Always Caring For You
Void
Summary: Things get intense as Michael refuses to face the issues lying ahead.
Era/Pair: History/Mature Era!Michael x SuccessfulCEOBlackfem!Reader
Tags/Warning: NSFW!!! Eating disorders; Fluff and Smut; Masterbation; hurt/comfort; Chubby Michael; improper weight loss; TLC; pet names-mama, Bambi, mommy- is used; angst with a happy ending; fighting with Michael
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Michael is currently feeling the consequences of his avoidance more than ever. His nail beds are nearly nonexistent from how much he has been chewing on them. He knew that this was not going to go over well, but this was worse than he had predicted.
It's been almost three months since he first ignored your calls. At first, it was enough to hear you speak your concerns to someone else. But then, when Bill and his other bodyguards began calling you about his behavior, Michael decided that no one was to speak to you at all, including him. This was mainly because Michael wanted to be petty. He loved you, breathed you, but he was not happy with his staff calling you to tattle about his moods. Everyone saw him as a monster, especially now that the tale of how he destroyed a bathroom has spread throughout his closest staff.
The guilt of that decision was making it hard to work. His days are becoming consumed with the image of you at home, alone, and now you are probably angry at him. He hated making you angry, and now he's avoiding the anger he directly caused, knowing that it was becoming a bigger issue day by day.
This also made his life worse. He was using your voice to get by, and now he feels like he has nothing. Michael gets to his room and can only wait out the night by himself. His thoughts once more on you and how empty his heart feels. All he was left with was a shadow of you.
Michael leaned against the wet tiles of the shower; fatigue and adrenaline coursed through his veins simultaneously. The feeling left his mind hazy as he squinted through the steam. His mind supplied him with apparitions of you. The memories of your intimate moments flooded his mind, leaving him gasping as his body seemed to demand that he reach for you. You are the only oasis he has ever needed, and yet, you were a thousand miles away.
His breathing was heavy as he tried to stifle his noises by biting his lip. A wet hand moved down his stomach, eager for some simple pleasure. His body shivered at the feeling of his hand wrapping his dick. His own touch was never enough. Nothing could ever replace how you touched him. He wanted to start slow, but then more images of you flashed through his mind. He remembers the first time you made love together. He tried to be gentle and make sure that you were comfortable. It turned out that Michael never truly knew how to be intimate.
You were everything he needed. Michael had never been the main focus when it came to sex, but with you, he was the only focus. So much so that he was almost always desperate to please you, he would do anything to get you to acknowledge how good he is. Michael also remembered the first time you had him pleasure himself while you watched, a punishment he incurred by not stopping himself from overworking. He could still feel you talking in his ear, the praise, the directions you gave. It was enough for him to beg you to stop. The pleasure he received just from you kissing down his neck. He had never been so overwhelmed to the point of cumming fast.
His whines echoed in the bathroom when he remembered more. He knew just how good you looked on top of him. How soft you felt when he held your waist, mesmerized by the way the sweat shone off your body. His body was so in tune with the rhythm you both made. The sounds coming from you were better than any song he has ever made. Michael needed to feel that again, needed to feel you again. He needed your breaths to be in sync; for him to get that permission to drive you over the edge. But all he had now was his hand that tugged aggressively on his dick, his precum and water made the slide smooth. A loud moan escaped him when he brushed his thumb across the head, only for the sound to get louder as his hand pumped faster. His hand gripped the walls as he neared the edge, though that feeling stayed bubbling in his lower stomach. Michael was nearly in tears, silently begging his own body for that boost he needed. It wasn't until he tightened his hand to simulate how it feels when you come around him that his body broke free and he came into his hand. That moment took everything from him and left him relieved to feel tired enough to sleep. That moment of clarity also made him feel worse than before. He felt pathetic knowing that all this wishful thinking was his fault. Still, Michael cleaned up and got ready for bed.
His only happiness came in the morning, when he was on the plane ride back to America. Surprise flooded him when he realized he had completed the first leg of the tour. He couldn't believe he had made it back to the States in one piece; all the times he'd pushed through the pain of fatigue and hunger were about to end in just a few months. His bones vibrated at a mere daydream of rest and the comfort of your arms.
They were rehearsing for the first show in Madison Square Garden. Things were smoother now, as changes to the style and songs were made after the need was recognized during the tour's rough start. They finished quickly after about 3 hours so that Michael could have his snack of celery sticks and water. He took a short 20-minute nap before he was placed in Karen's chair for makeup. She did all she could to bring him back to life, but everyone knew it was useless. They could only pretend.
"You look so much better now that you've lost the weight," she chided, pressing powder into his forehead.
He nodded absentmindedly, used to the same sentence by now.
She looked down at him with a glittering smile, "I also see that you haven't called your girl in a while," she ran her hand through his hair pretending to fix what his stylist had just finished, "Such a shame," she breathed.
Michael's eyebrow twitched at the not-so-hidden joy in her voice. His eyes left the mirror, flicking up to her; she could almost feel the heat from the blue flames that resided constantly in his brown eyes. She recoiled instantly, moving back and looking at the now interesting floor, waiting to see if he would start yelling for her blatant disrespect. After a moment or so, she sighed. Giving a small smile when it didn't come, she looked up with hope only to be pinned by his still-narrowed eyes.
Everyone had chills around Michael. They all walked around him as if he were a caged animal that was ready to strike when provoked, even at the smallest of terms. He was winding up to snap, and that fume came to a head later that night.
While performing, he spotted a friend of yours in the front row. He knew that it was your best friend, the one whom you depended on and loved as if she were your sister. She was also someone who welcomed Michael with open arms, disregarding his status, and treated him like family. He tried hard to hide his shock at seeing her because he knew what the look on her face meant. He saw her eyes clearly enough to see her mood shift from excitement to confusion to disbelief, and finally to anger.
He did his best not to make eye contact, but then his heart spasmed at the thought of you being in the crowd, too. He could hear his breathing pause as everything moved in slow motion. The stage director was yelling in his in-ear to tighten up his act as he felt his body run on autopilot, never missing a note or beat. But his head was not there even as the lights dimmed and he stumbled backstage, coming face to face with the very person he was trying to run from.
"A-Anissa..." he breathed, his voice shaking. He knew that she was there to confirm what she had spent two hours watching. The feeling in the dressing room suffocated the staff as they watched your best friend regard him with a tigress's air.
"What the fuck, Michael?" she touched his arm, pulling back fast when he flinched at the contact. "I'm calling her..." she pulled out her phone pressing the speed dial.
Michael weakly grabbed at her, wheezing in panic, as she stepped back with a look of concern. "No..." Please," He could feel a sharp pain run a sprint throughout his body before the room started to spin. He grabbed the nearest thing to him, pulling his drummer down with him as he slumped to the floor, vision pulsing to black.
A couple of hours later, his head pounded to the rhythm of the monitor. His eyes remain blurred as the bright lights send sharp pains to his already pounding head. His hazy body told him that he wasn't backstage; if anything, the white fluorescent lighting gave that away. He moved his head to the left, groaning as his body croaked in defiance- sore from the concert and his body hitting the floor. He sighed, knowing the team had likely brought him there for an IV and that he would need to get up to catch his next flight.
"How are you feeling?" a soft voice rang out.
His hands started to shake as his eyes focused on the figure in the corner of the room, his throat contracted harshly when he finally saw the person he had spent the last few months dreaming of.
"My love..." His voice croaked out, sounding every bit broken and lovestruck as he looked.
His eyes burned with hot tears when he saw the bags under your eyes contrasting sharply with the redness of your eye. You had been crying, you were still crying, and you were trying hard to be discreet as you dabbed at your cheeks with a tissue.
"Michael," Your whisper, staring at the man in the bed, silently checking to see if he was the same man you let leave months ago. "What is this?"
You watch as he struggles to sit up; his weak state was like a dagger slicing at your heart. Walking to his side, you quickly help him get comfortable, fluffing his pillows behind his back while you clench your teeth to hold in the sob that was threatening to leak out. He was so small now, his body even feeling weaker as you gently lean him back. "Postpone the next few shows."
He sits up rapidly, holding his head as the movement made him dizzy, but his health was secondary as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you close, "WHAT?!? NO!!"
You stand back up, pointing to the monitor, "Michael, you're in the damn hospital for malnutrition and bruised ribs. What the fuck do you mean 'no'?"
"That doesn't matter... I have fans. I have a team, and they need me. They need Michael Jackson." His hands fisted the covers.
"Michael," You touch his face, bringing his attention back to you as you sit next to him on the bed, "Your fans are concerned about you according to your fan site, plus I'm sure they would like to see a healthy Michael Jackson rather than one who's pushing himself too far." You give him a hard smile, thinking of the details you've heard from his dancers and the band. "And your team is the reason you're like this in the first place. I think they need a stern reminder of who exactly signs their checks."
Michael lowers his eyes, his shame taking the back seat as you needlessly straighten his covers. His voice rings out sharp as steel, pulling a gasp from your lips, "You know nothing. Leave my business alone."
Looking at him as if he'd grown three heads, you grit out, "Your well-being is my business. You're withering away, look at yourself,"
He looks to the side, eyes closed. "...They're helping me."
"THEY ARE KILLING YOU!" You grab his chin to turn his head back. Your tears were threatening to spill but the dark anger in his eyes makes you pause.
"They are helping... I'm better now."
"THE DOCTOR SAID YOU WERE MALNOURISHED!" You yell back impatiently before letting out a sigh to calm the anger brewing inside you. It left a hollow and broken sound as you spoke, "This is better to you?"
"WELL, AT LEAST I'M NOT FAT ANYMORE! THAT'S ALL YOU'VE EVER DONE FOR ME, BUT THANKS TO THEM I CAN MOVE BETTER! QUICKER! THE FANS LOVE IT!" He panted, his eyes holding yours in a silent war. The door slammed open as his manager and Anissa rushed in to see what the matter was.
"Listen to me-"
"NO NO...no... I can't leave them..."
"Michael," you respond gently.
"SHUT UP! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU."
His sharp demand takes you by surprise, but you know that he wasn't going to change his mind soon; those people brainwashed him too well, and now all you can do is wait.
Giving a curt nod, you stand up and smooth out your clothes, "Alright. Well then, I hope you have a good tour. I'm moving back to my penthouse."
"Baby, wait.." He sighs, holding his head in his hands.
Seeing his small body in distress brought you a pain you had not felt in years, but the thought of seeing him fade away, the pain of watching him struggle to keep himself together again, would be too much. "It's been three years since we have been through this. I'm not strong enough to watch as you disappear before my eyes. I'm removing myself from the picture. I wish you happiness and health, Michael."
Before he could respond, you speed walked to the door, pulling a fighting Anissa with you as you made your way out of the VIP area of the hospital and down the hall to the elevator. Even with a few feet of distance between you, you can hear Michael screaming for you while his so-called team tries to persuade him to mind his location. Anissa was quiet beside you on the way down, and you were thankful that she was willing to let you have this silence, knowing that a single word- a single question would break your defense and the floodgates would open. The world was dimmer now. Your soul was a void as the elevator doors opened.
