⭑𓂃 pairing . dangerous!michael x f.blackreader
⭑𓂃 premise . even after months of separation, michael still yearns for that conversation with you. Despite the rumors of him and diana, he still can't seem to let go.
⭑𓂃 contains . heartbreak, breakup, michael yearning, hurtful words, mentions of diana ross, love letters, miscommunication, trust issues, tears and confession, lovesick michael, right person-wrong time, emotional distance, michael being a conplete fuck up, somewhat happy ending.
The air in the bedroom was thick with an unbearable tension, heavy enough to make breathing feel like a chore. The argument had been building for hours—a slow-burning spark of exhaustion and miscommunication that had finally detonated into a full-scale fire.
Michael stood near the edge of the bed, his dark eyes wide and pleading, his body tense under the dim lighting. He looked exhausted, the weight of his rising stardom during the Dangerous era pressing down on him, but in this moment, he was just a man desperate to hold onto you.
"You're never here anymore, Michael!" you snapped, your voice cracking under the weight of months of frustration. "And when you are, your mind is somewhere else. I'm tired of feeling like an afterthought!"
"That's not fair!" Michael snapped back, his hands rising defensively, his voice trembling with a mix of hurt and anger. "I am doing all of this for us! You know how much pressure this is on me? You're being ungrateful (name), I get you whatever you want and need, and you can't even support me anymore?"
"i do support you!" You spat back. You looked right into his eyes, your own tears blurring your vision. "You don't care about us. You only care about your ego, your music, and the people who bow down to you. I was an idiot to think I ever meant anything real to you!"
The words hit him like a physical blow. Michael flinched, the light in his eyes dimming as a cold silence fell over the room. He stared at you, his chest heaving, his heart visibly breaking behind his guarded expression.
"If that's really how you feel..." Michael whispered, his voice dangerously quiet, stripped of all warmth. "...then maybe you shouldn't be here. Leave my house."
"Fine," you whispered back, your heart hammering against your ribs as the reality set in.
You packed a bag in record time, hands shaking so badly you could barely zip it shut. Michael didn't stop you. He stood by the window, his back turned, his shoulders rigid as the front door clicked shut behind you, severing the bond you both had spent years building.
The months that followed were a complete blur of misery. Neither of you handled the breakup well. No shared mornings together, no shared breakfast, no laughing together, no nothing. Like everything just disappeared.
You threw yourself into a routine, but the silence in your apartment was deafening. Every corner held a memory of him, his soft laughter, his gentle hands, the way he’d hold you when the rest of the world was too loud. Sleep barely came, and when it did, it was filled with dreams of that night and the terrible things you’d said to him. You regretted every word, but your pride and hurt kept you from reaching out.
For michael, the separation was agony disguised as work. He threw himself into the studio, practically living there, burying his heartbreak under endless hours of recording, vocal exercises, and choreography. On the surface, he was the perfectionist pop star preparing to release his newest, most ambitious album, Dangerous. But behind closed doors, he was a wreck. He was lovesick, sleeping only a couple of hours a night, and writing dozens of letters to you that he lacked the courage to send. Every time he picked up the phone to call you, the sting of your final words stopped him in his tracks.
"You should just call her," Bill watched michael put the phone down for the millionth time today. He knew michael like the back of his hand. He was in michaels life since he was twelve years old he knew every emotion that showed up on michaels face. And this emotion was pure agony and regret
"I don't know what to say," he looks at Bill, hands fidgeting with a nearby pen. "We haven't spoken in almost five months. There's no point in us waiting if we wanted to reach out. we would have spoken by now." Michael sat up straight. He was beyond over feeling this ache in his heart. He knew no matter what he could say or do that the void of those words you both spoken to each other will always pain you both.
But in the midst of hurt, there was always love that lived between the two of you, michael knew, you knew, hell even Bill knew.
"Whenever you do decide to actually reach out..." Bill stood up, grabbing his coat, getting ready to go grab michaels dinner. "....make sure it's sincere and honest."
"I will, thank you, Bill,"
When Dangerous finally dropped, the world exploded with excitement. You tried your absolute best to avoid it—tuning out the radio, avoiding music stores, skipping past entertainment news. But escaping Michael Jackson was impossible.
One evening, while sitting in a quiet café trying to lose yourself in a book, the ambient music over the speakers shifted. A sleek, new new jack swing beat kicked in, smooth and hypnotic.
Your breath caught in your throat. You recognized that tone instantly.
Michael’s voice floated through the speakers, warm and soulful, singing Remember the Time.
'Do you remember girl? On the phone, you and me, till dawn, two or three, What about us girl?'
Tears immediately pricked the corners of your eyes. Listening to the lyrics the memories of late-night calls, tender moments, and holding hands—your heart swelled with a sudden, overwhelming bittersweet warmth. You thought of all the nights you two had spent locked away from the world. He wrote this for me, you thought, a delicate glimmer of hope blooming in your chest for the first time in months. He remembers. You were so so excited to call him when you get home.
You left the café, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you, desperate to look up the details of the track.
When you got home, you turned on the television, where a music news program was broadcasting a special segment on the release of the album and the star-studded concept behind the new single.
The host’s voice echoed through your living room:
"Michael Jackson's latest hit 'Remember the Time' is taking the charts by storm, accompanied by a groundbreaking short film set in ancient Egypt. Jackson revealed the track was heavily inspired by his deep affection and long-standing bond with his close friend and icon, Diana Ross..."
The world stopped. The glimmer of hope in your chest shattered instantly, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache.
It wasn't about you. It was about Diana. You were heartbroken, it felt like you could feel your heart split in half, after all this faith you had hoping you two could finally talk, he made the song about diana ross....the same woman you asked him multiple times whenever they were spotted together was there anything he wanted to tell you. It all made sense now.
You sat still on the couch, blinking slowly trying to process what you just heard from the TV. You were holding back tears, well you tried. Next thing you know a broken sob came from your mouth, after months of acting so tough and not bothered by the fact that you and person you grew up with since his thriller era just made a whole song for a woman he told you not to worry about.
Time passed on once again, you felt as if you were grieving a person that was alive. The heartbreak of waking up everyday, sleeping alone, crying to sleep, none of it would erase the fact that michael wrote a song for someone else.
Everyone thought you were being dramatic because they didn't know you and michael had been together since thriller early days, they didn't know how you guys were in private. They didn't know anything about you nor him. So seeing him spotted with Diana here and there on the tabloids was like a knife being stabbed in your heart.
You were drained, you were even tired from being drained. You tried everything to get your mind off of it even getting back into your baking habits. None of it made you genuinely happy the way michael made you happy.
one night you were folding your laundry on your couch. Then came the televised interview.
You were sitting on your couch late one evening when the broadcast aired. The host leaned in, asking the standard flurry of questions about his fame, his life, and his heart.
"Michael," the interviewer asked softly, "with everything you’ve achieved, all the love from millions of fans... have you ever truly been in love?"
You held your breath, your hands frozen in your lap, practically praying for a whisper of acknowledgment—a sign that what you two had shared meant something, that you meant something.
Michael looked straight into the camera. His expression was cool, distant, almost entirely unreadable.
"No," he said smoothly, without a single second of hesitation. "I don't think I've ever really been in love."
The single word echoed through your quiet living room like a physical blow. Months of holding onto the memories, months of regretting the bitter, hurtful words you’d screamed at him the night you walked out all of it collapsed. To him, you weren't even a chapter. You were nothing.
You sat there once again, but this time you felt nothing, absolutely noting. No anger, no happiness, no wanting to call anymore, no wanting absolutely anything. You felt nothing.
Meanwhile michael was out, award ceremonies, touring, traveling, too busy with his music to process his own emotions because of the world wanting a piece of him. He always lied to interviewers because he hated the fact of people knowing his private life, he hated the world knowing his personal life and his personal love life.
But he always thought of you, that was no doubt. He always cared for you even when you were miles away he still cared and loved you wholeheartedly. He just had no idea how to show it anymore, how to approach you, how to call you, how to send a letter. He was lost.
But he was also publicly inloved with.....Diana ross.
He knew that was a big problem, he knew that you were seeing it and that scared him even more. He didn't love diana, he didn't want diana, she was his mentor. Yeah they did have a few intimate moments here and there but he always loved you, he loved you so so much
The phone call had come out of nowhere on a quiet evening. When you picked up and heard that familiar, hesitant voice—softer than you remembered—your heart had nearly stopped.
"Hey.....yeah—yeah its me." he stayed quiet after that, trying to find his words after a year of you both not speaking.
"oh....can I help you with some–"
"(Name) can we talk in person?, please."
You stayed quiet, taking a look around, trying to see if this was some joke or something, because you haven't heard from this man in a full year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of pure radio silence.
Before you could even say no, your heart had other plans. Deep down, you still loved michael. That was your whole life at one point. You'd be a fool to not show up.
"yeah—yeah I'd like that..."
".....okay great, I'll see you then, goodnight (name)..."
you slowly placed the phone back on the receiver hanging up. Against your better judgment, you agreed to meet him at a discreet, private lounge late at night.
The next morning was pure hell. You woke up that morning panicking. If someone had told you that you were meeting up with your past lover, you would've laughed so hard in their face.
But lord, you weren't ready today. You didn't see this day coming in a million years. You took a shower, changed into a nice fitted dress, did your hair and makeup, and tried to look presentable at least.
When you walked into the dimly lit room, Michael was already sitting in a corner booth, fidgeting with his rings. Beside him rested a gorgeous bouquet of fresh flowers. Seeing him in person after a whole year—after every news story, interview, and liner note felt like taking a hit straight to the chest.
He stood up the moment he saw you, his eyes wide and full of an anxious, nervous energy.
"Hey," he whispered softly, his voice trembling as he stepped forward and reached for the flowers. "I... I got these for you. Thank you for meeting me."
You took the bouquet, clutching tightly over your chest as you sat down opposite him. You kept your distance, a wall built high from twelve months of agonizing grief.
"How have you been?" he asked, his hands folded on the table as he searched your eyes. "I've... I've thought about you every single day."
"I'm fine, Michael," you replied, your tone completely flat. "Let's just get to why we're here."
Michael flinched slightly, taking a deep breath before leaning closer. "I know things looked crazy. I know what the media has been saying, the tabloids, the rumors...mama, none of it is what it seems. It's all a lie. They twist everything, you know how they do. I needed to see you to explain, to apologize for how we left things—"
Part of you, the part that had loved him with every fiber of your being wanted so desperately to believe him. The warmth in his eyes felt real. But the scars of the past year burned too deep. The interview. The dedication. The photos of him and diana. The doubt took root, whispering that he was just telling you what you wanted to hear.
The conflict inside you suddenly boiled over, and every piece of hurt, anger, and betrayal you had bottled up for a solid year exploded.
"A lie?" you snapped, your voice rising as you stood up from the booth. "You think this is just about the tabloids, Michael?!"
Michael blinked, startled by the raw fury in your voice. "I—"
"No, you don't get to speak! You sit there and listen!" you cried, tears finally stinging your eyes as all the pain poured out of you. "I spent a year dying inside! I watched you on television tell the whole damn world that you’ve never been in love! I bought your album thinking,'Remember the Time' was about us, only to read the liner notes dedicated to Diana! I read your own brother's words about how she's the one that got away!"
You read a book of Jermaine about how michael wrote the song about diana and how she had gotten away.
Michael reached out, his hand shaking, his expression breaking into pure distress. "Please, just let me—"
"I gave you everything!" you shouted, your voice cracking with absolute heartbreak. "I loved you when you were just a man, not the King of Pop! I stood by you when the world was tearing you apart, and you tossed me aside like I never even existed! I stayed when the tabloids dragged me through the mud, talking about my appearance, my life, everything!"
The heavy room fell dead silent as you caught your breath, chest heaving, tears streaming down your face. Michael sat paralyzed, looking entirely stripped of his star persona, completely raw and exposed.
You stared down at him, the heavy, suffocating question finally rising from the depths of your shattered heart.
"You don't love me no more?" you asked, your voice dropping to a harsh, trembling whisper.
Silence stretched across the booth.
Michael opened his mouth, but no words came out. His dark eyes pooled with emotions he couldn't seem to untangle, frozen under the weight of the question. One second passed. Two seconds. Three. He stayed quiet for far, far too long.
A bitter, heartbroken laugh escaped your lips, and you scoffed, shaking your head as the finality of it all settled into your bones.
"I already know the answer," you whispered softly.
He blinked, a desperate panic finally flashing in his eyes. "No, wait, it's not—"
"She will never love you like I loved you, Michael," you interrupted, staring directly into his eyes so he would carry the truth of it for the rest of his life. "Diana will never love you more than I loved you. She doesn't know you. Not the real you. Not the way I did."
You pulled back, taking a step away from the table, getting ready to leave.
He looked up, standing right when you stood. He was not letting this be the last time you two spoke.
You turned and walked out of the room, leaving the flowers, the broken promises, and Michael Jackson behind for the very last time in your life.
Before your fingers could even touch the heavy metal handle of the exit door, a fast pair of footsteps echoed behind you.
Before you could step out into the night, long fingers gently but firmly caught your wrist.
"No, please—don't walk out that door. Not like this," Michael pleaded, his voice breaking as he spun you around. He didn't let go, his grip gentle yet unyielding. Tears were openly running down his face now, washing away the calm, composed mask he so carefully wore for the rest of the world. "You have to hear me out. You can't just leave thinking I don't love you."
You tried to pull back, but the sheer emotion in his dark eyes stopped you in your tracks.
"I stayed quiet because I was terrified!" he confessed, his chest heaving as the words tumbled out of him in a desperate, unrestrained rush. "When the interviewer asked me if I’ve ever been in love, what was I supposed to say?! Tell millions of people about us? Expose the most sacred, private piece of my heart to a world that destroys everything I care about? I couldn't give them us, mama. I couldn't let them pick our love apart, so I lied. I protected it the only way I knew how, even if it meant looking like a fool."
He reached into his jacket pocket with a trembling hand, pulling out a thick, worn envelope stuffed with folded pieces of hotel stationery, notepad sheets, and yellowed lined paper.
"You think I moved on?" Michael’s voice cracked, a sob catching in his throat. "Every single day. I swear to you, on my life, not a single day has gone by since you walked out that door that I haven't written to you. Every night after the studio, after the shows, when the room went completely dark and silent, I wrote down everything I wanted to say to you. I was hurting, 'mama'. I was bleeding inside just like you were!"
He shoved the stack of unposted letters into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, burning with warmth.
"I was angry, I was stubborn, and I was so deeply hurt by the things we said that night," Michael wept, his eyes searching every inch of your face. "I hid behind Diana, I hid behind my music, I hid behind the press because I thought you hated me. But I love you. God, I love you so much it hurts. I’ve always loved you."
Standing there with the thick stack of daily letters in your hands, listening to the King of Pop strip away every layer of his pride to sob in front of you, a strange, overwhelming tidal wave of emotion crashed over you.
A laugh bubbled up out of your throat, completely uncontrolled a tearful, breathless laugh born from sheer disbelief, exhausting grief, and sudden, overwhelming relief. At the exact same time, fresh tears spilled hot down your cheeks. You were crying and laughing all at once, shaking your head as you looked at the stack of letters in your trembling hands.
He blinked, wiping a tear from his cheek with the back of his hand, looking at you with a mix of wonder and fragile hope. "What... why are you laughing?"
"Because we are so completely, utterly stupid," you gasped out, wiping your eyes as a watery smile broke through the pain. "We spent an entire year destroying ourselves over pride, miscommunication, and tabloid garbage."
He let out a breathless, watery chuckle of his own, the heavy tension in the room instantly shattering into something tender and light. "I know. We really are."
You looked at him for a long, quiet moment. The damage of the past year couldn't be erased overnight. The broken trust, the rumors, and the sharp words still left scars that needed time to heal. You couldn't just jump back into where you left off.
"I forgive you, Michael," you said softly, your voice finally steady.
Michael’s breath hitched, relief instantly washing over his features.
"But," you added, holding up a hand before he could celebrate too quickly, "we aren't jumping back into a relationship. Not yet. I need time, and we need to fix what was broken before we try again. We start over. As friends. We talk, we build real trust, and we work our way up from there. That is my condition."
A massive, genuine smile, the first true, radiant smile you had seen on his face in over a year, lit up Michael’s entire expression. The heavy weight on his shoulders seemed to evaporate completely.
"Friends," Michael repeated softly, his eyes shining with pure joy. He stepped closer, gently wrapping his arms around you, holding you close against his chest as if holding the most precious thing in the world. "I don't care if it takes months or years. As long as you're in my life, baby, I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."
"I want that old bitch out your life immediately."
He noded quickly, "yes yes of course, whatever makes you happy she can go, I promise."
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