#shy guy

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.

I love you shy person

(a/n): Inspired by an edit I saw of Xavier’s card, I couldn’t resist and just had to write another orgasm in pants scenario of choso. Happy New Year!

⤷ 3k+ words

⟡ tags submissive choso/dominant reader, male orgasm, smut (+18; mdni!), stimulation, friction, rubbing on clothes, creaming in pants, whimpering, petting, praise, mentions of good boy, catboy choso

The strong hum of the supermarket lights did little to soothe Choso’s already burning nerves. His large, muscular frame felt out of place amidst the crowded aisles, a gentle giant navigating a world that often misinterpreted his quiet nature. With long, dark brown hair that verged on black, often falling boyishly over his brows, he possessed a powerful physique that contradicts his usual shyness. He was a man of observation, his gaze often lingering a moment too long, not out of rudeness, but genuine, almost childlike curiosity. It was a trait that often led to misunderstandings.

Today was no exception. As he paused by the fresh fruits and vegetables, contemplating the ripest tomatoes, an elderly man with an already scowling face shuffled past him. Choso’s eyes, out of habit, fixated for a second too long on the confusing pattern of the man’s worn jacket. That was enough. The man, already on edge, exploded. "What are you staring at, you fucking animal?" the old man snarled, his voice a harsh, guttural rumble that echoed in his ears. He launched forward, a surprisingly strong shove catching Choso off guard, making him stumble back into a display of apples. The man continued his little rant, an overflow of sharp, foreign words Choso didn't understand, a gibberish language laced with evilness. "May your curiosity be cursed with the form of a beast, you disrespectful shit! Learn some manners!" The old man spat, his eyes burning with an almost supernatural redness, before he turned on his heel and stomped away, still muttering quietly under his breath.

Choso stood there, mortified. Apples rolled around his feet, some spreading across the tiled floor. The brief, loud argument had drawn attention, a small crowd forming instantly, their stares sharp and judgmental. He could feel the heat rising in his neck, painting his cheeks a deep crimson. The whispers started, hushed but audible, and Choso just wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He mumbled a quick, embarrassed apology to no one in particular, hastily gathered the fallen apples, and practically fled down the aisle, his basket clutched tight. The crowd, having satisfied their curiosity, disappeared almost as quickly as it had formed, leaving Choso to finish his shopping trip in a haze of humiliation, trying desperately to pretend he was invisible. He paid for his groceries in a rush, avoiding eye contact with the cashier, and practically bolted out of the store, the sting of the old man’s words and the bystanders’ judgment still fresh.

Back in the sanctuary of our apartment, the first thing Choso did was head for the shower, hoping the warm water would wash away the lingering shame of the incident. He scrubbed himself clean, the steam filling the small bathroom, trying to cleanse not just his body but the memory of the unpleasant encounter. When he stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, a sense of calm finally settling over him, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

And then, his world titled on its axis.

Perched on top of his head, nestled in his dark hair, were two utterly defined, velvety cat ears. They were a rich, midnight black - matching his hair color in a way - perfectly shaped, and twitched subtly as his eyes widened in disbelief. And then, from behind him, he felt it — a gentle, almost elegant swish. He turned, slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs, to see a long, extremely fluffy tail, also matching the color of his new ears. It was elegant but also out of place, swaying gently behind him like a question mark. It moved with a life of its own, an extension of his body he’d never known. His jaw dropped. He poked one of the ears and then the tail in an attempt to test their reality. They were real. Warm.. soft.. but terrifyingly real. Panic suddenly seized him. The old man’s words echoed in his mind: "May your curiosity be cursed with the form of a beast..." This was it… This was the curse! It had manifested.

He didn't know what to do, who to turn to, except for me. You. His rock, his anchor, the one person who saw past his shyness and loved his quiet strength, the one who effortlessly commanded his complete devotion. Still mostly damp, with some pants hastily put on, he stumbled out of the bathroom, his cat ears flattened against his head in distress, his new tail dragging low behind him. He cried, his voice raw with a mixture of fear and growing embarrassment. His usually composed demeanor had shattered into a million pieces. He practically ran to me, tears already welling in his eyes, his muscular frame trembling. I was in the living room, scrolling through my phone, when I heard his frantic call. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion; it wasn't like Choso to sound so utterly undone. I looked up, and that’s when I saw him. My phone almost slipped from my grasp.

My Choso, with his dark hair, his usually stoic face contorted in a mask of pure dismay... with two perfect, twitching cat ears, and a long fluffy tail that seemed to have a mind of its own, swishing gently as he trembled. My first reaction was a gasp, quickly followed by a strange, almost delighted flutter in my chest. He looked impossibly adorable.

"What happened to you?" I asked, though I could barely contain the smile that was threatening to break through. He rushed towards me, kneeling awkwardly at my feet, his cat ears pinned back with intense shame. "I… I went to the supermarket," he began, his voice thick with tears. "And this old man… he pushed me. He shouted something, I didn't understand, but he said… he said I was 'disrespectful' and wished 'my curiosity be cursed with the form of a beast'. And now… now look at me!" He gestured wildly at his new features, his face an intense shade of red. "It’s just so embarrassing ugh…" he mumbled, his gaze fixed on the floor, his tail giving a pathetic little twitch. My god, was he cute like this. Adorable didn't even begin to cover it. The sight of my typically reserved, powerful man reduced to a sniffling, blushing cat-boy was an intoxicating revelation. He mentioned something about the curse being gone by the next morning, but I knew, with a certainty that I couldn't miss out on an opportunity like this. And I simply decided I wouldn’t, so I didn’t.

I reached out, my fingers gently tracing the outline of one of his new, velvety ears. He flinched slightly, a shiver running through him, but didn't pull away. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and vulnerable, brimming with unshed tears. His face was still a deep crimson, and his tail, as if mirroring his embarrassment, was indeed fluffed up, making it look even more beautiful. His cat ears, in their state of distress, were turned downwards, giving him an even more pathetically endearing appearance. An idea, delicious and wicked, began to bloom in my mind. I wondered if he’d feel the same sensations as a real cat, if I stroked him in just the right way. My curiosity, not unlike his own, was piqued. I decided to find out. "Come here, my poor little kitty," I murmured, my voice soft, almost a purr itself. I placed my hands on his muscular shoulders, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. His gaze, still downcast, was a mixture of shame and a desperate need for comfort. With one hand, I gently lifted his chin, forcing his eyes to meet mine. They were still watery, but there was a flicker of something else there too, a hesitant anticipation.

Then, I took my index and began to scratch gently, right beneath his chin, in that sweet spot where cats usually loved it most. The effect was instantly noticeable, and also captivating. His wide, vulnerable gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. His eyelids, thick and dark-lashed, slowly closed, a blissful expression stealing over his features. A soft exhale escaped his lips, and I could have sworn I saw his tail, which had been drooping, begin to wiggle, a slow, gentle sway that quickly picked up speed. It moved faster and faster, a deliberate, rhythmic swish against the floor, and his breathing, which had been hitched, deepened, becoming louder, more ragged.

And then I heard it. A deep, vibrant rumble, a sound that vibrated in the air, a low, throaty purring sound emanating from deep within his chest. It was music to my ears, a testament to the power of my touch. My heart quickened, a thrill shooting through me. He was truly a catboy. I couldn’t resist. I sped up my scratching, my fingers moving faster, more confidently, digging just a little deeper into the sensitive skin beneath his jaw. His facial expression morphed further, from blissful contentment to something more… desperate. His cheeks, already flushed, seemed to deepen in color, a faint blush spreading down his neck. The purr intensified, a continuous rumble that spoke volumes of his pleasure.

"K-keep doing that…" he whispered, his voice hushed, barely audible, laced with a raw, undeniable craving. His head tilted slightly, pressing deeper into my hand, implicitly begging for more. A smirk played on my lips. "You like that baby?" I asked, my voice a teasing whisper. He could only manage a soft, breathless "Mmh," a word that was more sigh than sound, his eyes still closed in utter bliss. The purr in his chest vibrated through my fingertips, a symphony of his growing arousal. I heard him exhale, a long, shaky breath, and I just couldn’t help it. I had to try more. I needed to see how far he’d go, how deep I could sink my claws into his newfound vulnerability. My hand, still gently scratching beneath his chin, slowly drifted upwards, my fingertips brushing against the soft, fine fur of his jawline, heading for the luscious, velvet ears. The sensation was exquisite, a silent testament to his profound sensitivity. As my fingers, feather-light, finally grazed the base of one of his ears, a jolt, palpable and electric, shot through his body. His other ear, not yet touched, instinctively twitched, responding to the proximity of my touch.

And oh, he did love it.

The purr in his chest became louder, turning into a roaring engine of pleasure. His ear, the one I was now gently rubbing, flattened back against his head in pure ecstasy, while the other twitched violently, at the slightest rub, a strong indication of his heightened senses. Choso leaned into my touch, his head tilting to offer me better access, a silent invitation, a desperate plea for more. His chest was heaving now, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps, the purr intertwining with each gasp. His tail, no longer merely wiggling, began to move with a newfound elegance and purpose. It swooped, a long, graceful arch, brushing against my leg. The fluffy fur was surprisingly soft, yet each brush was a delicate tickle against my skin, sending shivers up my spine. It was as if his tail had become an extension of his desire, reaching out, seeking contact, expressing what his shy lips couldn’t.

"Oh my- ngh.. yeah justt like thatt..ngh," Choso dragged out, a strangled sound that was half moan, half purr, laced with such intense desperation it made my core clench. His voice was thick, strained, barely recognizable, a testament to the sheer overwhelming pleasure I was bringing upon him. I was so caught up in the moment, so mesmerized by the beautiful, pathetic display of his submission and arousal, that I didn’t immediately register his movements. But then I felt it – a firm pressure against my leg, a conscious rub. I looked down, my breath hitching in my throat. His moans became louder, his whimpers more intense. His voice cracked, "Ohh fuckk..!!" he whined. He was kneeling before me, his strong, muscular body now lowered to the floor, his head still tilted back into my hand, completely lost in the sensation of my fingers caressing his sensitive ears. But his hips were pushing forward, his body clearly seeking more. Through the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants, I could clearly see the proud, undeniable bulge of his erection. It was hard, twitching with a life of its own, and a dark, damp stain was already spreading across the crotch of his pants, a clear sign of his pre-cum leaking through. He was practically dripping for me.

His whole face and neck were painted a deep, fiery red, a stark contrast to his dark hair, and he was full on whimpering now, small, keening sounds escaping his throat, followed by soft, almost silent moans. He was a picture of pure, unadulterated need, a cat in heat, begging for relief. He loved whatever I was doing to him. Every stroke, every graze, every purr was a testament to his utter surrender. I observed him for another minute, letting him writhe in immense torment, savoring the power I held over his body, over his very senses. The purr was a continuous rumble now, vibrating through the floor, through his body, into my very being. I even felt myself getting wet. It was music to my ears, a seductive melody of his growing climax. I wanted - no, I needed to hear it again, louder, and much more desperate.

My hand, which had been stroking his ear, finally moved. With one hand remaining firmly positioned on his sensitive ear, providing that intense stimulation he so desperately craved, my other hand slowly but steadily, wandered down. Down past his flushed stomach, past the waistband of his sweatpants, to the undeniable, throbbing source of his desperate, begging-for-attention cock. My fingers brushed against the damp fabric, and a shiver, not of cold, but of pure, intense sensation, ran through him. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath, his purr cutting off momentarily, only to resume with even greater intensity, a guttural growl deep in his throat. I didn't hesitate. My fingers closed around the thick, beautiful pulsing cock, still enclosed in the soft, damp fabric of his sweatpants. I gave him a small, experimental rub, my thumb gliding over the prominent head of his erection.

This time, his purr was not just loud and clear, it was a roar. Quickly followed by a guttural moan. A deep, magnificent sound that filled the room, reverberating through my hand, through his trembling body. It was, indeed, music to my ears. An addictive symphony of pleasure and surrender. I had wanted, no, I needed to hear it again, and he had delivered, a perfect response to my touch.

I tightened my grip, my fingers flexing around him, feeling the incredible heat and hardness of him. Slowly, deliberately, I gave him a long, drawn-out squeeze, my hand sliding from the base of his shaft, dragging all the way up to his throbbing, glistening tip. The grip intensified with every millimeter I went up, my fingers almost bruising him with their possessive pressure, forcing more of that delicious pre-cum to escape. He bucked against my hand, a silent cry for release, his head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of his flushed throat and his bobbing Adam’s apple. "Oh, my good boy," I murmured, my voice low, a silken thread of command and praise. "Such a good, good boy. Look at you, so cute... so pathetic, my little cat." My words were like an effective poison, pouring gasoline on the fire of his already raging arousal.

And he just lost it.

His back arched sharply, a guttural groan ripping from his throat. His eyes, which had been squeezed shut in exquisite agony, widened for a brief, flashing moment, revealing pupils blown wide with pleasure and a motion of them rolling back, before snapping shut again as if the sight of his own submission was too much to bear. The dark stain on his gray sweatpants grew larger, a testament to the sheer volume of his desperate leakage. His hips began to buck, fast, insistent, grinding against my hand, seeking the friction, the release, the climax of all the sensations I had carefully, exquisitely built within him. The pulse in his erection was incredibly strong, a powerful rhythm thrumming against my palm, so insistent, so lively, that I felt it even after I cruelly released my grip for a fleeting second, only to return with renewed force.

He moaned loudly now, the whimpering interfered with deeper, more desperate groaning, as if he’d been holding this exquisite torment forever, and it was finally, mercifully, spilling over. His cat ears, which had been flattened and twitching, now quivered violently, rotating back as his entire body convulsed. He could only close his eyes, his head thrown back, his jaw clenched, riding the overwhelming waves of pleasure. I watched him, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across my lips. This sight, this complete surrender, this beautiful, broken display of his desire, was everything I had ever wanted. My gaze swept over his muscular body, now trembling uncontrollably, the slight sheen of sweat on his skin, the flushed beauty of his face. I loved my sight, the masterpiece of his ecstasy I had carved. And then, with a final, desperate shudder that rippled through his entire frame, his body went rigid. A deep, drawn-out groan escaped him, and he shuddered against me, his hips thrusting one last, powerful time before collapsing back. The purr died down, replaced by loud, ragged pants. He came in strong spurts, with his eyes still closed, his head still thrown back, he could only repeat, again and again, under his breath, "fuckfuckfuck, oh fuuuck….". His voice was hoarse, breathless, panting like an exhausted, utterly miserable little pet.

Choso was trembling, completely spent, his body a heavy, delicious weight against me, the ghost of his climax still vibrating in the air. I let him rest there, breathing heavily, slowly coming back to himself. My hand remained on his ear, softly stroking, a gentle reminder of my control, my touch. He shifted, burying his face weakly against my hip, his tail now drooping, but still occasionally giving a soft, satisfied wag.

Later that night, after I had helped him clean up, and we had finally settled into bed, Choso, exhausted and still faintly blushing, fell into a deep, peaceful sleep beside me. His dark hair was ruffled, his muscular arm thrown over me, holding me close. His cat ears, still present, were relaxed against his head, and his fluffy tail lay draped elegantly across my leg, a soft, warm weight. Knowing that by morning the curse would lift and he would return to his normal, human self, I made sure to wake up in the middle of the night. The moon cast a soft, silvery glow through the window, illuminating the beautiful sight of catboy Choso sleeping peacefully right next to me. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a faint, contented purr still rumbling deep within him, a memory of our earlier encounter. I traced the outline of one of his ears with my fingertip, feeling the soft fur, listening to the gentle rumble. I smiled, a private, triumphant smile, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.