#manager!michael

[humannatures]

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 🙂‍↕️🙏🏾

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, yes— oh, yes, yes, yes—"

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 somewhat— 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!

[michaeljacksonbutheadcanons]

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

wc: 1376

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.

“you.”

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.

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

ꫂ❁ thoughts from saff: this was kinda rushed, but i need yall to feed me more prompts for manager! michael neeeeoowwwwww

get in my inbox 𓁉𓁉𓁉

[humannatures]

sfw / gn reader, fluff )        michael is just too fine with those damn glasses!!! seeing these pics made me think of manager!michael, just hear me out…

manager!michael who’s very sweet, very gentle, but runs a strict program in regards to you, your time, and your money. he’s all too quick to shut down a collab when the other artist is playing in your face, not to mention how little he lets the press bother you. he’s part manager, part bodyguard, shouldering through crowds while holding your hand to get you into your car. you keep telling him he doesn’t need to do that. really, you have three bodyguards! but he just nods and apologizes before unintentionally guarding you again.

manager!michael who takes over the microphone and says “that wasn’t very nice” when someone boos during your acceptance speech. you watch as the perpetrator sinks into their seat while michael surveys the crowd. “don’t do that again, please,” he adds, stepping back and letting you continue. yes, he followed you onstage. he follows you pretty much everywhere.

manager!michael who loves to keep track of and take care of you. he’s doting! he trails after you, finds you pretty much immediately after meetings, and only seems content to be away from you if you’re both doing separate work of if you’re going home for the day. your well-being is his top priority. he even drives you home after most of your studio sessions.

manager!michael who removes most of the questions about romance from your interview question sheets. “you don’t really need to focus on that. they shouldn’t care about that,” he explains when you ask him, shrugging a little before pointing to a question about your musical process. “that’s more important than boys, you know? the music.” it’s about privacy. it’s also about the fact that he really doesn’t want to hear about your boyfriends when he sits in the interview audience or room.

manager!michael who usually goes by mr. jackson or michael. his kids call him applehead. you get to call him pretty much whatever you like. he loves nicknames, anyways, especially the silly ones!

manager!michael who gives you pep talks before speeches, rehearsals, shows, etc. he walks you through soft affirmations, holding your hands and repeating his words several times over. “say it with me, c’mon. you are strong… you are beautiful… you’re the greatest of all time,” he whispers, nodding as you parrot his words, “again. c’mon, say it again.”

manager!michael who looks at you over his glasses when you say something he doesn’t approve of. he tries not to criticize your words or actions publicly; there’s no need to give the doubters any ammo. he just presses his lips thin and glances at you over his glasses, a sort of ‘you know better’ look until he can pull you aside and discuss things privately.

manager!michael who quietly hums your songs as he’s planning your schedule for the week or waiting for you to meet up with him. he only started managing you due to your music, after all. it’s your personality that keeps him with you.

manager!michael who loves taking you out to dinner to celebrate your achievements. a private booth is reserved for you two at a high end restaurant, one that he drives you to after work. he reassures you repeatedly that you can have anything on the menu. “anything you like,” he smiles, “it’s your special night.” he said that last time, too. with the way you’re breaking records, it’s your special night every week or so!

author’s note )        couldn’t make up my mind on single father manager!michael orrr going through a rough patch with his wife manager!michael but i do love his paternal-ness, how sweet he was as a father… so cute. i also think he’d call you a lot, just to hear your voice.

[humannatures]

manager!michael when you test him sometimes..(he still loves you ofc 💕)

right right... his reaction when you start cozying up to another rising star he doesn't necessarily approve of. you're laughing at all their jokes, hanging around them during celebrity events, and even drinking/celebrating with them at afterparties, completely unaware of how they talk about you behind closed doors. their jealousy seeps into every interaction, but you're too drunk off the feeling of finally having a solid celebrity friendship to really notice it.

you should know better. really, you should be more wary of the people you allow around you. regardless of how things should be, here's how things are: you're being played and michael's not having it. he's seen a lot more, been through a lot more, understands a lot more... it's up to him to guide you towards better company.

"excuse me," he says as you glide downstairs. mr. jackson sits along your couch, his legs spread slightly open— he's been spending more time at your place, though that might just be because his ex-wife has the kids this weekend. after a quick up and down glance, he presses his lips thin together. "you're going out with that friend again, huh?"

"maybe," you reply, descending past the final step.

"maybe not," he counters, which makes you stop dead in your tracks. is it wrong that he likes that, how quickly you still because of him? "i don't think they're a good match for you. they seem... jealous... of your talents. and i would hate for you to get hurt."

"michael, i appreciate your concern," you start, stepping closer, "but that's my friend. i can choose my own friends, you know."

a smile slips onto his lips. amused, maybe. "of course you can."

"you still don't trust my judgement, do you?"

"not on this, no," he replies bluntly, still smiling. "come on. you could always stay here with me, applehead. at least here you don't have to wonder if you're really liked... you don't have to drink to have fun, either. we could watch your favorite movie." michael's voice, always soft, grows more smooth, more persuasive as he speaks to you, tilting his head, and still, still smiling. it's a knowing grin, the kind that reminds you that he's older, wiser, and probably already knows how this is going to end. "i can promise you, i'm more fun," he adds, a playful twinkle in his eyes.

a soft huff of annoyance escapes your lips before you reach down to take off your "going out" shoes. he's probably right; mr. jackson tends to be right, one way or another. if not about the secret jealousy, then certainly about him being more fun, and that alone is enough to convince you to come sit next to him on the couch instead of heading out the door.

"good choice," he remarks as you settle down, smirking almost, "you won't regret it, i promise."

ouuu... protective manager!michael my beloved... subtly possessive, subtly wanting. and if you decided that you still wanted to go out, he'd 100% let you (although he still wldnt approve). but you dont go out, you stay in bc u lwk #needthat. ugh. he'd never be too forceful, he's not manipulative but he is a bit of a little shit...

[humannatures]

manager! Michael with glasses like hello!!! Like imagine him gazing at you through his glasses, reading scripts or lyrics together, maybe him looking over your shoulder as you piece a song together and he’s so close AGHHANSJ

the most frustrating part is that michael doesn't even know how attractive he is with his glasses. much like how it took him two or three eras to realize he was sexy (sexy enough to get away with thrusting into the air and pressing his hips down onto the stage, at least), it takes him a while to grasp that you find him hot with glasses on. to him, sliding his glasses off and tentatively tucking the end of one arm between his lips is simply a childish thinking habit. to you? it's not just eye candy, it's eye cake, eye ice cream, eye "that expensive dessert off a fancy menu that you can't pronounce but absolutely adore". or maybe it's more similar to the main course, considering how much you also love what comes after: watching michael put his glasses back on. he's mastered the flick of the wrist, oftentimes using the quick motion to unfold his glasses' arms before he slides them back onto his face. then he'll look to you, curious as to why you're staring, completely unaware of how he'd basically given you a free show.

not to mention all the times he'd lean over your shoulder. a soft breath escapes his lips as he murmurs a small "let me look" while you work on a song's chords or lyrics. michael gives a quiet hum, pointing to a certain section and offering his advice, but all you can focus on is how his glasses slip down the ridge of his nose, settling down at the very end.

"you listening?" he asks, nudging you with his shoulder, "i don't talk just to hear myself speak, y'know."

you blink, dragging your gaze away from his glasses and nose upwards to his eyes, which are already focused on you. "sorry, sorry. say it one more time?"

he shakes his head, black hair shimmying as he does so (the combination of his glasses and his hair is almost too much. he wants to distract you, doesn't he?). "i was just saying that..."

worst of all is how he looks at you with his glasses on. how he peers at you overtop of his lenses when they slide down his nose. how he smiles with his eyes every so often from across the studio, a silent praise of a sound done properly or a lyric that's exceptionally impactful. "look at me" has become your least favorite phrase to hear from michael, only because looking directly at him makes everything so much worse.

"is it the color of my glasses?" he asks suddenly one day while lounging on your couch. another studio session ended, another night where he'd invited himself over to your place because his house is "too quiet" when the kids are with his ex-wife. that might've been the reason when he first came over, but these last few times? you're not so sure. "is it the shape? what don't you like about them?"

you tilt your head from where you sit on the other end. you and michael's feet meet in the middle even with both your legs curled, and every couple of minutes michael taps your foot with his. "what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean. you don't like looking at me when i have them on. but, you also stare when you think i'm not looking," he says, "i can get different glasses, if you hate these ones."

"i don't hate your glasses, michael," you chuckle a little, "it's the opposite. i find them... dashing, let's say."

"dashing?" he repeats. after a pause, he lets his foot bump against one of your own, "elaborate."

"dashing. handsome. attractive. some might even say sexy."

he turns to fully face you, a small smirk growing on his lips, "so you think they're sexy?"

you shrug, "some might say it."

he lets out a short, breathy laugh, tucking some of his hair behind his left ear. "right. so it's just dashing to you, my appearance with my glasses on. noted."

"exactly," you reply, feigning casualness. "i'm sure you have moments when you think i look dashing, too."

michael's response comes all too quickly. "oh, i do." he's being just as flippant as you are about it, pretending that all musical stars have this sort of conversation with their manager.

"elaborate?" you tilt your head towards him, and suddenly the casualness is much harder to fake. was it ever not serious, you and him along this couch?

"no further comments," he declares, flashing a cheeky grin.

...it's far more frustrating when he knows he's sexy than when he doesn't.

him with his glasses slipped down his nose + fidgeting with his wedding ring (which he has yet to take off, even while flirting with you...). i am sickkkk i love him. i also feel very strongly that it takes michael a minute to realize ppl find things abt him sexy... what's very obvious to us is like a revelation to him. i just know when you tell him he's like, "really, you find that sexy?". and then to tease he adds, "wow, your bar's low". smh my head i need him.

[humannatures]

manager!michael when you go to an after party and purposely try to make him jealous??

"if you wanted my attention, you should've just talked to me." that's the first thing your manager says after the party, during the tense drive home. your outfit was an elegant, teasing little number, something you knew michael would enjoy, and yet, you'd avoided him the whole night. every dance you took was with another man, younger, a member of some boy group. you even made a point of staying sober, purposefully glancing across the room at michael as your head rested against your new friend's shoulder. now, both of you sit together on plush leather seats in the back of some fancy, black SUV. neither of you look at each other: you, out of immaturity, and him, out of frustration.

crossing your arms, you turn your head to look out of the tinted windows. everything passes by in a rapid blur that almost strains your eyes. still, it's easier than looking at michael right now. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"you don't even like that guy," he accuses. he turns to look at you, his lips pursing when he realizes you're not looking back. how mature. "you barely know him."

you scoff, feeling his eyes on you. "he's funny."

michael chuckles sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "oh, so that's it?"

"funny can get you far."

"maybe with others. not with you," he points out, carefully running his hand against his hair. "i know you. you did that on purpose. you wanted to make me jealous. it's childish."

immediately, your head jerks to face him. "me, childish?" your body follows suit, knees jostling against his as you turn towards him.

"yes, you, childish!" he repeats, "you don't just do that to a man, you can't just toy with me like that!"

"you're the one with a wedding ring still on," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger towards his chest. "i think that's childish—"

his eyes close in agitation as his voice lowers, "don't start—"

thump-thunk!

before the argument could worsen, one of the front wheels hits a small pothole in the road, causing the entire car to bounce. like toys in a box, you and michael are tossed around, unintentionally bumping and grazing each other for a few moments until the car rolls onto even pavement again. your cheek meets his shoulder, his left foot meeting your right; it's a mess of your body against his. when it's finally over, both of you glance at your laps, adjusting hair and clothing in order to try and regain some dignity. in the silence, the argument lingers, although it seems so silly now.

you fidget with a small part of your outfit for what feels like too long before you finally open your mouth to speak again. "i'm sorry," you mumble. after pausing, you add, "i like the ring, actually..."

"i'm sorry, too," he says quickly, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "i spoke from a place of anger... i'm sorry. i'll take the ring off, i promise."

"you can keep it, michael, really," you start, but he just shakes his head no.

down in his lap, he twists and turns the ring along his fourth finger. then he decides: "i want to take it off." he slides it up, easing it past his first knuckle, then off of his hand entirely. streetlights from outside the car just barely manage to shine against the ring as it sits in his palm. then he tucks it into his pocket. "i don't want you thinking there's a chance of me and her getting back together," he explains, "i'm really only focused on one woman right now. even when she drives me crazy, even when she makes me jealous to get my attention. especially when she wants my attention, honestly..."

"i was being bratty," you admit quietly, biting your lip. "really, i don't even know what i was thinking. i wasn't thinking, i was... i just wanted to make you look at me."

"all you have to do is talk to me next time," he murmurs, "just talk to me, okay?"

you nod. "okay."

all the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you and michael (and the driver up front, who is by no means a stranger to you and michael's unique dynamic) behind. his knee gently nudges yours, a silent bid for attention.

"hm?"

he smiles a little. "i just wanted to see your happy face again." for a brief second, he hesitates. then, michael reaches for your hand, his fingers finding shelter in the valleys between your own, squeezing lightly. wordlessly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a few kisses along your knuckles and afterwards letting your hand rest along his thigh. for the rest of the ride, your hand stays there and the ring stays in his pocket; for the rest of your lives, he'll stay yours and you'll stay his.

honestly... just wanted to write a little spat! NOT sorry. i like tension. i gave it a happy ending though ^_^ hope u enjoyed!!

[humannatures]

hello fellow moonwalkers!! wld love ur opinion on how you'd like manager!michael to be in terms of family/marriage

possible routes...

married w kids, rocky relationship w wife

divorced w kids, amiable w ex-wife

no kids, no wife

(viewing option for me!)

Voting ended onMay 17

i personally lean towards him having kids, but i'm also a huge dilf lover so im deff biased.

[michaeljacksonbutheadcanons]

thinking about manager! michael a lot, but also!!!!!

dangerous! michael wow aaaaaaah where do i even start

so do i let yall see my freaky thoughts or wait 5 more blurbs in (╭ರ_•́)