THE MISSIONARYÂ â Michael Jackson x Y/N Reader Smut One-Shot
Plot - OTW Missionary Michael Jackson spends his day off, going door to door, spreading the gospel. You have had your eyes on him for a while now, so you invite him in, as he quickly and easily gives into his desires and temptations, albeit guilty.
Tags (or Warnings!) - religious, taboo, michael is your neighbour, hungry!michael, inexperienced!michael, virgin!michael, manipulative!reader, naive!michael, y/n, religious guilt, nonbeliever!reader, michael giving into temptations, whining, michael begs for Godâs forgiveness,Â
From your bedroom window, you watched Michael Jackson as he went from door to door around the cul-de-sac. This was his weekend routine every single week, without fail. Despite recently exploding into deeper stardom, he would still visit his old neighbourhood to meekly spread the word of God, sets of scriptures settled under his arm, and his button up tucked smartly into his long jeans.Â
Who you had your eye on now was a long shot from the performing Michael on stage, who gyrated his hips and sang unshaken into the eyes of needy fans. This was humble Michael, who shyly smiled and bowed and did not lament when doors were shut in his face after they had milked an autograph, or two, from him.
He would often complete his preaching ritual with his mother, Katherine. You could still remember the time you purposefully answered their knocks in a skimpy sleep set. Michaelâs eyes had widened immediately before he gasped and quickly averted his gaze, shortly before Katherine had ushered him away. They hadnât come back to your street since.
But today, on this beautiful sunny morning, he was coming up your drive in long strides, completely alone. You flew downstairs in your tight bellbottoms and lacy bell sleeved top that pushed your chest up favorably, and were already in front of the door when he rapped on the wood gently.
âGood morning Miss. Y/N. My name is Michael, and Iâm going around the neighbourhood to spread the word of our Lord. Do you have a few minutes to spare?â He flashed his perfect set of teeth, eyes widening occasionally to express his fervent passion and devotion. His eyes were huge, which meant they were glaringly expressive, you noticed.
His eyes were God-fearingly pure - until they fell to your chest and you immediately saw a darkness, followed by sheepish guilt.
You remembered a previous conversation with your friend, and how they made a missionary clean their skirting boards and do their dishes, because he would agree to do anything just to spread Godâs message. You wondered how flexible âagree to do anythingâ would go.Â
âI know who you are, Michael,â you giggled, opening the door wider. âCome inside. Take a seat.âÂ
He blinked hard and faltered, obviously not expecting that heâd actually be let in. As he walked in, he looked around your house shamelessly. He sits on the couch, and you flop next to him promptly, thighs touching.
He presses his stack of books so firmly into his lap, that they indent his jeans. His eyes flit nervously to the ground, avoiding eye contact.
âWhatâs the matter?â You ask, biting back a cocky smile. âAre you going to teach me about God, or noot?âÂ
Before he can answer, you pry the books from his large hands, and you see what you already knew.
 âY-yes... yes, go âhead.â
Underneath his big belt, his jeans had grown vastly tighter and he instantly crosses his legs to pin the tent down and hide what you did to him.Â
You pretend not to notice, and began to lazily flip through The Book of Mormon as you feel his eyes bore into the side of your face, then hurriedly sweep over your poised body, and then up again.Â
You know heâs teetering the fine line of giving into his blasphemous temptations. You just have to help him over, convince him that you want to be as pure and faithful as him.Â
âLook, Michael,â you turn to him and pointedly pout, âIâm so interested in turning to God.âÂ
You slip your hand onto his thigh, and his eyes widen, and his chest begins to rise and fall in heavy, almost concerning, succession.Â
âBut I heard I canât have intercourse if I surrender to Him,â
You feign innocence as you try to forcibly meet his eyes, âand I just need to know what itâs like before I fully commit.â
He clears his throat, big brown eyes darting, and shakily places a hand behind your lower back. His other hand goes straight to hold his belt buckle, which he tries adjusting so it doesnât dig into his throbbing dick.
âY/N, I- I donât know. The bible.. It.. I..,â he swallows hard.Â
âYou seem like you already want me.â
He follows your gaze to his lap, and he begins shaking his head with a sense of urgency.Â
âY/N, this is natural. T-this is just what happens sometimes. I-itâs God-â
âI just need this, Michael. So I can fully commit to Godâs word.â You cut him off. Heâs silent for a while, eyes burning into his lap, and then he nods.
âOkay,â he meets your eyes, swallowing, âfor God.âÂ
And without skipping a beat, he grabs your waist and pulls you onto his lap, jeans pressing into jeans.Â
To stabilise you, he keeps firm huge hands on your sides as he adjusts deeper into your couch, so your cunt can align with his crotch.
The tangibility of his stiffness pressing into you drives you crazy. And if it was driving you crazy, that meant it was driving him insane. You could almost feel the heat reverberating off his abashed face. He was trying to avoid your eyes, curls falling over his forehead, but you could still see how dark and wild his eyes had become. He bit down on his lower lip so hard, it disappeared.Â
His hands stroke down to your hips and he begins to make you forcibly grind into him. The rhythm he brought onto stage came naturally in this private room, and his hipâs deepening swivels were steady and unwavering.Â
Every so often, you could feel his hard cock flinch - a movement that made your increasingly sensitive clit throb. You're lust, and then you're greed, so you wanted more. You place a hand on his broad chest and try to pull away, but heâs holding you down so strongly, you canât budge.
âMichael-,â you whimper and he ignores you. You struggle to rise up onto your knees, to no success, until he finally snaps his head up, seemingly broken from his hungry spell.Â
âSorry, sorry.â He blurts out as you rise, legs aching, and kneel onto the rug in front of him.Â
You reach up to his belt, and he stands immediately, adjusting himself. He helps you unzip his jeans and just before you reach for his boxer band, he clasps over your hand and splays it against the bulging print of his dick.
âNow hold on, y/n,â his voice cracks. Though heâs towering way over you, in the stone cold silence, you can hear him swallow. âYou have to pray before we get to doing anything.â
âHuh?â You demand, dumbfounded. You look up at him, and heâs dead serious.
 âItâs so God knows your intentions,â he insists, face solemn, and eyes wide with sincerity.Â
âWell, o-okay.â You stutter out.
âOkay? Okay. Dear Heavenly Father,â he leads.
âDear Heavenly Father,â you repeat.
"Please forgive me. I have to do this to fully commit to you, Father.âÂ
You parrot him, albeit bewildered.
As soon as the last word leaves your mouth, he quickly pulls the front of his boxers down and whips out his cock. Itâs so heavy that it keeps the fabric tucked down with ease. Itâs so girthy, it bounces and nearly brushes up against your chin. He grabs the back of your hair so hungrily, and before you can take back your autonomy, you are shoved around his thickness. The two of you melt into a rhythm - his unfaltering, desperate, hand pushing your head down, and you dragging your mouth down his shaft.
His moans were harmonious, as expected. Sweet angelic sounds drifted from him, intercepted by the devilish sounds of your lips on his tip.
âOh god, look at what youâre doing to me,â His voice cracks. He doesnât attempt to hold back any sound in the slightest, as the whimpers spill out of him freely, without pause. You become so entranced with the rhythm, and his melodic sounds, that you almost donât hear his wispy murmurs.Â
You look up, and his eyes are strewn, his thick neck glazed in sweat. Heâs clutching something in his hands, dazedly mumbling.Â
Behind his sheen skin, the gold cross necklace he grips gleams in the light catching onto it. He looks like someone straight out of a renaissance painting - his eyebrows furrowed in remorse, and his lower lip never slipping out from under his teeth, unless he whines your name, over and over.Â
âI beg for your forgiveness, Lord,â
Interjected by filthy sounds of your own spit.
âI know my desires live in only you,â
"And, mmh... I must be cleansed."
âItâs for a good,â he sighs, eyes opening, and flinches out of you. His eyes were dilated with dark pools.Â
âCome, get up, I-I just need to get this over with, mama.â
He wraps a hand around your forearm, and pulls you up back onto your couch. His dick stays in his other hand, as he dazedly jerks it. Once you lay back horizontally along the seat, he pushes in between your legs and starts unbuttoning your jeans.
He collapses down, hiding his face in your collarbone. You feel his panting and body heat mist against your skin.
He presses his cock against your soaking entrance. The tip is just resting against you, so full and heavy, that it feels like heâs already inside you. Then he presses his hands together.
And starts praying again.Â
Thanking God, like he is going to indulge in a meal. Thanking God, like you are meat. Thanking God, expressing his gratitude for you.Â
âOkay, are you ready?â He croaks, placing a hand on your knee.Â
You nod with false modesty, arching your back so he almost pushes further inside you.
âLord, forgive me,â He sniffles.
He was so filling. Like buttercream being whipped into a spongey cake, you feel your empty velvety walls be moisturised with a slick, heavy, fullness.
He stretches you out, so filling that you swear you could almost feel him in your stomach. You suck him in, and your swollen walls hum in pleasure as he fills a piece of you that you never knew was missing.Â
It felt like a thousand rainbows were bursting all over your inside.Â
You feel a sick satisfaction when you see the guilt mixed with rebellion and frantic impulsiveness on his face.
âPlease, God, Iâm sorry.â
His strokes turn desperately sloppy. Itâs too pleasurable for him. At one point, he whimpers and shudders so pleasurably, he slips out, gasping. He steadies himself by leaning on the couchâs backrest, and grabs your thigh. He has to go through the painful pleasure of sliding into you again. His handsome face, dazed over with euphoria, made you pulse with pride.
âI am so very sorry.â
You found it endearing that he lifts his heads to the heavens and begs, but he keeps fucking into you, as if he is without apology.
âGod, I.. please cleanse me of my sins," His voice is even softer than before, as he continues to adorably plead for forgiveness, broken with ecstasy induced weakness. His eyes squint down at you, and he shakes.
âYouâre too beautiful, y/n. You canât be doing this to me. Youâre.. Youâre like an incubus, I just know it.â
His thrusts are rhythmic and feverous. You know that if God Himself reached out for him now, Michael would renounce his faith to sink into you one last time. Heâs sorry and heâs sorry and heâs sorry, but after he utters every apology, he fucks into you deeper and deeper. Itâs sick.
âY/n, I-Iâm about to..â he weeps, melting into you again. You whine. There was so much bliss in your cunt, that it almost hurt as he stretched you out over and over, without concern or pause.
As he leans over you, his gold cross necklace pools in your chest. The stark coolness of the necklace contrasts with the sinful warmth of him between your legs. Your bodies almost become one. When you felt as good as this, how could he give up your heat for something colder?
The juxtaposition only makes you focus more on the glow spreading and coating your lower body. You could feel yourself rising up the stairs of an orgasm. Your pussy seemed to grip onto him more snugly, and your mind was spinning from the glaring feeling of his unmistakable veins ribbing up and down your sensitive inside. You whine as you grip onto the shoulders of his button-up.
An outburst of intense joy explodes all over inside you, reaching up to your clit, forcing you to squirm wildly as you try and ride it out. Itâs overwhelming. You throb all over his cock, your wetness coating him.
He just manages to pull out narrowly, by the skin of his dick, cock briefly swiping against your folds one last time. He canât swear so he growls instead, gritting his teeth together as he digs his short nails into your hips. The pain of his roughness mingles with your ecstasy, the blood in your temples throbbing.
He twitches and cums under your white shirt. It's evidence that he wanted this just as much as you, maybe even more. A thick white mound on your panting stomach, in the shape of a splotchy cross.Â
A/N - if you got this far, thank you for reading! this is my first time writing smut so if you liked it, please request more or let me know!