I Wish I Was Your Girl
mature!michael x f!reader (in which reader is a pop star, Michael is the mentor who taught her everything she knows. Believing it's for her own good, he chooses to step back, leaving them both to hide feelings they can't admit. Three years later, she arrives at his birthday with a special gift. So what happens when everything they've kept to themselves refuses to stay unsaid?)
Word count: 3k Warnings: age-gap (reader is in her late 20s), mutual yearning, pining, unspoken feelings, flashbacks, angst, confession, no physical description of reader Notes: Seems I love reader confessing her love to Michael? I got inspired by 'Your Girl', an unreleased song by Lana Del Rey. Just to be clear, reader is not based on her (photo above is purely aesthetics), I just included the song. Recommend listening to it while reading, but not necessary. Kudos if you catch some references! Enjoy!
The ballroom was large and stifling. Even though it was already well into the evening, the billowing of the white curtains let in the faintest breeze. The bright chandeliers reflected off the yellow walls and golden mouldings. A classical tune played softly, occasionally overpowered by the din of conversation and clinking glasses. You had just arrived.
It was Michael’s birthday.
A week ago an invitation had come in: a heavy, well-made golden envelope with a burgundy seal bearing his initials. A heaviness came over you. You did not need to open it. You already knew what it was.
Three years ago, your mentor had quietly stepped away from your life.
You smoothed the fabric of your red dress before tightening the grip on the small box wrapped neatly with a golden ribbon. You remembered how Elizabeth had gifted Michael an elephant once and it wasn’t even for his birthday. The contrast almost made you smile. The faces around you blurred into one another. Friends, musicians, business associates – all people whose names you once knew. None of them mattered, though. Your eyes were instinctively searching for a familiar silhouette. Your heart suddenly felt heavy. He was nowhere in sight and you felt painfully lonely.
Because Michael always used to be there.
...
Rummaging around your dressing room, trying to find your other shoe, you were humming under your breath.
You’re not alone.
I’m here with you.
Though you’re far away…
“You really like that one, don’t you?” Michael appeared in the doorway. He had heard you singing his songs many times, but that one you had repeated most often.
“Well, it’s a beautiful song, Michael. It gives me comfort,” you looked up at him and smiled. “Who did you write it for?”
“For all the lonely people,” he chuckled. “For everyone. For myself. Come on, do it again.”
“No, you sing it for me.”
“I want to hear your voice, angel. Not mine.”
“No, it’s only right. Please.”
“Okay, but only once. For you.” He gave you a shy smile before he began.
...
You sighed. Now you felt what it truly meant to be alone.
“Hello, darling.” Elizabeth’s voice reached you. “You look absolutely ravishing. Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Elizabeth! It’s so nice to see you again. I’ve just been busy with everything.”
“Oh, I know. You’ve been breaking all sorts of records. Michael can’t stop talking about you. He’s really proud of you.”
You felt warmth rise to your cheeks.
“And where is the birthday boy?” you turned to have a look.
You looked up at the staircase. Black strands of hair styled perfectly, falling neatly over the shoulders of his suit jacket. Underneath he had a red waistcoat with a small chain of gold charms attached to it. His eyes glided over the room until they found you. He made his way over.
“Red was always your color.” He kissed your cheek. “I’m so glad you made it, doll. You never responded, I thought you weren’t coming.”
You swiped a nervous hand over your temple. “Happy birthday, Michael. You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Thank you, angel. Let me get you something to drink.”
He took a champagne flute from the waiter’s tray and held it out to you.
“Orange juice?”
“Of course.” You smiled. “Um, Michael, I- this is for you.”
You handed the box to him.
“It’s not much but it’s made with love. And please open it when you’re alone,” you whispered to him.
He gave you a bashful smile.
“It’s enough that you’re here. Your presence means much more to me than anything else.”
Elizabeth’s eyes drifted between the two of you.
The words lingered between you. After a moment, Michael broke the silence with a smile.
“The new album, y/n. Wow! It blew me away. But I always knew you had it in you.”
“Thank you, Michael. That really means a lot to me.” You gave him that beautiful smile he loved. “How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” he managed to say before a security guard approached and whispered in his ear.
He nodded. “Excuse me, ladies. I’ll be back.”
Elizabeth and you made your way over to some armchairs near the balcony door and sat down.
“Finally, some air!” she breathed, turning to you. “What is it, darling? Tell me.” She snapped you out of your reverie, laying a concerned hand on your arm.
“Oh, nothing much.” You took a sip of the orange juice. “With so many things going on, I’m just a bit tired.”
“That’s not the look of someone who is tired from work, sweetheart. I should know. That is the look of someone who is in love and afraid of it,” she added with emphasis.
Michael was welcoming a throng of guests at the door. Elizabeth followed your gaze and chuckled to herself, bringing your attention back to her. She gave you a knowing look.
“Have I been that obvious?” you asked, embarrassed.
“I don't think you're obvious enough, darling. If I were you, I’d go right over there and tell him.”
Ignoring her suggestion, you meekly asked, “Does it ever hurt less?”
“You mean love? Never. Love requires you to be vulnerable. That’s the risk of it. You young people are so careful with your hearts. I’ve told Michael the same thing. When love comes, don’t hesitate. Embrace it. The rest has a way of working itself out.”
“Excuse me, Elizabeth.” You got up and went to the balcony.
Michael had been your mentor. He had taught you everything you knew about being a real performer: how to command the stage, write songs that stayed with people, come up with choreographies. All your success you owed to him.
Three years had passed, and your career had become everything the two of you were hoping for. You topped charts, sold out stadiums, appeared on magazine covers… You had everything you had ever wished for and more. Yet some things never changed.
He still occasionally called to check up on you. You’d never tell him, but you adored hearing his voice when he’d ring you up late at night.
...
“I watched your performance, princess. It was electrifying. You had them going crazy.”
“Thank you, but you’re really exaggerating. I missed my cue at the very start. It was so embarrassing!”
“Never mind that, angel. It happens to the best of us and no one even noticed.”
“But you did, Michael,” you said slightly frustrated.
He laughed softly. “Don’t overthink it, my girl. You got it right the following night.”
You froze on the other end of the phone.
“How do you know that? Michael, that concert wasn’t filmed.”
“Somebody must’ve told me about it,” Michael answered unconvincingly. “You still do the warm-ups before going on stage? Don’t want you straining that beautiful voice, princess. You’ve got years and years ahead.”
...
Even so, in every interview you were asked the same question: Was there someone special in your life? There never was. And all the success meant nothing to you when the only person you longed to share it with was no longer waiting backstage to hand you water, a towel, or reassurance you had done well.
Moonlight shone upon the marble terrace, while the sounds of the party faded into the background. A cool breeze brushed gently against your bare shoulders.
You felt a presence beside you.
“Are you okay, y/n?” He noticed your startled expression. “I’m sorry if I scared you. You seem lost in thought.”
“It’s okay. Just needed some air.”
“Are you having a good time, angel?” he said after a pause. “It’s been a while since we saw each other last.”
He gently brushed the side of your arm, as his voice got fainter with each sentence.
“I’ve missed you, y/n.”
“I’ve missed you too, Michael,” you responded, unsure of where the conversation was going.
“You look breathtaking, you know that?” he said softly.
Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t remember the last compliment anyone had given you that had mattered.
“You look great yourself”, you complimented him back.
“Thank you,” he uttered and stayed silent, only occasionally casting a secret look at you. “You’ve been killin’ it out there, you know that?”
You lowered your head bashfully. “I learnt from the best,” you said, glancing up at him.
“No, angel… no. That’s all you. Grace, talent… you can’t teach those things. I just helped you bring them out.”
You let out a chuckle. “Is that right?”
“You’ve been taking care of yourself, haven’t you? Enough sleep, vitamins?"
He studied your face.
“You’ve lost a bit of weight.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he continued.
“You have to stay healthy to keep up with the performances. They’ve got you on a tight schedule. I’ve warned you about them before. They’re working for you, not the other way around. At this rate...”
Heat rose to your cheeks. Looking into his eyes, you said, “Michael, you worry too much... just like back then." You turned your face away.
Michael noticed.
“Yeah, just like back then,” he echoed with a barely perceptible sigh.
“I miss how it used to be, Michael.” You were still looking away.
...
“I’ve done my part, princess. I’ve shown you the path. Now you have to walk it alone. You’ve outgrown me. As much as I‘ve helped you, being associated with me will only hurt you now. And I don’t want that.” He cupped your face, wiping away the tears.
“Michael, I don’t care. They can say whatever they want. I don’t care about any of it. I want you to stay.”
“Oh, angel. You’re gonna understand one day, trust me. It’s for your own good.”
You remembered the way he had watched you leave, and how much it hurt to believe that he no longer wanted to be by your side.
...
Michael let out a heavy breath.
“I know, angel. I know.”
A voice called out to him. “Michael, come on in, it’s time to cut the cake.”
He was annoyed at the interruption. “Be right there!” He offered his hand. “Let’s go.”
You took it without hesitation, and he led you to the head of the table where they had brought the birthday cake.
The cake was cut but not before someone was bold enough to smear frosting on his face. Michael laughed. He enjoyed the playfulness. You, however, frowned at the sight.
“It’s okay, y/n. It’s just a little bit of fun.”
“I know, Michael, but still.”
“Come here, angel. Help me clean up,” he took you aside.
You unfolded a napkin and gently wiped the frosting from the tip of his nose before removing the last traces from his cheek. Some had caught in his hair, too. You reached for it, not realizing just how close your faces were. Neither of you moved. Neither spoke. His floral perfume surrounded you.
...
The scent brought you back to countless evenings in the studio. After a grueling rehearsal, you headed straight to the studio to finish a song with Michael. He had offered to reschedule if you needed rest, but you wanted to push through. Halfway through the session, while you were revising the lyrics and he was adjusting the arrangement, exhaustion caught up with you. You leaned back and closed your eyes for a moment. You heard the squeak of his chair and caught his familiar scent. Remaining quiet, he draped his jacket over your shoulders and returned to his work, absentmindedly humming to himself. You kept your eyes closed, safe with the knowledge that he was there.
...
He noticed your hand trembling. He didn’t look away. He simply watched you. When you leaned back to check his suit, your eyes met.
“What?” you said, feeling self-conscious.
“Nothing. I was wondering how someone could look so serious over a little frosting.”
“Well, you’re my—” You froze. “You’re Michael Jackson. I don’t want you walking around with cake smeared on your face. “
His shoulders shook with laughter.
“Stand still, Michael. There’s cake even in your ear!”
As you both went back to the table, a waiter was wheeling the cake away.
“Wh- where are you taking the cake?” Michael asked with genuine concern.
You let out a laugh at his reaction. He was larger than life, yet so ordinary, so human, that it made your heart ache. It was all too much. Being near him again in that same familiar way was too much.
A group of new guests had arrived late and made their way straight to him to give their congratulations, putting distance between the two of you. Taking advantage of the commotion, you slipped away.
“Yes, of course. We will discuss it some other time.” Michael was searching the crowd for your face. “Now, please excuse me.”
“Where’s, y/n?” He approached Elizabeth.
“I thought she was with you,” she replied.
“But she didn’t say goodbye,” Michael said quietly.
He was making his way to the door, but the two gentlemen who had followed him interrupted before he could.
Michael managed to free himself from guests pulling him into conversation. He went up to his bedroom, carrying your gift in his hand. He sat down on the bed and slowly untied the ribbon. Lifting the lid, he saw an envelope with his name on it and underneath a CD. Giving priority to the letter, he reached for his reading glasses and set them on his nose.
Dear Michael,
Everyone seems to want something from you: your time, your attention, your voice, your dance.
On your birthday, I wanted to be the person who gave you something back instead.
You have been the most amazing mentor I could have wished for. Thank you for being by my side. I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve given me much more than just music. You believed in me when nobody else would. You’ve shaped me in ways I couldn’t begin to explain, for which I am eternally grateful. You said one day I will understand why I had to continue on my own. Though you are right about many things, you weren’t this time.
I’m not going to ask anything from you which you are not willing to give. I do not want to be another burden on you, you have plenty of them already. I only hope that whatever place I still have in your life… you’ll let me keep it.
Happy birthday! May your future be kinder to you than your past has been. God knows you deserve it.
P.S. I left something for you to listen to, if and when you’re ready. It’s what I’ve been carrying with me all these years. I don’t need an answer. I simply wanted you to know.
Always yours, with love
y/n
A wave of warmth and grief for everything they had lost washed over him. Tears were pooling in his eyes as he reread the letter. Once and then again. Memories started flooding him: the hours he spent by your side, taking care of you, holding himself back because looking out for you meant denying himself. And he’d rather have you safe than get what he wants.
He remembered the song you had mentioned and moved over the envelope. A polaroid photo fell out of it, of the two of you in the studio. Michael was seated in a chair, wearing a red shirt and a beaming smile. You were perched on the armrest of his chair, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, leaning towards each other with your heads close together, mirroring each other’s smiles. He was holding you by the waist. The memory of the day came rushing back. He was helping you with a song. He had asked you to take a photo to commemorate the moment, because he was certain it was going to be a hit, which turned out to be true. He turned the photo over.
You’re not alone. - y/n
First the letter, then the photo. Michael was shaken. He wasn’t ready to open up the CD and hear your song. He sat down to compose himself but was too impatient. He let it play.
The sound was heavier than your usual arrangements and your voice glided over the melody. He listened intently to your words as a guitar riff came in. Then, your voice broke into the refrain:
I wish I was your girl
I wish I was your girl
I wish I was your girl
Over and over again. Until it transformed into a siren-like scream of longing. Your voice filled the room, surrounding him with the truth. No matter how many times he had talked himself out of what his eyes saw and what his heart knew was true, the song made it irrevocable.
Michael held his head in his hands. His eyes were red. He stood up and took his jacket. Making his way out of the house by the back door, he stumbled on Elizabeth getting in her car. She encouraged him with a compassionate smile:
“It was about time, Michael.”
Michael nodded and hurried off to find Bill.
In the meantime, you had arrived home and plopped down on the couch without changing out of your dress. You sighed to yourself. Your thoughts were racing. Panic began to creep in. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t have written the song. No. You shouldn’t have given it to him. How stupid of you! Then you remembered Elizabeth’s words. You have to be vulnerable. And you were. Come what may. If staying by Michael’s side meant just being his friend and nothing more, so be it. You tried to compose yourself.
The doorbell echoed through your apartment.
Instinctively, you made your way to the door and opened it.
Michael stood there. Neither of you spoke.
"You never had to wish, angel."
You searched his face for an answer.
His expression softened.
"You've always been my girl."
You finally let the tears you had been holding for so long fall. He pulled you in his arms, one hand resting on the back of your head.
"Always will be."
You started sobbing.
He pulled you back, a faint smile appearing on his face. He lifted the CD between you.
"This wasn't on the album."
You laughed through your tears.
