ꫂ❁ writes: okay time to get down to tacks and brass of why i reaaaally love manager!michael. also don't mind me trying to figure out this blog's aesthetic. i need to figure out how some of y'all do fonts
tw: this does contain some real-life events, so beware of minor angst, mental health issues, age gap controversy, etc.
𓆝 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who loves the way you sway your hips in your music videos. he encourages you to use your sex appeal to the max, being a young impressionable woman to the audience. you were breaking out of your “good girl” mold and you expressed to him through one meeting that you wanted to be seen as an adult, and not honed into a teenage image that you were found through.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who bites his bottom lip as you flip your hair on set of one of his short films (he still calls that any project he works on). he nicknamed you “fox” after you played a couple of tricks on him and other people on set. he didn't know you like the way he calls you that, ignoring the patter in your chest.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who thinks your laughter sounds like music to his ears. the pitched giggles your lips release intoxicates him in the best way. he can’t helop himself, laughing lowly when you say something outrageous enough to make yourself crack up.
he likes how you ignore the huffs of the director, gazing at your teasing smile through his sunglasses, rubbing two fingertips together. you’re a vision for the camera, did you know that?
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who senses when your body is nearing exhaustion and opts for periodic breaks. he doesn’t baby you, though, believing that perfection is achieved through blood, sweat, and tears. maybe it’s just an excuse for him to rise out of his chair, strut over to you with a drink in hand, the other coming up your back to ask how you’re feeling.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth during dance rehearsals when you throw yourself into the routine. he recognizes superstars from miles away and he will not lie about talent when he sees it. he just wonders if his determination to be with you for every step of the album prep is to mentor you or to spend time with you.
he would be a damn fool if he told himself you weren’t pleasant to look at, but who could say the same for him? he was nearly 40 years older than you, old enough to be your father or even grandfather.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who cannot resist exchanging cheek kisses after greeting you. “it’s a european thing,” he tells you, half-joking. “everyone does it in showbiz.” you oblige with a wide smile, and he revels in the warm heat rising in your cheeks. you make him feel young again, even with his childlike wonder, he feels like he could be 25 again. the thought always squeezes his heart. he can’t tell if it’s from pain or pleasure.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who pats your hips passing you by on a short film set for one of your upcoming singles. he loves how you smell and cocks his head innocently when he asks you what you’re wearing. you miss the way his eyelids lower to your collarbone as you explain your perfume routine, how you moisturize your skin with cocoa butter oil, then dab the oil-based perfume (you loved arabian perfume, you told him, it lasted longer) on various parts of your upper body.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who leans against the wall of your trailer as your makeup artist works to beat your face for the photoshoot he managed to book with harper’s bazaar. he decides it’s easier to wear sunglasses around you, not wanting you to catch onto his gazes so he can stare longer at you.
he admires art and believes you encompass it completely. your face, your movements, hand gestures when you talk excitedly, the wrinkles around your eyes when your smile reaches your cheeks, your lashes fluttering when someone compliments you.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael who lays awake at night as always, on the better treatment for his insomnia, thinking about you. he shouldn’t, it’s beyond unprofessional, maybe even inappropriate, but he’d been limited for too long. you were his refreshing drink after a trek through the desert that was the entertainment industry.
he realized the squeeze in his chest that he felt around you was the overwhelming resolve to protect you. you represented everything glorious about youth and he needed to feel that again without being demonized for it.
ꫂ❁ manager!michael whose thoughts are grossly interrupted by a ring on his newest iPhone (he still cannot figure how to work the damn thing) and is surprised to see it’s you, your picture flashing at him. he swallows once before sliding the answer button to the side. it took him two sloppy tries, before he aggressively swipes off his phone and places the device near his ear.
“yes?” he hates how his voice comes out small.
“michaellllll,” your sing-song voice pours into his ear and he closes his eyes. they’re burning.
“mm?” he huffs out a smile. your laugh echoes through the phone and his smile widens. “is everything okay?”
“i don’t mean to call so late,” he hears a harsh shuffle of something on the other end. “i can’t sleep.”
michael chews his inner cheek and sighs. if you only knew. well, you did, no doubt you heard the reports of his cardiac arrest in 2009 that nearly killed him before his final tour. what a media circus that was. “what’s on your mind?” he asks instead.
his eyes open wide at that and everything seems to slow down, like the room was drowned in honey. he physically turns his head to look at the phone in his hands, your name on the screen, time of the call ticking up.
he hears you hum distantly and forces himself to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. he cannot understand why he suddenly feels so unsettled. was that the word? was it the fear of messing something up? how the media would demonize him again, claiming he liked young things? He wouldn’t want that for you, you were barely starting out.
michael manages to choke out your name in a warning. “fox, are you drunk?”
your laughter erupted so loud and sudden he pulled away his phone from the side of his head again. Was this a prank? He frowned a little and heard you sniff a little.
“no, no!” you rushed to explain. “don’t take it like that, mike. i meant like i was like, thinking about everything we’ve been doing for the past year. my rebrand, the album prep, music videos–oh, sorry, short films–and whatnot and i can’t help but think, did you ever get nervous about things like this? what people would say about a new look, new sound, to see you as an adult and take you seriously?”
he fell silent for a bit, closing his eyes again. He heard another shuffle, nervous, as he wracked through his thoughts to answer you. he wasn’t sure about this phone call, he needs to hang up, something felt so off here. intimate, different.
“michael, you there?” you sounded small, like you were afraid you had crossed a line.
“no, i never felt nervous. the stage is where i grew up, fox. that was my cradle and binky. you’re different.” he sighed into the phone, hand reaching up to rub his forehead. he was sweating. ironic.
“you’ll be fine, girl,” he tried to assure you, swallowing, anxious to wrap up the call before it turned awry. “we can talk more in the morning, yeah?”
he cannot hang up faster. his heart is beating hard, not fast, against his chest and that’s what bothers him. you were practically the same age as his children, yet there was something about you that transcended the controversial age gap that kept him from you. he was your manager, he could not get involved with you. no trifling, flirting, or teasing of any kind.
you just made him feel connected with life again. you gave him a different kind of purpose in music again, the good side of the industry that haunted his life. you were the second chance he could do good through.
he closed his eyes again, sinking his back into the mattress. he was in too deep now to leave.
ꫂ❁ thoughts from saff: this was kinda rushed, but i need yall to feed me more prompts for manager! michael neeeeoowwwwww
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