Bad Era Fics By Starlightz4mj (1987-1990)

Writing Guidelines

☆I am open for requests. Mind you, I am busy in my day to day life + a new writer, so it may take me a while to get to them, but I will do the best I can.

☆I keep Michael’s counterparts pretty neutral (no specific features unless labeled otherwise.)

☆There are so many kinks that exist, so I don’t really know all the ones that are in the ‘no-zone’ for me. But, if I get a request for something I find I’m not comfortable with, I will kindly let you know. However, I absolutely WILL NOT write non-consensual content on this page.

☆This blog IS NOT a safe space for the following: minors, racists, transphobes, homophobes and absolutely anyone who genuinely enjoys carrot cake… I don’t care if there’s no possible way for me to know that last one. You’re aware of the atrocities you indulge in. Leave now.

☆Masterlist

© All Rights Reserved

Back in Black, Tishk Barzanji

TURKEY, GREENS, AND…

[you made dinner, but mike is hungry for something else…] | 2.1k words

WARNINGS: fem! reader , sexual themes , fingering , oral (f! receiving) , penetration , dirty talk , another size kink if you squint

[1991]

he’d called a few hours ago to let you know he’d be home late. you’d thought, by the grace of something holy, you’d be fast asleep by the time he slips into bed with you, but it becomes clearer as the night grows heavier that you too had begun to adapt to michael’s nocturnal tendencies. perhaps begrudgingly, you are wide awake. so you wait for him while your cornbread cools by the oven, still hot from the turkey dinner you made while he was gone, flicking aimlessly through the late night channels, legs curled under you until, well past midnight, you hear his key turn in the door.

he seems surprised to see you bumbling to the foyer, displaying you’d been strong enough to wait up. and he seems quite pleased by it, wrapping his arms around you and dipping you in love.

you beam at his sleepy doting. “hi, baby.”

“hi, angel,” he muses, capturing your lips in a devout kiss. “i didn’t wake you did i?”

you shake your head, nuzzle against him, the heady scent of him slipping into your nose and warming every nerve. his cologne, sweet hair oil, the perfect treat he was for you. “i missed you.”

“i missed you more,” he answers. his voice low, tired. his fingers squeeze you closer like he wants to bring you somewhere.

you size him up, arms secure around his neck. “did you eat at all while you were over there?”

he chuckles boyishly, already used to the question, and the repercussions of fibbing to get out of it. “no. we didn’t have time.”

you figured just as much, but could strangle bill and ted anyway. “well, i’ll heat up dinner for you, baby, you must be starving.”

you fail to notice that his grip on you doesn’t fall away easy. the fabric of your shirt, that he so aptly attempts to grab a hold of, slips urgently through his fingers and that’s when he notices. that’s his shirt. one of his collared button-downs draped over you like a nightgown.

those ardent eyes trail after you on the way through the house like you were a pie wafting on a windowsill. his bottom lip disappears beneath his teeth, seemingly staving off temptation.

“smells good, baby,” he says as casually as he can muster it and his ‘good’ comes out like gary, indiana snuck in through the backdoor and yawned back into his bones. you hum into a smile, the sound melting you delightfully like a popsicle on the fourth of july.

“it’s the cornbread,” you simper, bare feet padding onto the clear kitchen tiles. you bend into the fridge light. the tail of michael’s shirt betrays you, giving way to a glimpse of your panties. “your mom gave me the recipe for her turkey and greens. did you want all of it?” then, in the drawer at your hips, silverware clink and dink in your fingers, the large dinner plate you had wrapped in foil sat right beside you on the kitchen island. “i can just give you the turkey if you don’t want the whol—“

your face flushes a becoming red, surprise beams all the way down to the tips of your toes. you shift and feel nearly every inch of michael, spread out and solid, against your body through the fierce strain in his pants. you laugh, you think, but it comes out like a twist between a gasp and a gulping sound. you feel michael’s hands sneak around your waist, pulling you into his needy embrace, his mouth bending to your skin, sweeping onto your neck with gluttonous kisses.

you find his hands with yours, eyes fluttering closed to the heat of his touch. “don’t you want dinner?”

he doesn’t respond, just slips his hands beneath his shirt. slow palms wipe your skin with a sweetness, finding your breasts bare as he tenderly cups them. the shirt raises, exposing your near nakedness below.

“aren’t you hungry, baby?” you try again, though your voice only sighs meekly, cowering your head back onto his collarbone. tension quickly falls from you.

“‘s not what i’m hungry for,” he replies, simply, still mouthing along your neck.

“baby…”

he hums into your shoulder, sending vibrations dipping all down your body like it was a line on the telephone.

“you look so good in my shirt.” the ‘good’ dancing out again like sipping iced tea on the rickety back porch.

his skin grazes your nipples delectably, the decadence makes you want to fill your mouth with something. his unoccupied hand sweeps down your belly. you welcome his fingers slipping beneath the band of your panties.

“mm mm mm,” he marvels at the feel of you with a shake of his head. your neck now slick with the remnants of his tongue.

michael places his weight on your back, sandwiching you between his fingers making a mess of you and his dick gliding against the fabric still covering you from behind. your moans come out weakly, his arms like a harness for you to lean into as you slip your hips back and forth, grinding on each other.

“i’ve always wanted t’…t’ do it here,” he whispers, huskily.

“me too…” and you have. you often imagined it like this, after dona would go for the day, just the two of you, making love, hands begging for mercy against the counter, and finding nothing to grab.

you shiver against him. he swipes deep between your legs with his middle finger. slick stains his skin.

that was all he needed. his shoe nudges your heels as he slides it in between your feet and you tip toe your legs apart, the way you open feels serene in his baptized hands. “that’s it…that’s it, baby…my baby…” he coos, coaxing you. his open mouth huffing like a furnace. “you gonna give it to me?”

your hands cup the edge of the marble, wordless.

“hm?”

your temples sweat as you nod your answer. “mhm.”

his hand rebounds, wetting your belly as he pulls it away. that sweet ache he leaves you with sends a whine up throat.

“bend over.”

you had no time, no desire, to question what’d gotten into him, like a hound on a leash, you obey. he kneels down, observing your thighs quivering with the strain of arousal. his touch is light and ticklish as his hands sail up the back of your legs, pushing his shirt over your hips and effortlessly dragging your panties down. he, with his manners shining, stretches the fabric in his fingers so you can step out of them, expanding the dark spot where you soaked through. with a light pull on your shin, he beckons you around.

seeing him down on one knee sent your heartbeat seething through you. you pulse, flowering like his face was the sun. he brings your foot up to his knee, resting the sole on it. you watch him wet three fingers in his mouth, a concentrated lust brewing. he touches you gently, spreading your lips apart like he was searching for a jewel. he smiles when he finds it. but he doesn’t let himself win it yet.

he flicks his gaze up at you and then down at her, like he was proud of it. “pretty girl…” he whispers, his tongue peaking out from between his perfect smiling teeth.

he lifts his head to you, slowly, pointedly, zig zagging his tongue from the bottom to the top, humming his eyes shut as your scent envelops him. heavy, sweet, the tip of his tongue now covered in your slick pool. his sweet mouth seals around your clit, sucks and licks, one hand cradles your ankle, the other stabilizes your trembling hip. he swallows the longing as it spills down his throat.

“oh—michael—y-yes.” your hands sweep into his hair, not pulling, but leading the loose curls into your fists, massaging his head like a house cat. “yes,” you whimper, rocking into his tongue, feeling so good, feeling so free. it’s your house and you can have your man; your pop-star; the king between your legs, in your kitchen, whenever you so please.

his eyes open, eyelashes aflutter, as he guides his fingertips to your throbbing core, already clutching around the idea of him. it’s easy, when he slides each of them inside and curls deftly. two of his knuckles bend into your ridged wall, petting you in all ways. you keep your hands in his hair, breathlessly moaning, stepping onto his thigh deeper with each nudge of his fingers and tongue, each suckle from his lips. your mouth slacks as you come, body elated and shaking while he sucks it up, still caressing you inside until you keel over his head, his mouth berating you to bliss like an incessant drum. then, he stops, soft and loving, giggling under your belly.

you let him up, the muscles in your abdomen utterly spent.

“you alright, baby?” he cups your face in his talented hands, gazing into your eyes. his smile smug. triumphant.

“y-yes,” you pant.

his thumb brushes over your lips. gentle. “you want more?”

you answer like a girl possessed, “yes.”

what time was it? what did it matter? the food? oh…you forgot all about that.

“you want it right here?”

he peers into your eyes, they’re flooded with silent pleading.

“i want it right here,” you echo, lips parted, words pour out of you like a most desperate beg.

his lips collapse into yours, the kisses between you quick and clouded by passion. your hands tug fabric from his pants, knocking into tight muscles, soft and smooth on your fingers. his zipper lowers with a high pitched grind, his lips all over you, wildly claiming skin as your breath sweeps out of you in gusts. michael kisses down your neck and licks back up the muscle, closing his mouth around your earlobe.

his hands grab and spin you, pressing his palm to your lower back. as you lay your chest flat to the surface, you look at him, his eyes cast down to the pearling between your legs.

“mmm…baby.” he eases against the opening. you part for him without any toil and he rocks you into a dream, one so entangled in love.

tears fill your eyes to accompany your whimpering at the depth of him. all of his girth barely squeezing inside, especially not from this angle. your body arches into whatever irrepressible sensation he gives. you love him, you thought, you love him so much.

his hips speed. quicker and quicker, but loving all the same. his hands cull your body up to drape his head against your shoulder. with his hold on you, you can feel his heart beating. you can feel it everywhere. in a sudden bite of passion, you drag your knee up on the counter edge and he groans, edging deeper inside.

“you don’t understand what you do to me.” he begins to chant into your ear, sweating from all his longing. “you don’t understand…” he shakes his head, his voice a broken plea. “you don’t understand, baby.”

you hook your arm around his head, your folded shirtsleeve drooping up on your bicep. you pull him in, looking deeply into his doe eyes.

“make me…make me understand—i—i wanna—ah—understand.” your breath comes out in hitches, sucking the air from your words.

a soft growl rumbles from him. the heat from his body, the heat from his thrusts grasping you, trampling every thought and function. he rolls his fingers around your clit and you quiver inside. again and again and again until you’re whimpering.

“c’mon, baby, c’mon, baby.” he hooks onto your mouth, the kiss deep and fast as you tighten into orgasm, a spasm tumbling around his throbbing width. slowly reopening, unable to recover, you feel yourself spill over, slipping and shaking along his length like grooving waves. your leg gently comes down as he empties you with a quickness. he holds your gasping body close to him as he pumps his length, wet with your arousal, and comes into his fist.

the afterglow looks hazy, sleepy, and smiling. your hands rub his face affectionately, your lips kiss the corner of his mouth. “you want your dinner now?”

michael lets out a noise that resembles a snort. you look at him with a confused smile…you’re not joking.

requested by bad-era-obsession

I called Quincy one day and said “Do you know anybody who could produce the album? I had songs that I really wanted to do”. I wasn’t asking him to do it and he said “Sure” He said “Why don’t you let me do it?” I said “that’s a great idea!”

Janet Jackson & Michael Jackson photographed by Barry King while attending the 35th Annual Grammy Awards in Los Angeles, CA - February 24, 1993

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