𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 𝐹𝑎𝑐𝑒 🪽 𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝐽𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑜𝑛
pairing : Bad tour era Michael Jackson x femreader
summary : You are Michael’s girlfriend, watching from backstage as he performs. When he comes backstage, you are waiting happily to tell him how good he did, but he doesn’t seem as happy as you do.
authors note : I do have writing experience including fan fiction accounts in 2024 and 2025, as well as a 80 page novella I have written. But, I haven’t had motivation and this is my first time writing something like this in a while, so please don’t mind if it’s not the best :(
The sound of bass and electric guitar flood his ears. All he could see were the neon lights flashing and the heads of thousands of people. Occasionally, his eyes drifted to the left wing of the stage, where he saw the one person who actually mattered here : you. You watch him sing and perform with such love, proud of his success and happy to be able to watch your boyfriend do what he loves.
But today, he seemed different. Not on stage. He always knew how to put on a good show. But before going on stage, he stayed in front of the mirror longer, staring at the reflection, applying touch ups to his face even after having his makeup done by his artist. Michael was always a nervous man, fiddling and pacing back and forth before going on stage. Though today, it seemed more excessive than usual. You hadn’t said anything about it, not wanting him to have to talk about anything before going on stage.
Soon enough, the music faded, and the crowds cheers died out into talking as Michael thanked them for coming. You smile as you see him coming backstage, wiping sweat off his forehead with a rag, slightly hunched over. You assume it’s just the exhaustion of the performance, as usual.
When he reaches you, you smile and lean up on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him softly. He kisses you back, one hand on your waist to keep you steady. You pull away, a proud smile on your face. “You did so good, Michael.” You say softly.
He gives you a weak smile. “Thank you, baby.” He says quietly before walking away, towards the vanity in which he gets ready for shows. You follow him confused. He always spends a few moments with you after shows, listening to you praise him with a wide smile on his face.
He sits down with a sigh, his eyes locked on his face in the mirror as he continues to dab sweat off himself with a rag. You stop beside his chair, crouching down so you’re both in view of the mirror, one hand on his shoulder. You can see the look in his eyes, the look he always has when something is wrong.
“Mikey what’s wrong?” You ask him softly.
He sighs and reaches back, patting the hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “Nothing baby. I’m just tired.”
“But you’ve been acting strange all day.” You say worried, leaning your head on his free shoulder. “Talk to me, what’s going on? You did good on stage I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“The headlines.” He says plainly. “In the newspaper. The magazines. I saw them this morning….the ones about my face.”
You freeze. You’d hoped that he wouldn’t hear or see any of the negative comments about his looks, but it was inevitable. He was a beautiful man, really. You could stare into his big doe eyes for hours. But sometimes, the media disagreed.
“What did they say?” You ask, a slight tremble in your voice.
“They don’t like how I look anymore.” He says softly, a bit of tears welling in his eyes. He’s always been a little insecure, and this makes it worse. “They don’t like my nose. They say it’s too skinny. And they say I’m ashamed of being black….they don’t know if my vitiligo.”
He sighs deeply, his voice becoming shaky. “They don’t like my new look. Not even my hair. They think I’m falling apart. They’re falling me ‘Wacko Jacko.’ How ridiculous is that?”
You whimper and kiss his temple, holding your sleeps there a second too long. You turn and look in the mirror, your faces side by side. He sighs and starts trying to cover up more spots before you can even speak, but you stop him, grabbing the brush out of his hand and wiping a tear from his eye.
“You can’t listen to them, Michael. They don’t know what they’re talking about. There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“Maybe they’re right.” He says sadly. “Maybe I’m not handsome anymore. I ruined myself.”
“They’re not right Michael.” You say softly. “You didn’t ruin yourself. The people who write these things never tell the truth. Not ever.”
He sighs shakily, trying (and failing) to hold back tears. “Do you still think I’m handsome?”
You give him a small smile, blush spreading on your cheeks. He’s always adored how easily you blush. You nod, “Yes I think you’re beautiful.”
He smiles, “You think so?”
“Mhm.” You giggle. “And so does anyone with real eyes. There’s a reason you’ve always been called angel face.”
He smiles, flustered as he remembers the name. Angel face. The name fans have called him for years, despite headlines saying otherwise. He tilts his head to kiss below your ear. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll try to stop looking at them.”
“Good.” You smile. “You’re pretty to me even with the makeup off.” You stand, reaching for his hand. He stands with you, grabbing your hand as he towers over you. “We’re good to go now?”
“Ready to go.” He says with a fond smile.
Critiques and tips are welcome ♥️♥️
