Reverie - Michael Jackson Imagines

Wonderful Tonight ✨

Mature Era

The night air was cool against her skin but a heat thick and sweet as honey burned between them as he showered hungry kisses on her mouth. A coy moan passed between her parted lips, his virile hands peeling up the layers of lace under her petticoat-

"Mommy! There's a monster in my room!"

You slammed the titillating novel shut with a sigh meeting the big frantic brown eyes of your four-year-old son clutching the frame of your bedroom door.

"Em, we've gone through this," you speak sweetly. "There are no monsters that live in our home. Daddy already scared them away,"

"But they're back, I swear! I saw the shadow on my wall," Emmett responds exasperatedly. "You gotta come see,"

You frown, swinging your feet over the bed and sliding into your slippers.

"You know I don't like it when you swear, bubba. Let me take a look,"

With another weary sigh, you grab hold of his little hand, leading him down the hall back to his own bedroom. You'd gone through three monster stages so far and hoped your youngest might give you a break.

"See," you speak as you flick on the light. "No monsters here,"

Emmett pouts.

"But I saw them, Mommy, I really did,"

You grin as you hoist him on your hip before settling on the mattress.

"It must have been Peter Pan. If you don't go to bed you'll be a very tired boy in the morning. Off your pop to bed,"

You gently swat his bottom as he moves to settle under his covers. You can already see the drowsy gleam in his eyes as you pull the comforter up to his chin.

"Roses on your pillow, Mommy," Emmett yawns.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his forehead

"Roses on your pillow, honey,"

You steal another glance at your son before turning out the light and gently closing the door. It was sweet moments like this that alleviated the boredom you were beginning to feel with motherhood.

Very few feelings rivaled the hugs and kisses that came with being a mom. You could only think of one and that was the intoxicating rush you felt around your husband but even that seemed as if it was reaching its expiration date.

You shuffled into your bedroom surprised to find Michael stretched out on the mattress, his silky straight hair fanned out on the pillow as he concentrated on the novel you'd abandoned.

"This book is dirty, Y/N," he chides and you blush before sliding under the duvet.

"You're so nosey," you retort, prying the book from his large hands.

The love life you and Michael had once been just as passionate and lecherous as that of your novel but you'd sadly retreated to the world of erotic literature as the flame had slowly burned out.

You and Michael had been married for nearly fifteen years, all fifteen of which had been overall wonderful but like all marriages had their highs and lows.

Being married to the King of Pop was a challenge that you'd once considered yourself beyond lucky to take on. You supported Michael's career as the two of you built a family and were very understanding of his demanding schedule and the pressures of his fame.

In the early days, you traveled by his side but once your oldest two children became school-aged and the other two arrived you retreated to a mundane life of a mother and housewife.