#nervous

could you do a (sort of) continuation of it where michael invites her over for another sleepover and finally asks her if she was talking about him and she says yes and they have their first kiss??

before asking her, michael is really shy and fidgety cause like you said "one sentence shouldn't ruin what they have" but he finally decides to ask her

PLS MAKE IT CUTE AND FLUFFY THANK YOUUU 💕💕💕

YOUR TYPE?

Part 2

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Michael Jackson 80s x Female!Reader

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Part 1 here

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Summary: Michael finally finds the courage to ask if you were describing him during your last sleepover, and you happily confirm that he is exactly your type. The realization leads to a sweet, long-awaited first kiss.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ warnings: Kissing, making out. Nothing else.

The week following the sleepover had been a blur of restless nights and distracted rehearsals for Michael. He was the biggest star on the planet, yet he felt like a teenager holding a secret that was too big for his heart. He had replayed that conversation a thousand times, dissecting your tone, the way your eyes had looked, and the way you had tilted your head when you said his name. Was it a joke? Or was it the most daring thing you had said to him?

To you, Michael was acting strange. Not bad strange. Not distant. If anything, he’d been even sweeter than usual, which somehow made everything worse.

He had called you more often, usually late at night after recording sessions, just to complain to you about how his brothers kept stealing food from the kitchen. It was evident that Michael was restless, but why?

He couldn’t stand the not knowing. So, on a humid Friday night, he did what he always did when his world felt off balanced, he called you.

“I have a new movie,” he whispered into the phone. “My mother made the good popcorn. The kind with too much butter. You have to come over.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You never did. But when you pulled up outside Hayvenhurst, your stomach twisted nervously.

You walked into his house. “Michael?” You called out. “In here!” His voice echoed from upstairs.

You climbed the staircase, already smiling to yourself. Some things never change. When you pushed open his bedroom door, you found him kneeling on the floor beside the television, struggling with the VCR.

After successfully winning the battle against the VCR, you had both climbed onto his bed. Back’s leaning against the headboard. The atmosphere was different tonight. Usually, the two of you were a whirlwind of energy, mimicking movie lines, sharing snacks, or engaged in a heated debate. But tonight, Michael was uncharacteristically quiet.

He was fidgeting. His long, fingers were busy twisting a loose thread on a throw pillow, then smoothing the duvet, then adjusting his shirt.

“Michael, you’re going to burn a hole in the duvet if you keep doing that,” you teased softly, nudging his legs with yours.

He jumped slightly, he looked nervous. “I’m just… sorry, my mind is racing.” You gave him your full attention now, he wasn’t usually like this. “About the album?”

“No,” he said quickly, finally looking at you. His dark eyes were wide, searching your face with an intensity that made air feel thin. “Not the album. About what you said last time.”

The playful smile on your face faltered, replaced by a sudden hammering heartbeat. You hadn’t expected him to bring it up so directly.

Michael shifted, turning so he was facing you fully. He looked down at his hands, his thumbs circling each other.

“I thought about it all week,” he confessed, his voice changing like he was sharing an intimate secret. “I kept thinking about that conversation we had.” he paused, biting his lower lip. He looked so vulnerable in the dim light. Uncertainly flickered quickly across his face, it was so subtle.

There it was, your stomach flipped instantly. You sat up a little straight. “The one where you assaulted me with a pillow?”

He smiled faintly. “Before that.”

“Oh.” You breathed out.

“And I thought…” He looked up, his lashes casting long shadows on his cheekbones. “I don’t know how to ask this without soundin’ stupid” He let out a shaky breath.

“You could never sound stupid to me.” You said quietly. His eyes lifted to yours instantly, the sincerity in your voice seemed to hit him hard

Michael looked down again, he seemed so overwhelmed. “You know what scares me?” He admitted quietly. “What?” You said gently. “You’re my favourite person.” The confession came out so honestly that it made your chest psychically ache.

He laughed shakily afterward, embarrassed by his own vulnerability.

“You always have been,” he continued. “Since we were kids. Since before all this stuff happened.” He gestured vaguely toward the world outside his bedroom. “You make me feel normal.”

Your eyes softened. Michael rarely talked about fame seriously. Usually he joked about it or brushed it aside. But now he looked fragile.

“And I keep thinkin’…” he paused, chewing on his lower lip, a nervous habit of his. “What if I say the wrong thing and ruin that?”

You frowned. “You won’t.” You said it so sincere, like you believed it with your whole soul and heart.

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t.” You repeated again more firmly.

Michael stared at you for a long moment, he hesitated briefly. The he whispered, “were you talking about me?”

The room suddenly felt very still. The question hung in the air, vibrating with the weight of twenty years of friendship. You could see the fear in his eyes, the fear that he might be wrong, and the even greater fear of what it would mean if he was right.

You didn’t look away. You couldn’t joke about it this time. You let the truth settle between you, as the natural moonlight streamed through the window. Michael looked terrified after finally saying it out loud. Like he was bracing himself for rejection.

“You really didn’t know?” You asked gently, as you leaned forward. Michael shook his head once. “I hoped,” he admitted. “But I didn’t know.”

You couldn’t help but smile realising how much your answer mattered to him.

“Michael,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the butterflies performing acrobatics in your stomach. “Who else has eyes like yours? Who else could I possibly be talking about?”

The sound after was followed by a silence. It wasn’t tense. It was the sound of a million tiny puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. The look that went across his face was pure disbelief.

“Me?” He said faintly.

“Yes, you.” You laughed.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Michael stared at you like he genuinely couldn’t process it. The nervous energy still there, but it was overtaken by pure relief. “But… you’re-you’re beautiful,” he blurted out.

You blinked, eyebrows raising. “So are you?”

“No, but I mean-” He got flustered immediately, you could tell he was trying his hardest not to hide his face. “You could have anybody.”

“And I want you.” You laughed.

You could see the red creeping up his neck and evidently across his cheekbones. You had never seen someone look so simultaneously thrilled and overwhelmed.

“Oh my God,” he mumbled, caving in and covering his face with his hands. You laughed at his reaction. “You’re funny.”

“Stop.” He groaned.

You laughed again, grabbing his hands and pulling them away from his face. He looked back at you, eyes warm and impossibly soft.

“You really like me?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for years.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Michael went completely still, even the air seemed to leave the room.

“What?” He whispered.

You felt your face instantly heating up. Embarrassed at the honesty that you accidentally spilt from your mouth.

Michael stared at you. Then he suddenly smiled. That big toothy grin that held so much affection. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your breath caught. “How long?”

Michael looked shy again, glancing down. “Maybe since we were sixteen.”

“Sixteen!?”

“I was sufferin’!” Michael laughed, which caused you to burst into laughter. “I thought you were too good for me.” He confessed.

“You’re literally Michael Jackson.” You deadpanned.

“So?”

You stared at him in disbelief. Then you both dissolved into laughter again. The laughter eventually dialled down. The tenderness in the way he looked at you made your heart ache. Without thinking, Michael reached up and tucked your hair being your ear. His eyes lifted to yours slowly, before dropping down to your lips and flicking back up again.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice came out almost inaudible. Your heart nearly stopped. “You have to ask?”

“I’m tryin’ to be respectful.”

You smiled helplessly, and nodded. Leaning in closer towards him. Michael moved forward slowly, you could feel every second of it. And then finally his lips finally met yours.

It was soft, hesitant and tasted faintly of buttery popcorn. He was tentative and sweet enough to make your chest ache. You reached up, your fingers finding the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him a fraction closer.

Michael let out a tiny, shaky sound into the kiss, deepening this kiss. You felt like you were melting. You moved before you could get nervous. Without breaking the kiss you carefully shifted into his lap. One leg sliding onto either side of him.

Slowly, hesitantly, his hands rested onto your hips. His hands tightening, almost like he was scared you’d disappear. Every kiss felt careful and affectionate and full of years worth of feelings he’d kept hidden.

Finally breaking the kiss, you both sounded breathless. You could feel how fast his heart was beating.

And Michael looked at you like he might fall in love all over again.

CW: nerdjo is such a shy freak boy, teasing, fingering, squirting, he came too...

help my first jjk/gojo fic im terrified | f!reader

“So. I, um,” he clears his throat nervously, thumb circling your nipple with a feather-light touch. “I’ve been doing some reading.”

You squirm naked against the bedding, hips lifting slightly in reflex. “Really, Toru? Now is the time you want to tell me about what you’re reading?”

| A Stroke of Kindness

𖠋♡𖠋 ───────────────────ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ

masterlist | OTW!Michael Jackson x autistic!Reader

| Word Count: 1.4k

| CW: slight angst, insecurity (reader), social struggles, high functioning, undiagnosed autism, existence guilt (due to past experiences), fluff

Summary: While shopping, Michael bumps into the only other adult in the toy store. He tells her to come over the next day to hang out. She’s excited, but she’s worried that she’ll accidentally freak him out.

——————————————————

︎DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction depicts a real person and a fictional scenario. Nothing included in this story is implied to be accurate. This is a purely creative work and is not meant to offend, or make anyone uncomfortable.

Toys fill every shelf all around you. It’s overwhelming in a way, but you’re able to stay calm by the prospect of bringing home a new treat.

Your eyes scan over the aisle with sports equipment, fingers rubbing together at your sides.

There’s just so much to look at, so many things to choose from…

You feel your mind wandering, your eyes glazing over a little bit at the massive visual stimuli.

That is until you feel a tap on your shoulder.

It startles you and you yelp quietly. The one who tapped your shoulder looks remorseful that he scared you, but you suddenly don’t care that he did. It’s Michael Jackson.

His first big solo album, Off the Wall, has been on repeat in your house ever since it came out. It’s one of those hyperfixations that just never seems to let up.

“Hi?” He greets hesitantly, nervous smile on his face.

Your mind takes a moment to catch up, but when it does, your face cracks into a wide grin.

“Hi!” You chirp excitedly, clasping your hands together behind your back to avoid making any abnormal motions.

He laughs softly, smooth and a little lower than you’d expect.

“M’sorry to have startled you, but I never see other adults in here.”

“It’s no problem!” You say, quicker and louder than you would’ve liked to. It makes you cringe a little.

“Would you…well, would you maybe wanna hangout?” His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck.

You’re a little shocked at his immediate offer after only a couple words spoken to eachother. Admittedly, you’re buzzing with the idea of being friends with him, but that familiar shame and fear has finally appeared in your gut anyway.

Friendships are not common for you, and any attempt has almost always ended in some kind of bullying. That pattern is not lost on you, and has caused you to shy away from potential friendships.

“Hangout?” You ask in a more casual voice, trying to avoid what’s scared off others in the past.

“Yeah,” He repeats with a gentle voice, sensing your sudden nerves. “You could come over to my place. I’ve got lots of animals and stuff. We could play with them.”

Your face lights up at the mention of animals. Being one of your main interests, animals are a great way to lure you in and bring your mood up.

“Oh!” You exclaim happily, clapping your hands a little bit. “I love animals!”

That makes him laugh again.

It’s not the mean kind of laugh that you sometimes hear, but it’s kind, amused and glad to have made you happy.

He pulls a little card out of his pocket and takes a marker out of a box on a shelf. His writing is pretty—a little messy, but still pretty.

You take the card with his address and the time to come over graciously, bouncing just slightly on the balls of your feet.

“Thank you so much,” you beam, slipping the card into the back pocket of your jeans.

“‘Don’t need to thank me,” he assures you, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “I always wanna make new friends.”

On the card, he wrote 3pm, hoping that you might stay long enough to see the gorgeous sunset behind the trees lining his property. He hopes that this friendship will work out, because, like you, he also struggles making friends. Everyone always seems to want something from him, but maybe you could be different. You seemed to like the same things as him, after all…

You wake up at your normal time the next day, but you feel tired. You were anxious when you fell asleep, and you were nervous when you woke up. It must’ve affected your sleep.

Pacing your halls, trying to plan out everything you’ll say and everything he’ll say back is exhausting, but you’re terrified. The anxiety of this not being a normal situation like it would usually be brings on a stomach ache and you have to sit down for a while.

You take out your “Passion Book” to distract yourself, flipping through the pages slowly until you feel your body settle.

The Passion Book is something of an Interest board, a collection of photos of things you’ve been obsessed with. It feels like home to you, like a grounding piece of yourself, because sometimes it feels like yourself is just a composite of your interests.

Before you know it, you’re smiling and lost in new concepts that your book sparked.

At noon, your alarm goes off. Every morning, you set alarms to make sure you do everything you need to do at exactly the right time. Today it comes in very handy because you hadn’t realized how long you spent looking at your photos.

You put on your favourite outfit, wanting to feel as comfortable and confident as possible to avoid any extra emotional disregulations.

Before leaving your house, you look at yourself in the mirror, taking a deep breath and smoothing your hands over your clothes. You grab your Passion Book and head out.

In the cab, your leg bounces with increasing anxiety, your heart fluttery uncomfortably. You thought you’d don’t enough to avoid this…

You spend a couple minutes just sitting in the car once you arrive, needing some time to calm down and prepare yourself.

When you finally do feel well enough, you walk up to his front door and ring the doorbell, hands clenching the sides of your novel-sized photo book to ground yourself. You hope that Michael likes your book, that maybe the photos will captivate him the way they do you. But if they don’t, you hope he’ll just brush it off—you couldn’t bring yourself to leave it at home.

As soon as he hears the bell, he’s bounding to the door, so incredibly excited at the prospect of finally, finally making a real friend. He swings the door open and smiles brightly at you.

“Hi,” He greets politely, also not wanting to show his cards and scare you away.

“Sorry—h—hi, Michael,” you respond shyly, not feeling nearly as warmed up and social as you did in the toy store. Your body is flooding with that strange guilt, and you just hope that you haven’t already done something wrong.

His brows furrow when you open with an apology, but he doesn’t mention it.

“Are you alright?” He asks gently, not wanting to overstep, but not being able to ignore the way you’re almost shivering despite the warm weather.

“Y—yeah,” you try to laugh, holding your book to your body behind crossed arms. “I’m just nervous. I don’t really have a lot of friends…”

Your genuine admission makes his smile soften, making him feel just a little bit more comfortable knowing that you’re in the same boat as him.

“That’s okay,” he reassures you. “I don’t really have many friends either.”

“Really?” You lift your eyes to meet his, not really believing that someone as cool as him wouldn’t have lots of good friends.

“Yeah, that’s why I was so excited to see you at the toy store.” He explains. “It’s weird to most people. The interest in toys, I mean.”

“I think they’re the weird ones.” You mumble, not even intending it as a joke, but it makes him laugh either way.

“Hey, what’s that?” He asks when he notices the book grasped tightly to your chest.

The sick feeling immediately returns. Oh god, he’s going to think there’s something wrong with you the second he opens the book…

“Oh, it’s just…it’s just a photo album.”

He takes it from you carefully, flipping through the pages silently.

“I…I’m sorry,” you whisper shamefully after a minute, thinking that he’s uncomfortable now having seen the contents of the random book you brought with you. “I was going to leave it at home. I should have left it at home.”

He shakes his head without looking up right away.

“I’m not mad,” he says simply. “It’s pretty cool, actually.”

“You think so?” You smile slightly, his words making you feel just a bit warmer inside.

“I do,” he says easily. “I have some of these animals.” he points at the llamas and giraffes. “They’re out back. Do you wanna go see them?”

“If that’s alright?” You smile weakly.

“More than alright. That’s why you came over, no?” He teases, smiling warmly to make it obvious that he is in fact just teasing.

support writers!-›interactions greatly appreciated!

A/N: I myself am not diagnosed with autism, but I do fit the criteria and so this story was mostly just based on my experience. (I am diagnosed ADHD). I really hope this doesn’t come across as offensive in any way, I’ve just been thinking about it a lot. please let me know if my using the term autism in this context is offensive and I will adjust the description.

This was honestly supposed to be way more angsty, and I may do a rewrite with more angst, but this is where we are atm bc I HAVE to post smth.

not proofread and written while I was half asleep!