❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ do you want the house tour?
⸝⸝ pre thriller album release michael jackson x fem reader
│ summary: you invite your boyfriend into your apartment for a house tour, with no deeper meaning. right?
│ byi: 18+ (nothing too explicit, yet.)
│ a/n: hi! i had this cooking in my head all day at work and though it would be a super cute fic to throw together.... hope u enjoy ;D. probably making a part two for this!
The low hum of the tan Cadillac pulling into the curbside of your apartment complex was the only sound left on "Pretty Girl Avenue," which Michael himself liked to call it every time he asked Bill to either drop you off or pick you up.
Bill killed the engine with a soft chuckle, glancing at the two of you in the back seat through the rearview mirror. "Home sweet home, Miss. And Mr. Jackson, you want me to wait or—?"
"No, no, that's alright, Bill," Michael said quickly, his voice that soft, melodic lilt. He was still in his post-dinner mode—tie loosened just a little, curls slightly tousled from the breeze through the cracked window. "I'll make sure she gets inside safe. Thank you, as always."
You caught Michael's hand before he could fully pull away, squeezing it. "Actually… why don't you come up for a bit?" you asked, keeping your tone light and sweet, like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I could give you the grand house tour. It's only fair after that amazing dinner you planned."
Michael blinked those big, dark eyes at you, genuinely surprised. "A house tour? Right now?" He glanced at the apartment building like it was some grand mansion he'd never noticed before. “I mean… if you're not too tired. I don't want to impose or anything." He shyly shrugged, hiding the giant smile on his face.
Bill glanced in the rear-view mirror, squinting slightly. He obviously knew something Michael didn't. "You two have a good night," he said with a knowing little smirk. He cranked up the engine again once the two of you closed the doors to the car behind you.
You kept Michael's hand in yours as you led him up the stairs to your apartment door, the hallway light casting a warm glow on his flushed cheeks. He was already a little fidgety—fingers twitching lightly in your grasp, eyes darting around like he was trying to memorize every detail of the building.
Inside, you flipped on the soft lamp by the couch and turned to him with a playful smile. "Okay, official tour starts now. Shoes off, Mr. Jackson. Make yourself comfortable."
Michael kicked off his loafers neatly by the door. "This feels… kinda special. No one's ever given me a house tour before." His voice was quiet, almost reverent as he looked around your cozy living room—the little stack of records by the player, the throw blanket you'd left draped over the arm of the couch.
You took his hand again and tugged him toward the kitchen first, stepping just a little closer than necessary so your shoulder brushed his. "This is the kitchen… where I attempt to cook and usually end up ordering food instead." You opened the fridge, bending down a bit more than you needed to. "Want something to drink? Water? Or maybe something sweeter?"
He cleared his throat, eyes politely fixed on the fridge contents instead of you. "Water's fine! Thank you. You have… a lot of fruit in here. That's healthy. I like that." His cheeks were noticeably pinker now, and he shifted on his feet, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.
You handed him the glass. "Thanks for noticing. I try." Leaning against the counter, you looked up at him through your lashes. "The living room's next… but maybe we should save the best for last."
He followed you obediently, sipping his water and complimenting your record collection with genuine enthusiasm—"You have the new Stevie Wonder? That's incredible!"—completely missing the way you kept fidgeting around, how you were biting your lip like you were about to bite into him.
When you finally led him down the short hallway and paused outside your bedroom door, you turned to face him fully, biting your lip. The air felt thicker now. You reached up and lightly adjusted the collar of his shirt, letting your fingertips graze the warm skin at the base of his throat.
"And this…" you murmured, pushing the door open behind you, "is my bedroom. The most important room on the tour. Super comfortable bed… nice lighting… perfect for relaxing after a long night out." You stepped backward into the room, one hand tucket behind your back, the other tugging him by the tie. "Come see?"
Michael's eyes widened a little, throat visibly working. He hesitated for half a second at the threshold, like crossing into your bedroom was some sacred line. "O-okay… yeah. It looks really nice in there. You've got good curtains—blocks out the streetlights perfectly, I bet." His voice cracked just a tiny bit on the last word, and he let out a shy little laugh.
"It’s really cozy in here," he said softly. "The colors are so… you. Warm and pretty. I like it a lot."
You turned toward him, heart fluttering with affection and a growing spark of mischief. Time to turn up the heat. "Thanks, baby. But you haven't even seen the best part yet." You reached behind you and slowly unzipped the side of your dress, letting the fabric slip off one shoulder as you kicked the door mostly shut with your foot. "These clothes are way too tight after that big dinner. Mind if I get a little more… comfortable while I finish showing you around?"
Michael's eyes flicked to your bare shoulder for a split second before he quickly looked away, cheeks burning. "O-oh! Yeah, of course. Make yourself comfortable. I can… um, turn around if you want?" He spun on his heel so fast he nearly sloshed water on the floor, facing the wall like a perfect gentleman. His free hand came up to cover the side of his face anyway. "Just tell me when it’s okay." He was fighting back a smile with all his might. He forced himself to stay a gentleman.
You let the dress slide down your body and pool at your feet, leaving you in just your lace bra and panties. You stepped closer, pressing yourself lightly against his back for a moment, letting him feel the warmth of your body as you reached around to take the glass from his hand and set it on the dresser.
"You can turn around now, Michael," you purred, voice low and inviting. Your hands slid up his arms from behind, resting on his shoulders. "The bed's the star of the scenic tour. So soft… perfect for laying down and unwinding after a long night. Want to test it out with me?"
He turned slowly, eyes squeezed half-shut at first like he was scared to look. When he finally opened them, his gaze landed somewhere safely around your collarbone. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "It… it does look really soft," he stammered, that shy smile trembling at the corners. "You always pick the nicest things. I bet it's great for sleeping. Or reading! Do you read in bed a lot?"
You took his hands and guided him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, then gave a gentle push so he sat down. You climbed onto the mattress right after him, kneeling beside him in your lingerie, close enough that your thigh brushed his. One hand rested on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palm. The other toyed with his loosened tie, slowly pulling it free from his collar.
"Michael…" you whispered, leaning in so your lips were inches from his ear, breath warm against his skin. "I've been thinking about this all night. About having you here… in my room… all to myself." Your fingers traced down his chest, lower, teasing the buttons of his shirt.
He swallowed hard, breath shaky, but his expression was still that sweet mix of flustered and confused. "Y-yeah?" His hands came up, but he wasn't sure where to put them. Definitely not on you, no. So he settled on his knees, where his fingers clenched them so hard he was sure to leave bruises.
"Me too. I always love spending time with you. Your place feels so nice and safe. I could stay and talk for hours if you wanted—"
You pulled back, crossing your arms under your chest (which only pushed things up more) and hit him with the full pout—lip jutted out, eyes big and disappointed. "Michael Joseph Jackson, are you serious right now?" Your voice came out whiny and frustrated, though. "I've been dropping hints this whole time! I took my dress off, I'm practically naked, I keep touching you and you are on my bed… and you're talking about how nice my curtains are?!"
He blinked hard at the sound of his full name, swallowing whatever sense of reason down south. "I- O-oh… oh my goodness…" He looked you up and down for the first time before his gaze snapped back up to your face, mortified. "I'm so sorry, I didn't— I don't want you to think that I..."
He locked those beautiful brown eyes onto yours, voice shaky and sincere. "You're so beautiful… and I love spending time with you more than anything. But I don't… I don't want you to feel like you have to give yourself to me like some kind of reward for dinner or… or anything like that." His words tumbled out faster, flustered and earnest. "You deserve to be cherished, not… not just taken because we had a nice night. I would wait forever if that's what you wanted. I never want to assume or pressure you—"
You let out a soft, frustrated huff, as you shifted closer on your knees, cupping his cheeks in both hands so he couldn't look away.
"Michael," you said, voice laced with affection and impatience, "that's not what this is. I'm not 'giving myself as a reward.' I want you. I've been wanting you all night—on purpose. I invited you up here because I want to be close to you… really close." Your thumbs brushed his cheekbones, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. "You're such a gentleman it's driving me crazy. I love that about you, but right now I need you. Like, really need you."
He stared at you, lips parted, those big doe eyes wide—longing mixed with that sweet nervousness. His hands finally unclenched from his knees and hovered uncertainly in the air, like he was scared to touch you even now.
"I… I know," he breathed, voice soft. "You're all I see. You're… you're everything." He swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to glance down again at your cleavage just inches from his eyeline. "But a-are you sure? Really sure? I don't want to mess this up. You mean too much to me…"
His shyness was so genuine it made your heart melt. He was still fully dressed, sitting so politely on the edge of your bed while you knelt before him in nothing but lace, yet he looked like the one who was completely exposed.
You leaned in slowly, forehead resting against his, lips brushing the corner of his mouth in the lightest tease. "I've never been more sure. So please… stop being so respectful for two fricken' seconds and kiss me, dammit."
Michael let out the smallest little giggle. His hands finally settled, feather-light, on your waist, thumbs brushing your bare skin. He was still flushed to his ears, heart pounding so hard.
"I… okay," he whispered, with that beautiful smile. "You're such a tease."
