TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
ojovivo
macklin celebrini has autism
occasionally subtle
if i look back, i am lost
Keni
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
wallacepolsom
bliss lane
KIROKAZE
Stranger Things
🪼
Product Placement
RMH
Misplaced Lens Cap
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from Hungary
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Peru
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from United States
seen from Belgium
@ladyinhislife
PURE ESCAPISM !
◡◡ ﹒ YOU WILL ALWAYS BE THE LADY IN MY LIFE .✦ ݁˖
🪩 " ... 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄! 𝗈𝗐𝗇𝖾𝖽 side 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗌/𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗈’𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝖾𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗋𝗒 〃 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗋𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝖽 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗂𝗋𝗀𝗈 ♍︎
‧₊˚ ⋅ library ‧₊˚ ⋅ michael jackson’s fish ‧₊˚ ⋅main blog
with love , paris
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
"Why doesn't no one talk much about otw michael/afro michael" bc #they don't like remembering that he's black helllooooooooooo
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋! 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗆! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋
a/n ur son is based off emmanuel lewis !
𝓐fter the tragic Pepsi incident, Michael was against returning to Hayvenhurst or isolating himself in a hotel room. Fortunately for him, he was more than welcome to stay at your place.
Your son was a child prodigy in the making. His career began in commercials— such as Campbell’s soup and Burger King. Emmanuel L/n became an household name after staring was Webster in sitcom Webster. You were familiar with stardom— doing some background work or starring in a few commercials when you were a girl.
In the flatlands of LA you and your son, Manny you called him, resided in your one story, Tudor revival style home. It was a cozy place with family portraits strewn wood paneled walls, a sunken living room, carpet floors, plants, colorful tiles and warm lighting. You kept your lawn freshly mowed while you rid your garden of any weeds and pests.
You and Manny prepared the spare bedroom for Michael with attentive care— Manny on his tippy toes dusting the shelves, you spraying down the bathroom, washing the bedsheets with that new fabric softener you purchased, and vacuuming the floor. You cracked open the window for fresh air and he even lit a candle. You were pulsing with nerves— you wanted Michael to feel comfortable.
And maybe because Michael freaking Jackson is staying in your house! You’ve been following his career ever since his J5 days and have been a fan since. Your twelve year old self is currently giggling and kicking her feet. But of course, you promised not to fan out.
In the first weeks of Michael’s arrival, he was mostly quiet, but appreciative.
“You have such a beautiful home,” he said with his soft cadence, big eyes taking in the new environment.
“Thank you so much,” you clasped your hands together to calm your nerves, “I’ll show you to your room then give you a tour, yeah?”
He smiled and bit the inside of his cheek, “that sounds perfect.”
Even during dinner, he’d nod and mumble a quiet: “dinner was delicious, thank you. Do you need help with dishes?”
You’d shake your head as you gathered everyones’ plates, “there’s no need— I’d rather have you get some rest.”
He was radiating with shy energy, but it didn’t stop him from giving thanks or softening whenever your son was around. Manny was star struck that Michael Jackson was staying at his house, buzzing around him and never leaving his side. You’d apologize and had to peel your son away so Michael could “get some rest” but he made it clear that he enjoyed Manny’s presence (anyone’s really) and was more than happy to have him around.
You spent the first couple of weeks bringing him trays of food when he was bedridden, making sure he took his medication, checking his bandages and adjusting the temperature in the room. Michael felt so spoiled— having this pretty lady trip over her own feet for the sake of his comfort.
Michael loved sitting in your backyard. Not only because of the butterflies that seemed to flutter whenever you stepped outside, or how the air seemed sweeter because of those pretty flowers you planted. But sitting next to you on that swing sofa, watching Manny catching a butterfly with that toolkit Michael got him at the zoo. At first, you always kept a respectful distance, but the afternoons were chilly, and Michael’s warmth drew you in. And if Michael was feeling extra brave, his arm would rest on the back of the sofa, brushing against your upper back. He was so greedy.
He knew he was falling for you in the way his heart skipped a beat whenever he walked into the kitchen to see you cooking breakfast, or the way you laughed as Manny put gem stickers on your face and calling you a disco ball, or the way Michael’s touch lingered when he squeezed past you or placing a hand on your shoulder “for comfort” when you’d come into his room to talk about your day.
And you felt dammed for feeling the same. It was undeniable the way warmth spread through your body when Michael’s skin would brush yours as you washed dishes, or the way the three of you bundled on the couch— Manny in the middle— for a movie night. As much as you loved your son, it was nice breather to have him away for the weekend.
And it was a perfect opportunity to spend more time with Michael. You felt too grown to call it a crush, but liking Michael felt like you were a teenager again. You loved catching those sparkly auburn eyes across the room, leaving you two giggling and looking away, and spending the afternoons with wine and orange juice in a champagne flute on the swing sofa.
He felt so human being with you. He felt heard and comfortable. He felt like a father, like a husband.
You can recall a random Tuesday when you came home to the sound of Billie Jean pulsing through the walls. When you emerged into the living the sight truly warmed your heart.
“It takes some practice,” Michael said, glancing down to Manny, “shift that weight like I told you. And slide on that heel— like this.”
Manny looked at Michael like he hung the stars as he performed a flawless moonwalk against your hardwood floor. The night ended with a cam recorder over your shoulder, laughing as Manny and Michael spun across the floor to the music.
Your son was undoubtedly bright, but he burned brighter when he was around Michael. Ever since Michael came about, Manny has been smiling harder and laughing louder. You loved the way he felt so comfortable around Michael, sharing his comics, babbling about his favorite films and shared experiences even in the entertainment industry.
You and were son weren’t lonely at home, you had each other, but having that extra presence at the dinner table, engaging in conversation and giving his compliments to the chef, felt like you had a whole family. You can tell Manny felt it too.
Michael treated Manny as his own. You remember when the boys came back from a trip to the Los Angeles Zoo. The trunk was loaded with a bunch of stuff neither of them truly needed, like stuffed animals, books, candy, and souvenirs like animal themed pencils, notebooks, toys, and all that jazz.
One night when Michael was about to depart to his room, Manny ran up to him and hugged his legs. “Good night, Michael,” he gave the man a toothy grin. Michael returned a gentle smile and he picked him out, giving him a light squeeze before setting him down. “Night Manny,” his eyes flickered to yours, “get a good’s night rest.”
“Sleep well Michael,” you cupped a hand over your son’s head, “if you need anything, just speak into the intercom. I’ll be up.”
His eyes never left yours as he nodded, “Goodnight.”
Another sight made your head ache is when you went to check on Michael one afternoon. Cartoons and gleeful giggles bubbled from his room all day, and from your spot on the couch you saw Manny across the hall bring more and more comic books and toys from his room. When the laughter subsided, you decided to pop your head in, and you nearly cooed. The two were bundled up on the woven egg chair, a fluffy blanket draped over them as open Peter Pan was splayed across Michael’s lap. Manny, who had his stuffed lion tucked beneath his arm, was fast asleep on Michaels shoulder.
“Hello,” Michel greeted softly, looking up at you with those pretty eyes.
“Hey,” your tone mirrored his own, sitting on the edge of the bed, “you read Peter Pan for him? That’s— that’s so sweet of you.”
“He was stuck to my side like glue. I could tell he was getting a little sleepy,” Michael said fondly as he looked to the sleeping boy beside him, “I promised him I’d teach him a few dance moves tomorrow.”
Was this man a godsend? Why is he so beautiful? Why does he have to be so perfect? Can I marry him?— You cleared your throat before your mind could cross any sort of dangerous territory. “Well, I’ll get him off your hands and put him to bed,” you slid off the bed, standing in front of them. Michael enjoyed the view.
“Sleep well, little prince,” Michael whispered sweetly before you scooped your baby boy in your arms, his smaller ones immediately wrapping around your neck.
The lights in the room dimmed when his favorite pair left. A sorrowful sigh escaped his lungs and what replaced it was loneliness.
Across the hall you tucked your son into bed, thumb stroking his cheek. You leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead before pausing when Manny asked: “Can Michael be my dad?”
You pulled back and blinked. “What?
“Micahel. Can you marry him so you can my dad?”
Marry? Marry Michael? Marry Michael Jackson? You would’ve brushed it off if he was maybe five years younger, but even age can’t shake the fact that your son yearned for that extra parental figure in his life. Especially that “figure” being Michael, who has been nothing but good to him for the past couple of weeks.
“Uhm—“ a huff of nervous laughter escaped from you, “You’re tired, okay? Goodnight. I love you,” you kissed his forehead one last night, silencing him from any other ridiculous ramble.
Pft, marry Michael Jackson…..
Michael nearly slipped down the hallway as he scurried back to his room. He only stepped out for a glass of orange juice, but gravitated to the sound of your voice and the words “Michael” and “dad” and even “marry” being in the same sentence.
Michael never stopped dreaming of being a father one day. Living in a big house with his pretty wife and his eighteen kids.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click! before biting down onto his fist and silently screaming. What he wouldn’t give to be your husband and a father to Manny.
To say it stroked his ego was an understatement.
“Hmph, I’d be a great father…” he whispered to his reflection, striking a pose.
He struck another that was supposed to make him appear “manlier.”
“Son,” he deepened his voice, tilting his chin upwards and clamping a hand on his hip and pointing a finger, “go to your room this instant— no I wouldn’t say that…”
He tapped his chin before tuning to his right, kneeling down and speaking in his own voice this time, “I’m so proud of you son, good job. Let’s go get some ice cream,” his hand wafted the air, like he was patting his imaginary future child’s or Mannys’ head. He rose to his feet with a shit eating grin, “yeah, that’s more like it.”
And because he was feeling extra special, he turned again, going one knee and opening his imaginary, velvet lined box with the most prettiest rock inside. “Will you marry me, (Name) ?”
After that? Michael slept like a damn baby.
The three of you were exhausted after spending the entire day at Disney.
The car ride home was peaceful. Bill drove smoothly across the freeway. A quiet, instrumental jazz filled the space, bleeding towards the back seat where Manny was tucked between you and Michael. Manny was wrapped in his new Mickey Mouse jacket Michael bought him, the hood having those two signature, black circular ears stitched on the top. Michael wore his own red Mickey sweatshirt with his collared polo beneath. You sported a Minnie one yourself— which Michael was more than happy to purchase for you.
The way Michael’s arm snaked around your shoulders was a complete mystery, but shared the warmth between you and Manny.
The past couple of weeks caught up to you, and your appreciation and adoration for Michael grew fonder. Your words escaped you before you could second guess yourself, “Michael.”
He turned to you, like he was waiting for you to call his name.
The way the city lights sparkled in those big eyes and accentuated the curves on his face, nearly made your heart stop. You could tell Michael felt the same, like he was more focused on your features rather than what you were actually going to say. “Hi,” he whispered.
For a second you ogled at the stars swimming in his eyes, before blinking the thought away. “Thank you again. You have been incredible to Manny and I’d be an idiot not to notice how much Manny loves you and how you love him— I mean you’re so patient and kind and compassionate, and it’s just so refreshing to have that extra hand, that extra presence in the house—“
His cheeks felt so warm, “You’re flatterin’ me—“
You reached out instinctively grabbed his hand on your shoulder, “I’m being so serious Michael. You’ll make a great father, someday.”
To our children, he wanted to say. Instead, his fingers intertwined with yours, “Thank you, I’m really striving towards that. Manny is so smart, so bright and full of wonder. He’s such a sweet boy and knows how to light up a room.” He looked down to your fingers, suspended in the air like time itself slowed to prolong this moment, “and you’re an incredible mother. I see where he gets it from.”
With a flushed thank you and turn of your head, Michael teasingly tilt his head to catch your wandering eyes. Manny shifted between you both, letting out a contented sigh.
Michael loved his little family.
The three of you were headed to some high profile, industry event. Despite Michael wanting to protect you from such a public eye though simultaneously he felt silly since he’s not your man, Manny insisted that you came. But of course, you planned to split up, Manny and Michael embracing their friendship while you stood in the limelight. Plus, you had a few friends in the attending, so you had company.
Your heels clicked on the hardwood floor as you emerged from the hallway like it was your runway. God, you looked like a dream. Michael immediately straightened up before standing entirely. He gulped as he eyed your dress, fitting you like a second skin with that color that he loved on you. You didn’t notice (or did you) and only checked yourself in the frames mirror, touching up your updo and fixing your lashes with your finger.
Manny tugged on his sleeve leaned in to whisper to Michael who leaned down to his level, “isn’t my momma so pretty?”
“Yeah…” Michael licked his lips, eyes scaling your figure through the tint of his shades, “pretty mama…”
a/n i haven’t posted fics lately so i wanted to get something out😅😅 hope i like i prolly wont b publishing for a while cus im so busy
+++ not proofread so if sum don’t make sense tell me 🙏🏽🙏🏽
God really has favorites, the hand on the jaw?? 🫠🫠
Hey queennn! Could u do a fic during otw era where he’s like pervy and inexperienced and lowkey desperate for u
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ teach me • Otw!Michael x reader
⤷ ゛Synopsis ˎˊ˗ Inexperienced Michael's dreams finally come true !
𑣲⋆ warnings : Virgin mike. Pervy mike. Pussy eating. Teaching him to eat it right. Overly Desperate. Praise
Being an inexperienced virgin made Michael do things that he wouldn't typically do, like the time you bent down and your skirt hiked up just enough so that your panties peeked out slightly, and he stared the whole time like some kind of dog in heat, but don't get him started on the time when you decided to watch a scary movie, and you were so scared that you hopped into his lap, and y'know, it felt so wrong to be getting hard at your fear, but the fact that you were sitting right on his lap, ass pressed against him. Your bodies so close that he could nearly hear your heart beating. The heat from your body radiating against his skin only makes that bulge in his pants grow tighter, almost making it feel like he was claustrophobic.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⊹ㅤ` Ꮺㅤׅ. angst / fluff thriller michael jackson ﹗ .
𐔌 . ⋮ 𝖾𝗌𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖺's note .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ : i made ts in one hour so if u see any typos.. no u didn't! enjoy :3
imagine thriller era michael accidentally meeting you on one random night...before you were ever anybody to each other.
because thriller has completely taken over the world at this point. every radio station is playing him. every magazine has his face on the cover. teenage girls are sleeping outside hotels just hoping to catch a glimpse of him for three seconds. and you're no different, really.
you've got the album at home, your friends know every lyric, and if someone had told you you'd meet michael jackson on your walk home from a girls' night, you would've laughed in their face. except...that's exactly what happens.
it's late enough that the streets have started emptying out, and you're walking home by yourself because it's only another ten minutes and you'll be fine. meanwhile, michael's car has just turned onto the same street on the way back to hayvenhurst. bill notices you first. michael notices you second. one girl. walking home. by herself. at night.
and suddenly whatever conversation they'd been having completely disappears because that's all michael can think about. "...she alone?" he asks quietly. bill glances in the mirror. "looks like it." and before he even realizes he's saying it, michael's already asking him to pull over.
you don't even process what's happening until the window rolls down. you look over. and nearly stop breathing.
because...it's michael jackson, and not on your television, not on a record sleeve. literally sitting there. looking directly at you. he smiles that shy little smile. "you alright young lady?" and somehow that's the first thing he asks. not your name. not whether you recognize him. but..."you alright?" because he's far more concerned about the fact you're walking home alone than the fact he's currently one of the most famous people on the planet.
you manage the world's most embarrassing little nod. "y-yeah." he smiles shyly again."you sure?"
another nod. he looks you up and down then up and down the street once before glancing back at you. "how much farther?"
"um..."
you point vaguely. "just... down there." he smiles. "okay." there's this tiny pause where both of you just look at each other, you completely forget how words work. then michael reaches into his jacket. finds a little piece of paper. borrows bill's pen. quickly scribbles something down. "here."
he reaches it toward you. "call me when you get home safe, yeah?" poor worried guy isn't trying to flirt nor does he expect anything. he just wants to know you got home. and your heart actually hurts a little because...who does that except before your fingers can even reach the paper... someone screams. "MICHAEL!" then another. another. it's like the street suddenly wakes up.
people come running from everywhere, cameras appearing out of nowhere, hands reaching through the open window, security immediately trying to push everyone back. the tiny slip of paper disappears somewhere between all the movement before you even realize you've let go of it. "wait—" you don't even know whether it was you or him who said it.
bill starts pulling the car forward because he has no choice anymore. the crowd's becoming too much. and for one second... you meet michael's eyes through the window. he's still looking for you. really looking. leaning forward in his seat, trying to see past all the people pressed against the car, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the lady who never got his phone number.
the same way you stand there searching through the crowd for him. but there are too many people now. too many hands. too many flashes. the car slowly disappears into the night. and somewhere on the floor of a California street... lies one tiny folded piece of paper. with michael jackson's phone number written on it.
never called. because it never made it into your hands. and somehow...he spends the entire drive back to hayvenhurst wondering if you got home safely anyway. ❤︎ 🚘
he looked so beautiful here like the hair n the side profile. just everything abt it is *chefs kiss*
When you enter a baby deer eyed competition and this mf shows up
this whole thing regarding ‘ ebony muse’ is disappointing and borderline disgusting. To see a writer I once admired exposed for lying about being Black isn’t just “fandom drama” it’s exploitation at its finest.
Considering what’s happening in America right now, it feels even more personal and enraging. Her excuse that she thought she would be accepted because “Michael loves everyone” made my blood boil because how dare you try to gaslight yourself out of this situation.
Michael Jackson would never co-sign someone lying about being a black american for clicks. He was a proud Black man who endured relentless erasure and misrepresentation. To exploit his fanbase, especially knowing how many Black Americans are active in these spaces — is unforgivable. Using AAVE, centering Black girls in your tumblr posts, and hiding behind a username like EBONYMUSE wasn’t accidental. It was calculated.
ebony has always been tied to Black culture, it’s literally one of the top p°rn categories. . so to pretend otherwise is insulting and idgaf that’s she’s British, that actually makes shit worse that she aren’t American but is using black AMERICAN language/terms. She knew what she was doing, and she thought she wouldn’t get caught. She weaponized identity to gain credibility in a space where Black voices are already marginalized
as far as I’m concerned, she can stay gone. And WE do not need to forgive her. There are plenty of actual Black writers on Tumblr who are creating incredible Michael Jackson fics and deserve just as much attention. So my final word with this! Let this scandal be a warning to any other writers who are trying to use black fans for views and popularity on here.
Because it’s disrespectful, not only to yourself but to everyone else who reads your posts when you’re out selling a lie. michaels legacy deserves better, black fans deserve better, and black writers deserve the recognition they’ve earned without someone exploiting their identity for clicks.
ok thanks!! 🫶🏽🫶🏽😁
the banana in the pocket for bubbles.. ugh he was so sweet and perfect
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
HIGHEST GROSSING BIOPIC OF ALL TIME
BEST SELLING ALBUM OF ALL TIME
ALL WHILE EVERYONE TRIED TO SABOTAGE HIM. HE'S UNBREAKABLE
genuinely the downfall of mjblr is that everyone has a think piece now. use your freedom of speech, but you can't complain about stuff while simultaneously saying you/others should focus on writing fics . . . well no ! because you're adding fuel to the fire by posting your nothing burger take, and that is only discouraging writers more because then there comes drama.
fanfiction has one of the most clearest non spoken rules : don't like it ? don't interact with it & don't go around bashing. because by you posting your opinion on stuff only gets in writers heads, and i'm saying this as a writer who already overthinks everything, but that shit doesn't make it any easier. and even if you're not trying to do that, you kind of are, there's peace in simply keeping your opinions to yourself ( redundant a little but i barely post shit like this - or even wording some people don't word what they're trying to come across right ).
like god forbid we are on tumblr.com, can't go around bashing the freaks and tropes that have ran this writing community ( in general ) for years.
y’all be forgetting that half this shit started on wattpadd !!!
how it feels to be one of the few people who like when a fic says ‘mama’ or ‘mami’ when everyone else says it’s corny
i need to have a long day, come home to michael waiting for me on the edge of the bed, and watch me ramble while i do my night routine, admiring me ‘cause he loves his girlfriend. a little bit of making out before cuddling to sleep, i need that.
My mann sooooo handsome ᥫ᭡.
cred. <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Michael Jackson in the 70s looking fresher than you.
— AN EATER
thriller ! era synopsis — a short story of how michael grew a mustache. ( spoiler— it’s because he can’t stay away from your pussy )
Nervousness was practically vibrating between the two of you in the quiet of his bedroom, the heavy velvet curtains drawn shut to block out the rest of the world. You sat on the edge of the mattress, your fingers twisting together in your lap, while Michael hovered just a few feet away. He looked incredibly young, his signature curls framing a face that was currently completely smooth, save for the bright, anxious look in his eyes.
"Are you sure about this?" he whispered, his voice dropping into that soft, gentle register he used whenever he was trying to be extra careful with you. "I just... I want it to be perfect for you because we've never done this before."
"I'm sure," you breathed, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. "Just... be careful with me, Mike."
"Always," he promised, finally moving closer. He dropped to his knees between your thighs, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on your knees.
When he first leaned in, it was a little clumsy. He didn't quite know where to put his nose, and his initial movements were a bit too hesitant, a bit too fast, making you shift uncomfortably. He pulled back instantly, looking up at you with wide, worried eyes. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, I'm doing it wrong."
"You didn't hurt me," you said softly, reaching down to cup his jaw, guiding him back. "Just slow down. Take your time. Right there..."
The moment he adjusted, finding the perfect rhythm, everything changed. A soft, involuntary gasp left your lips, and you gripped his shoulders. Hearing that sound did something to Michael. It was like a switch flipped inside his mind. He completely lost himself in the sensation of making you feel good, his tongue finding a steady, agonizingly perfect pace that had your toes curling in the air. By the time you arched off the bed, completely undone by a wave of pleasure you’d never felt before, Michael was staring up at you with a completely dazed, blown-out expression. It had officially changed his life.
From that afternoon onward, it became an absolute obsession.
The hesitancy was entirely gone, replaced by a relentless, desperate hunger to worship you. The moment the two of you were behind closed doors—whether it was the lock clicking shut in his home studio, the privacy divider rolling up in the back of a limo, or just a few stolen minutes in a green room—Michael was on his knees.
"Michael, wait, we only have ten minutes before your meeting," you gasped one afternoon as he practically tackled you onto the sofa, his hands already pulling at your clothes.
"Ten minutes is plenty of time," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with a sudden, intense heat that left you breathless. "Please. Just let me. I need to feel you, I need to taste you."
He didn't even care about his own release most of the time. He would get so intensely aroused just from the sound of your whimpers and the way your body shook under his hands that the sheer overstimulation would completely overwhelm him. More than once, while completely buried between your thighs, a sudden, ragged groan would escape his throat, his entire body going rigid as he ruined his custom pants, cumming hard without you ever even touching him. He would just lie there against you, panting and completely spent, a triumphant, dazed smile on his face.
As the weeks went on, he wanted to try everything. He became incredibly fond of face sitting, loving the absolute vulnerability of having you completely on top of him, letting him look straight up at you while he worked you into a frenzy. Other times, he’d pull you into a tight sixty-nine, the intensity of your slobbering mouth working his cock and the taste of your sweet arousal driving him so wild that he could barely keep his composure.
But then, the physical side effects of his new favorite hobby started to show.
It started as a faint, dark shadow right above his upper lip, a subtle peach fuzz starting to come in around his mouth. You didn't think much of it at first, until you remembered that old, ridiculous wives' tale.
One evening, while you were sitting on his lap in his room, you traced the soft hairs with your thumb. "You know... there’s a saying about why men suddenly start growing facial hair like this."
Michael blinked, wrapping his arms around your waist. "What saying?"
When you whispered the myth into his ear, his entire face flushed a deep, bright crimson. He let out a high-pitched, embarrassed giggle, hiding his face in your neck. "Oh my gosh, no way! That’s not real. Is it? You're just teasing me."
"I dunno, Mike," you laughed, running your fingers through his curls. "You never used to have this. Now it's growing in fast."
He looked in the mirror later that night, touching the shadow on his lip with a shy, incredibly proud little smirk. He clearly didn't mind the myth at all; if anything, it felt like a badge of honor. Within a few more weeks, that shadow fully filled out into a distinct, neat little mustache.
The real trouble started when his family started noticing.
You were all gathered at the family home for Sunday dinner, sitting around the large dining table. You were happily chatting with Janet when La Toya suddenly squinted across the table at her brother.
"Michael, what is that on your face?" La Toya asked, pointing a fork at him. "Are you trying to grow a mustache?"
The entire table went quiet. Jackie leaned over to get a closer look, laughing. "Man, look at that! Where did that come from? You’ve never been able to grow facial hair like that."
"Yeah, Mike, you look like you're tryna be all grown up all of a sudden," Marlon chimed in, chuckling. "What’s the occasion?"
You felt all the blood rush to your face, your face burning so hot you were certain everyone could see it. You choked on your sip of water, coughing into a napkin to hide your sheer panic. You knew exactly where that mustache came from. Every single hair on his lip was a direct result of his absolute obsession with your body.
Michael, however, didn't panic at all. He just offered a calm, incredibly polite smile, though his eyes darted over to you across the table, flashing a wicked, knowing look that made your stomach do flips. "I just thought it was time for a change, that's all. A new look for a new era."
"Well, I think it looks nice," Katherine said gently from the head of the table, completely oblivious to the silent crisis you were experiencing.
The second the two of you got back to his place and the bedroom door closed, you grabbed his arm, your face still burning. "Michael! Oh my god, I almost died, I swear. This is getting too out of hand."
"What is?" he asked, acting completely innocent as he stepped into your space, his hands immediately sliding down to your hips.
"The mustache! The... the reason for the mustache!" you cried out, trying to push him back, though your own body was already betraying you at his touch. "You do it too much. Every single time we have sex, every time we're alone, you just HAVE to do it. You're obsessed, Mike. You need to take a break."
Michael didn't care. He just chuckled, a low, confident sound that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw, the slight prickle of his new mustache rubbing against your skin.
"I can't help it," he murmured, his hands sliding up under your shirt, his breath hot against your ear. "It's my favorite thing in the world. I'm not stopping."
Before you could even utter another protest, he was already pulling you down to the bed, completely intent on adding to his new look.
