts over again. and again. and again. and again...
"i bet now you'll listen," michael croons into your ear as your head rolls back against his shoulder. out of the corner of his eye, he notes how you start to tear up in pleasure, your lashes fluttering before your eyes decide to just close. he's brought you close to cumming again, that familiar heat building right behind his hand along your stomach. you're sure he can feel it, the buildup, the tension. "you're not gonna be a pain for me anymore, are you? you're going to be respectful... and classy... and you're gonna listen. right?"
his fingers curl inside of you, pressing lightly against that special spot that makes your pussy clench against him. a long whine leaves your lips before you can manage to respond. "yes, mr. jackson, yesβ oh, yes, yes, yesβ"
the sound of his laughter, so thoroughly amused and light, fills the air. it's not enough to drown out your moans by a long shot, though. you're saying yes to his fingers more than to him, but he'll take it this time. "good. very good. i'm glad we're on the same page," he teases, tuilting his head to kiss your jaw a few times as he finally coaxes a full orgasm out of you. it's been a minute since he's done something like this, touching a woman, much less fingering one, but it seems he hasn't lost his magic. michael watches, enraptured, as your toes curl and your eyes start to screw themselves shut. your voice grows breathless as you continue your begging and cursing, all "oh mr. jackson, please!" and "fuck, mr. jackson!".
the sensation of his lips softly pressing kisses to your face and neck completely contradicts how roughly he's started to slide his fingers in. when they're all the way in, he curls, wriggles somewhatβ sometimes even presses his thumb against your clit, flicking and abusing the poor thing just to watch you squirm. when you finally, finally cum, mr. jackson grins. no, no, not a grin.
he smirks.
it's not a gentle climax. your entire body shakes as you finish, your hands gripping him as if he's the only solid thing in your hazy world of wetness and heat. it's not a quiet one, either; your voice carries throughout your home, almost echoing, loud and desperate. inside, his fingers pump a few more times. then, michael pulls them out. the hand holding your stomach gently caresses the area, easing you down from the high as he sucks his fingers clean in front of you. when he slides them out of his own mouth, they leave with an obscene, wet pop. he's not normally so lewd about it, really, but it only felt right to put on a show for you. to watch your eyes flicker in disbelief and embarrassment as he sucks your cum right off his fingers... mmm...
"so... i won't have to repeat this lesson again, right?" he asks slowly, his expression shifting into something less perverse, but no less intense.
all the strength you have left in you is put into nodding. "no, mr. jackson. i've... learned."
"good, good," he continues, kissing your jaw once more, "very good. so, tomorrow, we'll do the practices and recordings you missed; then, we'll have to reschedule that dinner and this time, you will attend, no ifs ands or buts."
this time, you don't reply. fucked out doesn't begin to describe how you feel. after being edged for so long, cumming had drained you; the dam had broke, and all the water had rushed out leaving behind a broken dam, a broken you. god, your mind is nothing but heat and fuzz and his fingers. long, large, talented fingers. fingers that felt so good inside... your legs press together, a soft sigh escaping past your lips. just thinking about it has you wet again, much to your own humiliation.
michael just hums. "it's okay, i know your answer's yes." carefully, he shifts you around to carry you. "now, let's get you cleaned up and dressed again, alright? there, there, you'll be fine... really, i wasn't that mean, was i?" he laughs a little as he lifts you up in his arms and stands, "mm, i bet you liked it, even if i was mean. you're a glutton for punishment, aren't you?... yeah, you are..."
gulp... this is longer than my usual stuff here but i think i get a pass today. i try to keep stuff kinda bite-sized on this account bc it's a sideblog, but michael + fingering = me losing my mind. anyone who sends mature era michael pics to my ask box is automatically my fav as well, i love a good dilf sm... i also imagine that he wore his wedding ring during this bc in my mind he hasnt yet taken it off. need that freshly divorced dick badly. anyways, hope u enjoyed!
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hiii I love the manager mike fics they absolutely kill menekekdijweb
I have a request if thatβs okay !! maybe something from readerβs perspective where sheβs just admiring michael, specifically for his age. ik heβs mentioned a lot not liking the gap between them, but the reader is just in love with michael yes but also the fact that heβs older b/c heβs established, knows how to treat a woman, secure, etc. maybe she shows him how grateful she is by sucking him off or riding him hehehehe thanks for considering <3
κ«β writes: first time writing from the readerβs perspective. even though iβve been writing from 2nd pov for ye many years, it feels a little foreign lmao. i love writing from michaelβs perspective, though, i think itβs so interesting to read his inner thoughts. oh well.
for context, this is set in 2014-ish. michael is turning 56, and you are in your late 20s-early 30s.
you knew he hated aging. it was something he had mentioned many times over interviews, his songs, private conversationsβ¦there was a deep longing to reconnect and heal his inner child, to live longer and experience all the wonders of innocence and goodness that he had yet to fully cover.
the worst of it came around when his 56th birthday crept up.Β
βi just donβt understand why you wouldnβt wanna celebrate it,β you mused, leaning on your forearms over the piano. βbirthdays are super fun, and it doesnβt have to be a big bash, you know.β
michael peers up at you for a moment before settling his gaze down at the piano. he shakes his head a little, sadness pouring through his voice. βyou know i donβt really do birthdays like that.β
you blinked. βyouβre an ex-jehovahβs witness, though. and youβve celebrated before.β
he shrugs, fingers idly hitting notes on the keyboard. βstill. i always feel like iβm doinβ something wrong. i just celebrate with the kids now. thatβs it.β
your fingers laced together tightly. βso iβm not invited, then?β it was meant as a joke, but michaelβs head snapped up, wide-eyed as he shook his head.
βno, no, of course,β he replied quickly. he raised a hand to your face in surrender, and you laughed lightly as you unwound your fingers to lace them with his. he seemed tense, more so than usual.
βiβm just teasing, babe.β you smile reassuringly at him, teeth poking from under your lips. you give his hand a few squeezes before wrapping your other hand around it, warming his cold fingers. he let you.
βwe donβt have to do anything crazy, like i said,β you try to steer the conversation to make him more comfortable, and his head drops to stare at the keyboard again. heβs avoiding your gaze. βjust tell me what you wanna do for your 56th.β
his nose scrunches in slight disgust, and you catch the curve of his upper lip sneering at the thought. he pulls his hand away from you, back into his lap with a sigh. you feel a pang of rejection hit your heart, and you stiffen.
βmichaelβ¦β
βnothing.β his smooth hair is covering his eyes as he shakes his head a little. βnothing.β
you let out a huff of slight exasperation through your nose, though you try to still the force of it. βwhy not?β
michaelβs long index finger lifts up to drop down onto a deep note, reverberating his feelings. βi donβt wanna think about it.β
the note continues to echo throughout the room, the baritone of his soul. βthink about what?β
he tilts his head away from you, and you catch his eye twitching a little. he shudders, actually shudders, at the thought of something, and youβre starting to think itβs you. you knew he was hesitant about the context of the relationship, how young you were compared to him, how the media might blow up once they caught wind of it (hadnβt happened yet, but you were both counting the days), and you were treading lightly with the romance.Β
if you could call it that.
michael jackson was still your manager, after all. and he wasnβt the first to get involved with a singer client.
βitβs stupid, just forget it, okay?β his voice is deep and sad.
you lift yourself off the piano a little, and you know he can see you out of the periphery of his eye, but he doesnβt move to look at you. your face is serious, and you try not to bite your lip as you study him. heβs not moving, frozen on the keyboard, as if heβs waiting for your reaction.
βcan you be honest with me?β you ask quietly. the room is heavy with tension, and itβs bearing down on your head like humidity.
βhm?β he asks through clamped lips, and he is anything but nonchalant.
your nails absentmindedly pick at your cuticles while you peer downwards. itβs hard to talk to him when heβs like this, reserved, reclusive, hermited.Β
distrustful.
you take in a steadying breath. βis it me? is it my age?β
thatβs when he finally snaps his gaze to stare deep into your eyes, and you see confusion. βwhat?βΒ
his voice is suddenly loud, ringing throughout the room. itβs the first time heβs spoken up since you met at his house that afternoon.
itβs your turn to blink back at him. βwhat?β
βyour age?β he questions with a squint of his eyes. βwhat does thatβnoβ¦no, no, no, it has nothing to do with that.β
you crane your neck forward, hands outspread as you try to curb your upcoming attitude lodged in your throat. βso? whatβs the problem?β
βitβs me.β michael jabs a finger into the center of his chest repeatedly, and heβs growing angry now. but not at you. βdonβt you see? itβs me, itβs thisββΒ
he glances down at his body for a moment and actively curls away, like he canβt crawl out of his own skin. he throws his head back and lets out a frustrated sigh, eyes locked onto the ceiling. theyβre glossy with tears, tears he looks like he is trying to will away into thin air.
βi canβt stand it. iβm sorry.β he apologizes softly, swallowing away a visible lump in his throat. βitβs just that youβ¦youβre so young, and beautiful, and so full of life. all these birthdaysβ¦every year. justβ¦.βΒ
he can hardly speak, pausing every few words to blink slowly, his lashes wetting with tears, and he tries to take a few shaky breaths.Β
you wait for him to finish his thought, patiently standing by his side. he continues, βand god, donβt get me wrong, youβre the best thing thatβs happened to me in a very long time. a very long time. i just canβt help but not want to celebrate howβ¦old iβm getting. i donβt feel like my age.β
you smile, huffing a small laugh. βdonβt look it, neither.β itβs meant as a compliment, but he closes his eyes slowly and clamps his rosy lips shut.
βdonβt patronize me, fox.β he sighs, then sniffs once, heavily. βi know what i look like.β
your brows furrow. βand what do you think you look like?β
he opens his eyes to roll them to the side. βtrust me, itβs not a βthinkβ. it's an βi knowβ situation.β
you bark out a laugh, startling him. βthen, pardon my french, but you donβt know shit.β
he turns to you questioningly, sadness in his eyes, before you reach out and pull at his arms to tug him up. he rises with you, looking lost and broken, the biggest star in the world, feeling frail in your hands as you lead him away from the piano.
βwhereββ
βiβm curious,β you cut him off with a cheeky side glance. βif youβve ever had your eyes checked.β
you can feel his heels dig a little into the ground as he skirts to a stop to your motions. you twist around and laugh as you bend in half to tug him closer to you. he looks hurt that you mentioned his obvious vision problem. βfox,β he starts.
βdonβt insult me, michael,β you bite down on your bottom lip with a teasing look in your eye. βi think those reading glasses are the sexiest thing youβve put on.β
michael loosens a little as he processes the information, letting you pull him towards the corner of the room again. βwhat?β
you smirk at him, tantalizingly swaying your hips as you go. βbesides those golden pants, of course.β
he huffs out a hint of a laugh, shaking his head. βwhat are you on about, girl?β
you finally reach the corner of the room and square your shoulders, plopping michael in front of the large-scale mirror, leaning on a leg against the wall. he stares at himself; you can see his big eyes widen with curiosity as they meet yours in the reflection, still glossy with sadness.
βi want you to look at yourself,β you said softly, peeking from behind his broad shoulders. βand i want you to watch me. i want you to see yourself through my eyes.β
he shifts uncomfortably under your palms, and you can tell that he wants to fidget away from the mirror. his eyes trail from your reflection to the border of the mirror, looking away from anything that involves him. you squeeze his shoulders encouragingly.
βno,β you admonish him with a curl of your fingers digging into his skin. βlook at yourself.β
he gives a small sigh, as if heβs done this before. he might recognize it as a self-love exercise, something he often preaches to you. but he has no idea what you have in store for him. he reluctantly meets your gaze in the reflection for a moment, waits for your slow nod, and he meets himself in the mirror. you can tell heβs struggling to study himself, and the critiques are showing in his eyes. every small wrinkle, curve, blemish, anything he felt was out of place.
you smooth your hands over his shoulders, warming him. βlook at these shoulders. so resilient, so broad. they hold a lot of your pain, but also carry great strength, yes?β
when you plant a soft kiss on the corner of his trapezius, you feel he has no choice but to breathe out a complicit βyesβ in response. you continue, your hands snaking around his midsection. your fingers graze a few ribs over the thin cloth, tickling him there to feel his shudder, and splaying wide hands over his torso.
βwhat a body,β you muse with admiration. your hands are traveling everywhere, and you feel his stomach jump under your touch. βdancing away, making people happy.β
his eyes soften watching you with lidded lashes. he doesnβt speak when your fingers trace a sly pattern from the dome of his belly button up the center of his chest. you think you can feel goosebumps rising on his skin, even though itβs the dead of summer.Β
βyouβre just a beast on stage,β you ponder out loud, your voice a whisper.
you feel his breath hitch a little. βwas,β he corrects you half-heartedly.
you smirk. βoh, youβre still a beast, my love.βΒ
you watch his face scrunch up a little with baited anticipation as you point your fingers around his chest, nearing where his nipples might be, but not quite touching there. he exhales a sigh, and you can hear his voice crack a little. βiβmββ
you start to round his body, standing by his side rather than behind him as you eye his body with admiration. his posture is stiff and rigid again, and you can tell he feels a little exposed, though youβve yet to take any clothing off him.
βwhat a man.β your eyes gleam at the words, and you don't mean to sound so ravenous, but it was disappointing to hear him talk about himself this way. as if he werenβt the most attractive soul in the world. βand youβre mine.β
you shake your head disbelievingly at the thought, and you can tell he is watching you stroke your hands up to his arm to clutch his biceps, massaging them. βmy protector.β
michael shivers. you can see the pride slowly start to bloom in his chest as it puffs up a little at your words.
you slide your hands down to caress his wrists, rubbing a thumb over the protruding bone before tracing a nail down a prominent vein in the back of his hands. his large, thick hands. βdonβt get me started on these hands. mm, the things theyβve done. created. made. illuminated.β
you trace over his skin adoringly, swiping the pad of your index finger over his knuckles, nails, and the underside of his palms. heβs clammy there, clearly still nervous, but intoxicated by your words. the exercise is working.
βyou treat me so well,β you whisper, feeling a little hotter under your thin shirt. your face is now level with his, his eyes completely off the reflection and now piercing into yours. you forgot how intense his gaze could be, especially with those brown eyes dilated with desire.
it pleased you to see life in them. that little spark to grow into a raging flame.
βi try,β michael barely moves his lips as he talks, and if not for the proximity, you wouldnβt catch his words. βiβm a gentleman. you deserve that much. more.β
you know when he talks like this, voice low and raspy, heβs being genuine.
βand then some,β you keep his eyes with yours when your fingers pry open his hands to thread themselves into his hold. βyouβre so chivalrous.β
youβre not sure why his eyebrows raising at you knowingly causes your heart to flip a little. βnot dead?β
βno,β you laugh, inching closer to his face. βnot with me.β
he tries to subtly wet his lips as he whispers βneverβ over your waiting mouth before placing a chaste kiss there. you inhale deeply, and the sound of his soft groan turns you on. youβre overly energized by his lack of self-love, desperate to show him what he means to you. his insecurities were a bullet hole that could not be slapped over with a band-aid.
he makes a slight noise of surprise when you push up your body into his, nudging him backwards. he breaks the kiss and your intertwined hands to clutch at your shoulders to steady himself, and gawks a little when you greedily grab the lower half of his back, fingers digging into the neck of his pants.
βwhoa,β he says more to himself than to you. he blinks long lashes your way, but youβre already grinning like a fox as you continue to sashay both of your bodies towards the bed. βfoxββ
βlay down, pretty boy.β youβre overcome with confidence, a lust youβve yet to address in your relationship.Β
you can feel his laugh fall in his chest when you bring your hands around to his chest, lightly shoving him backwards onto the bed. his calves hit the mattress, then heβs falling with little grace, landing ass-first into the sheets. he blinks up at you in shock, not used to being manhandled. not for a very long time.
βpretty boy?β he snorts, but heβs obviously nervous.
βtell me iβm wrong,β you challenge. youβre standing between his legs, your knees knocking against his to spread them apart. itβs not meant to emasculate him, but his face collapses.
βyouβreβ¦β he stutters when you kick a foot under his heel, and he loses his footing, forced to prop himself on his elbows. βyouβre wrong.β
you suck your teeth sharply, and he blinks, astonished at the sound. βgod doesnβt like liars. what was that, the fourth commandment?β
michael laughs, actually laughs out loud. βthereβs no such commandment, girl, what are you talking about?β
you shrug, a smug expression painted over your face as you kneel between his manspread. the argument dies in his throat as he watches you with widened eyes. βoh, well. iβm not that religious anyway.β
your palm smooths over his stomach, and you delight in the little jolts it gives beneath your touch. you keenly eye his center, and as if sensing your gaze, you spot a slight twitch beneath the material. you hear him try to speak, to form a word, but nothing aside from light groans spills from his lips when your hands trace down to his hips, and you start to unwrap him like a present. itβs all he can do, you know this with certainty as he watches you tug down the waistline of his pants over his hips.
βah, waitββ michael objects weakly.
you hush him with soft lulls as you begin to palm him through his grey briefs. his head falls back with a long groan, soon stifled with a tight clamp of his lips. βfox, waitββ
βmichael, look at me, or iβm stopping.β at that, he drags his head back to gaze down at you with cloudy eyes.
you continue to caress his bulge, thinning your fingers to feel the outline of his dick as it grows harder under your soft touches. heβs nearly whimpering in your hands, lower lip completely sucked into his teeth. βjust look at you. the experience you have. youβre worried about me leaving or something?β
your reference to his size makes his hips jerk upwards. βfor w-what?β heβs confused.
βfor a younger man,β you hum. your free hand over his thigh forces his muscles down when they tense at the sentiment, and you smile up at him. βiβm gonna show you why that will never happen.β
with that, you leave no more room for discussion as your fingers deftly slip through the center flap to whip out his cock, already half-hard and leaking from the tip. he lets out a small yell as his upper body gives out, falling backwards onto the mattress as you stroke him fast, lips wrapped over his head. he hisses a little when you flick your tongue repeatedly over his head, dipping experimentally in and around the foreskin.
michael calls out your name, your real name, with a deep rasp in his voice. his large hands snap out to hold your head, and you slobber intentionally over the length. you know he can hear the obscene sounds because he squeaks like a mouse. you spit messily over his head, then hum gently as your glossy lips encompass his length, inch by inch, until his fat head taps the back of your throat and you gag.
you feel his upper body scramble up, and he tugs at your hair to pull you off him, concern stamped into his eyes. βareββ
thatβs all he manages to spit out before your mouth magnetizes to his dick again, hands scooping his heavy length back into your mouth and you start to bob your head in earnest. michael whines a long note, pinching his nose and screwing his eyes shut as you start to suck him off. itβs raunchy and nasty and so raw. your nose continuously hits the base of his length, where the curls of his pubic hair tickle you. heβs spitting and stuttering over you, very overcome.
youβre suddenly shoved downwards as his heavy hands hold your head there, and heβs spilling into your throat in spurts. heβs jerking his hips fast, so fast the movements are almost small. all you can do is try to breathe through your nose in small bouts of succession as you gag over and over with his thrusts.
when he tugs you off him, you gulp down a few gasps of air. thereβs a line of saliva and cum connecting your tongue and his glossy cock. heβs still twitching, his hips sinking into the mattress as he collapses backwards again. heβs breathing hard, and sweat is forming on his collarbone.
he brings a hand to his face. βwhatβ¦what was that?β
you move quickly, breath laboring as you climb onto the bed to settle into his lap. he whisks his hand away from his face to peer at you incredulously. your baby hairs are askew as you bear a sweet smile down on him. βthat was just the beginning.β
heβs still breathing very hard, you can feel his chest rising and falling as you wrap the hem of your shirt over your head and toss it somewhere to the side. no bra, you smile to yourself as his coffee-colored eyes immediately latch onto your breasts, nipples already hardening under his gaze.Β
βgod, youβre so beautiful,β you moan over him, gyrating your clothed pussy over his still-hard cock. you unzip the side of your skirt to shimmy it over your torso and away from the bed. βyou donβt even know, baby.β
michael is left writhing and gasping underneath you, sensitive from the aftershock of his orgasm. βbaby, waitββ
you reach down to tug your thong to the side, exposing your leaking cunt to the air. your head dips to watch as your fingers scramble behind for his cock, reveling in his whine when you latch onto it. you fiddle with it a little, fitting the wet head in and around the juices of your pussy. the sensation over your clit makes your eyes flutter shut.
michael whines, a high-pitched, short sound that makes you shiver with delight. his hands are fisting at his sides, twisting into the sheets.
βmichael, i need you,β you whimper, and you open your eyes to look into his. heβs enamored by the sight of you over him, the sun shining behind your body. βi need you to take me. like you always do. only you can do it, baby, please.β
he swallows when his hand reaches for his cock, bumping his knuckles into your fingertips when you both slide his cock into your heat. the warmth of the room amplifies when you lean forward to bump your forehead into his, moaning into his mouth when he returns your groans.Β
Β βoh, gooood,β he screws his eyes shut.
you start to rotate your hips over his, fingers tapping at his still-clothed stomach. βmichael!β
his eyes fly open at his name. you crook two fingers into your eyes. βon me, baby. on me.β
he gapes at you, beads of sweat forming on the side of his temple. your hips gyrate smoothly, lower back recoiling at the jitter of your lower hairs tickling your clit. you nearly throw your head back as you start to bounce on him in earnest, tits jumping with you. his eyes are locked in, wasted at the sight of you.
his hands unravel from the sheets to clap over your hips, fingers digging into the fat of them. heβs holding onto you for support as you throw yourself up and down over his thick length. you can feel his thighs slowly coming up behind you as you fuck him into the sheets, and you muster the strength to speak again.
βcβmon, baby,β you groan out, grabbing at your breasts and squealing when you pinch the hardened peak. βfuck me, pump those pretty hips into me. justβaaghβpleaseββ
the first warning you got was the sound of two pats on the bed behind you, the sound of his feet planting themselves firmly into the mattress before he squares his brows in concentration and slaps his hands over the small of your waist before it starts. youβre jolted forward, hands falling from your breasts to slam down on either side of his head when michael starts to fuck you in earnest.
your tits are jiggling in his face, and you can barely spot his tongue attempting to dart out to catch your nipple in his mouth as his hips patter up into yours. heβs fucking you like a young man, something you were spending all afternoon trying to show him. the gusto and spirit you wanted have now unleashed itself into a hungry beast, ready to ravage your body in the best way. and all you can do is bend over and take the consequence.
michael grits his teeth, gnashing them before snaking his full arms around your waist to haul you into his chest, angling your body into a more open position before he spreads his own thighs. he temporarily removes a hand from your side to lift and plop a stray breast into his waiting mouth, before bucking his hips back up into your cunt.
βaagh, unnghh!β you cry out. βmichael, yes!β
itβs fueling him, you can tell from his clouded thinking, and his moan vibrates against your skin as he suckles your teat, lavishing his tongue around it and kissing when he can. his heavy balls are slapping against your ass as his hips make rapid pap, pap, pap sounds. youβre close, so close, as the sensation of your orgasm spreads over your body like an electrical current.
βyes, michael,β you sputter once he finally releases your breast and pants up at you. βgod, youβre so good, such aβa manβ, youβre mine, all mineβh-haagh!β
βyeah, yeah, yeah,β heβs rambling through whines and gritted teeth. βiβmββ
he shouts with you, stilling his hips into your core and you cum hard, clit throbbing. you shudder in his embrace, and he squeezes you tighter into his chest, hugging you as he whines out into the room. all you can feel is an overabundance of cum leaking out of you, and heβs still pumping his hips into yours, though more slowly.
youβre overstimulated, and so is he, but all either of you can do is stare into each other's eyes, and everything feels like itβs on fire. every nerve is screaming, and you canβt seem to look away.Β
he looks beyond beautiful, and for once, you can see the sentiment shared back. about both of you. thereβs no disgust or doubt anymore.
heβs spent, and so are you when you fall into his arms, both of you breathing hard. your sweat drops onto his shirt, which is damp with perspiration and the stench of sex. his hair is now curling at the sides of his face, twisting into nonsensical letters. everything is wet, the bed, the clothes, your bodies, especially your connected nethers. no one moves for a bit, just heated faces and the sound of labored breathing in the room.
your head moves with the tandem of his breathing, and you feel the vibration of his voice in his chest when he says, βi havenβtβ¦i havenβt fucked like that sinceβ¦who knows.β
you bend an elbow to pinch his shirt, dabbing it into your face, where the sweat slowly stings your eyes. βeh, who cares.β
you hear him sniff. βclearly you do.β
your peals of laughter sound throughout the room, and you feel his arms start to unwind from your middle, though not letting you go completely. βonly in the best ways.β
κ«β thoughts from saff: sorry if this was a little sad in the beginning, but i like my rpf to be realistic in some way. otherwise, michael becomes a character and he was very real, very human.
also wtf sorry this took so long, im #failing in class and life now i think ao3 writing curse is coming my way
Summary: How you and Managaer!Michael started working together
A/n: I love manager!michael fics
wc: 285
~After Michael finished his This Is It tour, he took his well-deserved retirement. He spent his days with his kids, Prince, Paris, and Blanket.
~Though Michael couldn't help but miss the behind-the-scenes of making music, it prompted him to become a manager. This is how he became your manager.
~You had just left a group due to the neglect and bullying you had been receiving from the other members and the company. But you loved making music and performing, so you took the high road and decided to go off on your own. However, you needed a manager.
~Manager!Michael and you had hit it off from the start; he saw his younger self in you when you both started working together. He saw the hurt kid he was, who wanted something for himself, and he knew that you wanted that same thing. And you saw someone who'd actually help you achieve your dreams.
~You and Manager!Michael worked very well together. You had so many ideas about who you were and what you wanted to become; not only willing to listen, but Michael also helped you to pick what was right for you. From costumes to lyrics and set designs, you both loved working with each other.
~Manager!Michael has seen firsthand what the music industry can do to someone and what the press turns things into. As your manager, Michael does his best to make sure that doesn't happen to you.
~Talking about Michael's experience, you love to ask him about it, and Michael can't help but reply. It's something about how Michael can hear the genuine interest in what he has to say that makes being your manager so easy.
Hey all, I hope you guys enjoy this one, this is the shortest thing Iβve written so farπΰ½²ΰΎ
( ΛΆΒ°γ Β°) !! ββ0.5k, fluff ) manager!michael jackson x gn popstar!reader: sharing the shower <3
βββββββyou and michael don't shower together often. bathing, maybe. but showering? not typically. it's not shocking for you to see your manager-turned-boyfriend out of the corner of your eye, slowly entering the bathroom with little more than just underwear. he comes in all the time ever since you moved in with him, freshening up by the sink while you're nude in the shower. nudity isn't always sexual, after all, and sometimes the best test of love is simply finding who you can be naked with. well, anyways, his entry isn't shocking. what is shocking is when he passes by the sink entirely, standing by the shower door and sliding his underwear down. his long and graceful fingers gently tug he waistband until the fabric's around his ankles, and he lets out a quiet huff as he lifts his legs to finally join you in the nude.
"gross, michael," you say playfully from inside, your soap bottle still in hand.
he rolls his eyes, opening the shower door. "it's nothing you haven't seen before," he points out, stepping in behind you. as he closes the door, michael explains, "just wanted to join you today. is that okay?"
"'course, baby." you smile, leaning over to kiss the edge of his lips. after squeezing the soap bottle to get your fill, you pass it off to michael, who quickly does the same.
there isn't much talking done as the two of you wash up, both of you content to just savor the silent domesticity of the moment. running water is all that can be heard until michael grunts, trying to reach the very middle of his back.
wordlessly, you circle around, gently pushing him forward so you could slip behind him. your lips find his shoulder blade first, kissing one of the non-soaped patches of skin there before you begin to wash along his back. as michael's body relaxes beneath your touch, you hum. "there you go," you coo softly, letting your fingertips run gentle trails all along his backside.
"you're tickling me," he murmurs, glancing over his shoulder with a small smile.
"i'm washing you," you correct him, "face forward, michael."
"yes, miss bossy." michael's head turns, his gaze focused on the wall in front of him where, above, the showerhead's fixed.
"don't start, mister childish," you retort, finishing up. your hands slide up, lightly feeling before rubbing along his shoulders. after pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, you murmur, "i love you."
"i love you more," michael replies immediately, turning around again despite your previous order. his gaze meets yours just as his lips start to pucker, silently requesting another kiss.
"i love you most, i win." you flash a grin before leaning in to grant him the kiss he's asking for. when your lips meet, michael's whole body adjusts, shifting and turning slightly so that he can get a better angle. water trickles down both of your bodies as you hold still, but neither of you mind, too busy enjoying each other's presence to care.
want more manager!michael?
been lwk craving domestic stuff recently so i whipped this up for later in reader/michael's relationship (intermission era). still not married but living like they are tbh. i'm also a sucker for people being naked together & not fucking LOL i think it's so cute...
( ΛΆΒ°γ Β°) !! ββ0.9k, fluff ) manager!michael jackson x fem popstar!reader: during a photoshoot for your debut album, michael realizes what he feels for you is more than mere mentorship <3
βββββββthe relationship was different, sure. yes, michael made himself more present than he wouldβve for other starlets. yes, he took you out to dinner often, and yes, he involved himself in many of your βfirstsβ as far as singing and fame goes. still, heβd managed to convince himself it was all part of a personal, unique mentor/mentee relationship. itβs not until a very specific piece of promotion you do for your debut album, hold the phone!, that he starts to think otherwise.
really, you had no right looking as good as you did in those satin pajamas. not to mention the other outfits they had you in, the pink nightgown or the tomboyish top and shorts set. visually, the album was sleepover themed; it only made sense for you to do a few poses alongside some models laying down on a fake bed with several different types of pajamas on. the promotion pictures were to be exactly as you sketched them, all girly and fun. genuine laughter erupts between you and the models as you all lay around, pulling michael out of his thoughts and luring his gaze back to you. you could find a friend in any room, heβs sure. in a selfish way, heβs glad you donβt really know that fact about yourself.
βjust keep having fun, girls,β the photographer instructs, snapping a few more shots. michael stands to his right, his hands in his pockets as he watches the shoot.
itβs one of your first photoshoots, but youβre a natural at it already (or maybe youβre just so giddy that you canβt help having an excited energy). your head tilts as you reach for the prop pink phone sitting in the middle of your little group. you pretend to make a phone call, giggling.
the man behind the camera gives a hum before gesturing towards you. βdo you mind some eye contact, miss? something cute for the camera?β
thatβs when you do it.
itβs the catalyst for everything that comes after. itβs like the big bang, and neither you nor michael even know it. shifting slightly, you turn to look at the camera, holding the phone to your ear. the models around you lean in with pretend intrigue as you flash a playful smile and wink.
thatβs it. just a wink.
β¦big bang might have been a hyperbole.
βperfect,β the photographer coos, βkeep that up.β
beside the camera, michael offers a small smile. small, not because heβs not proud, but because heβs enjoying the moment a little too much. small because he recognizes that feeling in his chest and itβs not something a manager should be feeling for his client. small because if he lets it get any bigger, itβd be too obvious that he was (ridiculously, unfortunately, cruelly, he thinks) nursing a bit of a crush on you. itβs a feeling heβd long assumed himself to be too old for, that fluttery feeling in his chest thatβs turned into a dryness in his throat and a clamminess in his hands. itβs a feeling he tries to ignore as the shoot ends and you practically skip over to him, still excited about seeing your dream come to life.
beaming, you ask, βwhat did you think?β
βi think it went well,β michael allows, βyouβre a very good subject for the camera. youβre obedient.β terrible wording. his lip twitches before he expands on his thoughts. βyouβre great at following the photographerβs guidelines, is what i mean.β
fortunately for him, you think little of it, laughing before replying, βthank you!β still dressed in pajamas, you grin at him; itβs as though the sun itself blessed your smile, itβs so radiant, so warm. michael canβt help but smile back, a little wider than he mightβve felt acceptable.
suddenly, he wants to ask if those pajamas are anything like what you wear at home. itβs a boyish curiosity, isnβt it? completely immature. and yet, he has to will himself not to ask it, walking you to your dressing room instead. what do you wear in bed at night? what do you do in bed at night? he can almost picture it, you tucked in bed, smiling all sleepilyβ¦ goodness, he needs to get a grip.
before slipping inside the dressing room, you pause, leaning against the doorway. an almost sheepish look crosses your face, your eyes flitting towards his and then darting away. finally, you murmur, βi couldnβt have done this without your backing. thank you, mr. jackson. thank you so much. i promise i wonβt let you down.β a reminder of how much you look up to him. how much you trust him. youβre not making it easy for him, are you?
βi know you wonβt,β he murmurs, βgo on and get dressed. youβll get cold in just pajamas.β once the door closes, michael turns his head away, biting briefly against the knuckle of his left index finger. youβre too cute, too sweet, too respectful. he should quit right now just to save you. orβ¦ maybe itβs best he remains your manager, so that no one could ruin your careerβ¦ michael likes that line of thinking more.
the door to your dressing room opens and you step out, walking towards him. his hand finds the small of your back, an action thatβs no longer purely about guiding you forward. itβs subtle, but thereβs a shift; from that day onwards, heβs no longer just your manager. heβs determined, despite his doubts, to be the man in your life.
want more manager!michael?
authorβs note ) βββββββi wanted to explore more origin/debut lore for michael & popstar!reader. i hope reader doesnβt come off as dumb or child-like, just really excited bc i know iβd be super excited if i got to do a photoshoot based off visuals i created in my head. rip popstar!reader you wouldβve loved pinterest actually.
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i LOVE manager!michael series and had an idea, maybe drunk reader who comes home and michael takes care of her because hes just the best and everything, just pure fluff honestly
( ΛΆΒ°γ Β°) !! ββ1.1k, fluff ) manager!michael jackson x fem (drunk) popstar!reader <3
it was a celebratory dinner, technically. one of your close friends had achieved a new height in her acting career and wanted to celebrate by going to a high end club with you and the rest of your girlfriends. who are you to say no to that? besides, it wasn't even like you had a lot to drink...
but, evidently, you'd had enough to drink. enough to get drunk, at least. your friends were smart ones; two decided to stay sober, volunteering as the drivers for the night, corralling you and the other drunk girls into their cars before dropping everyone off one by one. michael wouldn't have even known you'd been out clubbing that night if you hadn't given your friend his address instead of yours.
"addies, ladies, addies," she'd said, sliding her phone back to the backseat.
when it got to you, you fumbled with the phone, typing out your address. then, you deleted your address and typed in michael's instead. "here," you mumbled as you passed it back up front.
"this doesn't look like your house," your friend pointed out as she pulled up to the gate. it was a hassle to get in, but once you rolled down your window and fumbled your way through (re)introducing yourself to security, you were let in. your friend was kind enough to help you walk up to the front door, even ringing the doorbell for you. then, you were passed off from her care to a half-awake michael jackson (she wishes she was surprised when she saw his face, but you'd been all over that man for a minute).
now, you're laying on his couch, quietly whining about how much your feet hurt. a giggle escapes your lips when you see him walking back over with a glass of water. you're beautiful, he thinks, even when you're torn up from dancing and drinking. that sparkle in your eye reminds michael of when he first fell for you.
"no more vodka, please, i've got work tomorrow," you say, lazily pushing the glass away as he offers it to you.
he shakes his head, yawning, "i know you have work." i know your entire schedule, he wants to add, but he opts not to. "it's water, drink it."
"i don't take drinks from strangers," you announce, sitting up along the couch before bending down to take off your heels. after half a second of struggle, you give up, tired out by the modicum of effort you just gave.
"you know me," michael chuckles, "i know you do. you're not that drunk, sweetheart."
you roll your eyes playfully before explaining, "i might know you, michael, but i've got to keep my wits about me. safety first."
it's hard to tell if you're serious or just messing with him. those half-lidded eyes give very little away other than the fact that you're drunk. "very smart," he finally acknowledges, nodding his head in feigned understanding, "but since you know me, do you think you could drink some water? just for me?"
oh, he's very doting. it's late at night, so this is michael the man, not michael the manager. he helps you slide off your heels, rubbing along the bottom of your feet with the pads of his thumbs before kissing against your right ankle (you giggle at that, which makes him grin). as you finally decide to polish off the water, he gives you encouragement and praises, his voice nice and soft. he loves taking care of you sober, so it's not surprising that he's just as caring while you're drunk; he's always enjoyed being the man responsible for the smile on your face, after all.
if you're more a happy, talkative drunk, he's more than willing to sit beside your feet or head on the couch and listen to you talk until you fall asleep. the conversation is carried by soft continuers ("mhm", "yeah", "i see", "uh-huh"), and though it might seem like he's not listening, michael's truly interested in every word. a drunk mind speaks sober thoughts, right? if you're a sappy or sad drunk, he's quick to console you, kissing along your forehead and against your hair while holding you close. "c'mere, c'mere," he'll coo, urging you close so that he can love on you.
if you're a more spontaneous drunk, the type of drunk to move around a lot and want to do things, he's much more wary. "aht-aht-aht," michael scolds lightly as you try to 'make him a snack' in the kitchen for the umpteenth time, "i already told you i'm not hungry. i just want you to sit with me on the couch, remember? over here, baby..."
it's hilarious to him when you spill your secrets while drunk. some of them aren't really secrets ("i've always wanted to fuck you," you mutter at one point, shaking your head) but others definitely are.
"janet's so nice," you murmur to yourself, your head leaned up against his shoulder. you're growing sleepier by the second, yawning and getting quieter. "she's so sweet."
"yeah, she is," michael agrees, nodding his head.
"she didn't even have to tell me you liked the way i smelled, that one perfume with the bodywash, but she did. and then she told me, um... oh, she said something like... 'yeah, he thinks it's attractive when you wear that stuff. smells like that have always been his favorites', or something like that," you explain.
he suddenly pauses, cheeks beginning to burn red. "what? she said that?"
"yeah. and, anyways, long story short, i wear it whenever i think i'll see you. but tonight, i didn't put any on, because i didn't think i'd see you.. but, michael, if i knew..." you laugh a little, "if i knew, i'd have worn it."
"i see," he just barely manages. after a second or so, he exhales, the gears in his mind already turning. "don't worry about it, baby. you still smell good to me."
of course, when you wake up in the morning, you're in michael's bed, sprawled about. he wakes up before you do, setting out a fresh glass of water and some headache medications along a napkin on the nightstand closest to you. "g'morning sleeping beauty," he teases as you blink your eyes open, "you had quite the night." his lips press a firm kiss against your forehead, the gift of affection warming your heart before the ache of drinking slowly takes over your head.
later on, while you're eating breakfast, you hear him while he's on the phone with janet, asking her about why she's been spreading his business. "i thought she should know!" janet claims innocently on the other end of the line, causing michael to shake his head while you laugh in the background.
want more manager!michael?
i can't for the life of me decide which era of popstar!reader's this wld belong to... well, anyways, here it is anon! i love drunk care fics/hcs tbh, i'm a super lightweight so i get drunk SO quickly/easy... need michael to be there when i have one to two drinks and end up stumbling.
ββββββββββMORE THAN MANAGEMENT.
a collection of all my (mature era) manager!michael x gn/fem popstar!reader musings. while works are posted out of order, they're sorted chronologically via reader's eras here. black/woc visuals used; reader is written as race-neutral. <3
featuresββfluff, slow burn, on & off relations, age gap (unspecified, but envisioned as ~16/17 years), angst, messy feelings, domestic moments, & more.
first postβ manager!michael!
meetβpopstar!reader!
ββββββi. hold the phone! (album)
hold the phone! β reader's first album with manager!michael, a youthful and girly pop album themed around slumber parties, girliness, prank calls, and fun.
what's in the headlines? β the beginning of something amazing. reader and manager!michael form a strong relationship and fun dynamic during this era. michael subtly begins his habit of spending on and spoiling reader. celebratory dinners are hosted by michael for reader every other night.
βββββββ βworks for this era:
sugar daddy tendencies
michael's crush starts
texts/posts that are themcore
taking you to get your nails done
ββββββii. miss connection (album)
miss connection β reader's second album, a return to her girly sound with hints of more mature themes. this album is themed after connections and misconnections, framing reader as cupid.
what's in the headlines? β fame hits hard. everyone is making choices for reader, choosing her look, sound, rival, and even her boyfriend! reader struggles with her love for her new boyfriend and her fondness of her own manager, juggling both men until finally realizing she truly loves michael.
βββββββ βworks for this era:
michael's better company, anyways
him & his sexy ass glasses
he's jealous over your pr boyfriend
vacay? without you? no way!
texts/posts that are themcore
era moodboard
helping you with stage costumes
ββββββiii. honestly, (album)
honestly, β reader's third album, a mature exploration of her new self-chosen identity themed around her being the director of her own life.
what's in the headlines? β the messiest era. reader and michael are frequently on and off. both love each other, but fear the consequences of anything permanent. michael reconnects with his ex-wife via co-parenting; reader grows jealous. reader tours this album, selling out stadiums and gaining a reputation for how close she is with her fans.
βββββββ βworks for this era:
learning a new lesson (18+)
he's jealous after an afterparty
it's just the music
can he be your boyfriend again? (18+)
jealous of his ex-wife
era moodboard
caring for you while you're drunk
texts/posts that are themcore
dressing as him for a tribute
ββββββiv. intermission (a break in music)
intermission β reader takes a break from music, having established herself thoroughly in the industry.
what's in the headlines? β the resting period. a more domestic time where reader uses her fame to do fun things. reader and manager!michael become official during this era, overcoming doubts and insecurities. reader spends more time with the kids, and the paparazzi and tabloids spread photos of her with them.
βββββββ βworks for this era:
him & his sexy ass glasses pt2
era moodboard
texts/posts that are themcore
sharing a shower
helping you get ready
ββββββiv. ask & receive (album)
ask & receive β reader's fourth album. theming tbd.
what's in the headlines? β the victory lap. reader returns to music with a bang. more events tbd.
Manager Michael + reader having to get into a PR relationship with another rising star and maybe someoneβs jealous π§
it wasn't his idea, that's for sure.
pr relationships weren't uncommon, no. truthfully, he just never expected you to end up in one so fast. one day, he's driving you home after studio sessions. the next, he's driving you to your little boyfriend's house so that the public has pictures of you casually approaching the guy's front door. the whole thing's a publicity stunt: two rising stars suddenly falling in love and going on dates to coffee shops, libraries, and museums. the label had decided that a cutesy, almost teenage image would suit the two of you best. you wearing the boy's jacket out in public one day. him donating to an organization you'd once sponsored, claiming to have been moved by you. you and him going to sports games together, you and him doing interviews... it was juvenile to michael, but, admittedly, appropriate to your ages.
he had no claim on you. and, at first, he denies to himself that he's even jealous. protectiveness, he calls it. "a manager protects their star," he explains over the phone to janet, "i'm just careful. i don't want her being held down by this."
and that was just after the first month of the relationship.
by the end of month three, michael had to acknowledge two things: one being that he was jealous, while the other being that the boy you were seeing was... actually, not a bad man. he was careful with you, always a gentleman. he's never seen him do more than peck you on the cheek, and he's always asked for permission first. his momma must've raised him that way. good for her. good for him. bad for michael, considering the fact that you're slowly growing attached to your boyfriend. your crush is small, but it's already showing. you look a little too pleased when you get to lean your head against his shoulder. you talk about him on the phone with your friends rather frequently. once, you even sang a song with your eyes closed, which might not've been an issue before but right now, it feels damning. it feels like you're singing to him, imagining him.
the worst part? you haven't dropped your playful attitude with michael. a sense of "will they, won't they" still fills the room whenever you and your manager are alone. your eyes light up just as much for michael as they do for your boyfriendβ it's hard to believe you have that much love to give, and yet...
"do you think that note sounded right?" you ask him, a concerned look on your face before you repeat it. you huff from the other side of the glass, dissatisfied with how your current song is turning out.
"'m not sure," michael replies from the other side, barely looking up from some paperwork. his head is lowered, black hair hiding his face from you. even with his glasses on, he's extremely close to the papers. force of habit, maybe.
unbothered, you persist with a verbal nudge. "i just need a little advice to perfect this song."
"why don't you ask your boyfriend?" he suggests under his breath, his pen still gliding across the page.
"mr. jackson, i'd prefer it come from you," you insist.
"i told you, you can call me michael." even when he's cold from jealousy, he'd prefer it.
"okay, michael, i need your advice. i want each of my albums to be better than the last. you're the only man alive who can help me with that. you understand me, you understand my sound and my voice," you explain, imploring him to help you. after a brief pause, you add in a smaller voice, "please?"
all you hear is a deep inhale on the other side before he replies, "you should go down two notes before it, then go up. it's a good way to freshen the chorus. and i think you should hold that note more, you're cutting yourself off."
he doesn't lift his head. still, you smile, satisfied with the advice you'd gotten. "thank you, michael."
"you're welcome."
you pause. "i know you're not in a good mood right now," you start, fidgeting before continuing, "but i was wondering if we could go out sometime. like we used to, for all those celebratory dinners, you know? just sitting and eating and talking. i miss that."
at that, he fully stills. it's true, he'd spoiled you with a lot of celebratory dinners when your first album climbed the charts and made waves. michael didn't realize you'd cherished them as much as he did, though. his head lifts carefully, his eyes meeting yours as he asks, "you do?"
"yeah," you admit, smiling sheepishly, "i miss spending time with you, michael." you don't seem to realize that the dinners were (in a way) dates, or that you (in a way) have a boyfriend already, or that michael (in many ways) is getting false hope from this. "so... would you like to go out sometime?"
oh, if you only knew.
"of course," he says, his tone warming for the first time that night. "of course, i would. it'll be a pre-release celebratory dinner. i'll make the arrangements tonight." michael's heart races in his chest as the following words leave his lips: "i can't wait to spend some time with you again."
god help him.
thank you for this ask anon, i did a bit of lore/worldbuilding with it <3 pr relationship except reader is still lowkey flirting with michael, intentionally or otherwise (a mix of both, in my mind...).
