rhys

pairing: 1984 grammys m.jackson x fem!reader.

synopsis: as michael is up giving his speech for his 8th grammy of the night, you notice a red lipstick mark on his jawline that you didn’t put there, jealousy instantly filling your body, and michael finds out why you’re annoyed the hard way.

warnings: jealously, silent treatment, slight angst, crying, diana ross, insecurity.

a/n: i’m a sucker for a lil argument. also i know it wasn’t diana that kissed michael’s cheek at the grammys, but it’s just for a lil fun.

part two.

the 1984 grammys award ceremony was a whirlwind of flashing lights, deafening applause, and the intoxicating scent of expensive perfume and hairspray that clung to the air.

michael had been nominated for 12 awards tonight—he had won 8 of them—and by the time his name was called for the eighth and final win of the night, the energy in the room was electric, enough to power all of los angeles.

standing centre stage, bathed in the golden glow of the spotlight, michael adjusted his grip on the gold award. he looked every bit the superstar in his iconic blue and gold jacket, the sequins catching the light with every subtle movement he made. the audience erupted into a standing ovation, the roar of applause nearly shaking the walls.

“i’d like to thank…” michael began, his voice smooth and confident, his eyes scanning the crowd. he thanked the grammy committee, his producers, his family, and his fans. but as he continued speaking, something caught your eye; a small red stain on his jawline.

your breath hitched. the lipstick mark was unmistakable—a perfect, crimson crescent pressed against his skin, just above his jawline. it wasn’t yours. you hadn’t worn red lipstick tonight; you’d opted for a subtle nude gloss that barely showed up under the harsh stage lights. so there was no way michael could have gotten that from you.

michael finished his speech, you didn’t even hear the rest of it as you had zoned out thinking about the red lipstick. his smile was genuine and grateful. he turned to wave at the audience before stepping down from the stage, completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside you. as he approached your table, he sat down, his arm automatically went to your waist, pulling you close as cameras flashed around you both.

“eight grammys, baby!” michael exclaimed, his eyes shining with excitement as he leaned in to kiss your cheek. but you turned your head slightly, so his lips landed on your jaw instead. your stomach churned as you caught another whiff of a unfamiliar perfume mixed with his cologne.

“you okay, baby?” michael whispered, his brow furrowing slightly as he noticed your stiff posture. the cameras were still flashing around them, capturing their victory lap.

“i’m perfect,” you replied through a bright, practiced smile for the cameras. as soon as the nearest camera moved on, your expression hardened again.

“seriously, are you feeling alright?” michael asked again in a hushed tone but was genuinely concerned, his hand still resting at your lower back as you both waved off quincy jones and other people in the music industry. “you’re acting…off.”

“just stop asking,” you muttered under your breath, forcing another smile at stevie wonder as he congratulated michael. “im fine.” you say as yous walk to the limousine.

“you don’t look fine,” michael pressed gently, sensing the icy wall you were quickly putting up between you. he leaned closer, trying to catch your eye as you both move through the throng of celebrities, your polite nods to them feeling strained and robotic. “baby, talk to me. is it the noise? the crowd?”

“i said stop asking, michael.”

michael recoiled slightly, the genuine happiness from his historic night draining from his face at your sharp tone. he fell silent, but his hand remained hovering at your back, uncertain now, as you exchanged stiff goodbyes with lionel richie and diana ross. the congratulations felt hollow to your ears, your focus narrowed entirely on the red smudge mocking you from his jawline.

the rest of the after party passed in a blur of forced smiles and polite nods. michael hovered near you, occasionally reaching for your hand or squeezing your waist, silently trying to bridge the distance you’d created. but you remained tight-lipped, offering only monosyllabic responses when he spoke.

by the time bill pulled the limo around to the entrance, your jaw was set tight.

michael climbed into the backseat first, holding out his hand to help you in, but you ignored it, sliding across the leather seat as far from him as possible. the space between you felt charged and heavy with unspoken words as bill pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.

michael watched you from across the seat, your body language screaming volumes of unsaid things. he unbuttoned the first button of his jacket, making himself more comfortable. “baby…” he tested the waters softly. but your response was telling—you hugged your jacket tighter around you and looked out the window.

“okay, that’s it,” michael said firmly after five minutes of strained silence. he reached across the seat and gently turned your face towards him, forcing you to meet his gaze. “whatever’s going on, just tell me now because this silent treatment is killing me.”

his thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, his touch gentle but his expression stern. his eyes searched yours intently, demanding an answer. the limos dim lighting cast shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the set of his jaw. he wasn’t going to let this go until you spoke your mind.

“michael, let go,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. but he didn’t release your chin, his dark eyes boring into yours with that stubborn determination he got when he refused to back down.

“not until you tell me what’s wrong,” he insisted, his voice low and serious. “we’ve been together two years, and you’ve never given me the silent treatment like this,” he continued, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “so whatever it is, it’s big. and i deserve to know.”

“whatever it is, just say it,” he urged, his expression softening slightly. “are you mad about something i did? soemthing i said?” he searched your face for clues, his brow furrowing when he didn’t find any obvious answers.

“you want me to tell you?” you snapped, suddenly turning to face him fully. your eyes flashed with anger and hurt, your voice rising slightly. “fine. i’ll tell you.” you pulled away from his touch, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

“that red mark on your jaw,” you said, “whose lipstick is it, michael? because it sure as hell isn't mine." you watched his expression carefully, waiting for the guilt to set in.

his eyes widened slightly before he instinctively touched his jaw. "what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice defensive.

"don't play dumb, michael," you bit out, pointing an accusing finger at the faint red smear on his skin. "its right there. some cheap perfume mixed with it too. you smelled like a different woman when you kissed me cheek earlier."

michael went rigid, his hand freezing on his jaw.

"baby, wait--" michael started, holding his hands up defensively. "its not what you think. i swear." he reached for your hand, but you pulled away, your chest heaving with frustration.

"then what is it? because unless lipstick grows on jaws by itself, someone put that there." you snapped, rolling your eyes.

"it was just diana ross," michael explained quickly, his brow furrowed. "she greeted me when i first arrived, gave me a kiss on the cheek. you know how she is--always so affectionate."

"she kissed my jaw, i didn't even realise it was there," he insisted, his expression earnest but clearly frustrated that you were jumping to the worst conclusion. "you really think id cheat on you? at the grammys? with diana?"

"you left it there all night," you countered, your voice trembling with jealousy and annoyance.

as you sit there stewing, your mind races with thoughts and insecurities.

he didn't wipe it off.

he apparently didn't even notice it was there.

does he not care that his girlfriend would see it?

what if he still has feelings for diana?

you glance at his jaw again, watching that bright red mark mock you from across the seat. it should have been wiped off. it should have been gone the second those ruby lips touched his skin. you feel your throat tighten. you're being irrational, you know it--but the thought of someone else leaving a mark on him, even accidentally, makes your chest ache with something ugly and possessive.

you remember the rumours, the old photos, the way diana used to look at him. the history between them is like a shadow hanging over your relationship. if it had been anyone else--any other woman--you probably would have let it go by now. but diana...diana was different.

"its diana," you practically hissed the name. "that's the problem, michael. you and diana...you have history."

the air in the limo felt thick. it wasn't just the lipstick; it was the years of connection between them, the way she looked at him like she owned a piece of him. anyone else you'd have laughed it off. not her.

"so what?" michael snapped, his patience wearing thin. "just because diana have history doesn't mean im going to cheat on you with her! you really think so little of me?" he ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "it was a kiss on the cheek. that's literally it."

"a kiss on the cheek that you left smudged on your jaw all night!" you shot back, your voice rising. "you didn't even bother to wipe it off. did it mean something to you? did you want her to know that you still care?”

“are you serious right now?” michael threw his hands up. “i didn’t notice it!”

“you didn’t notice it,” you repeated, your voice dripping with disbelief. “michael, you’re always so aware of every little thing—your hair, your clothes, your fucking shoes. but a big red lipstick mark on your jaw? you missed that?”

“i was talking to people!” michael shouted back, his own temper flaring. “i didn’t think of her leaving a lipstick mark because it meant absolutely nothing to me! you are blowing this way out of proportion just because of who she is.” he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “you’re jealous.”

“i am NOT jealous!” you lied, your voice cracking slightly. you hated how weak you sounded, how transparent your insecurity was. but the truth was, you were. you were terrified of diana’s hold on him, of the history they shared that you could never replicate.

“then why are you acting like this?” michael challenged, his voice dropping low.

“because it’s diana,” you yelled back, throwing your hands up in frustration. “because everyone knows she used to have you. because when she looks at you, she acts like she still does. and you just walked around all night wearing her mark like a fucking trophy!”

michael stared at you, his mouth falling open slightly in disbelief. “it is lipstick,” he ground out.

“yes, and you should’ve wiped it off the second you left her,” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “not worn it around like you were proud of it.” you looked away, unable to meet his eyes anymore. “do you even understand how that looks? how it makes me feel?” the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine.

michael exhaled sharply, running both hands through his curls in frustration. “i understand that it hurt you,” he said, his tone softening slightly despite his frustration. “but you’re twisting this into something it’s not. i didn’t keep it there on purpose. i didn’t even know it was there until you pointed it out.”

“then why didn’t you check your reflection?” you demanded, tears finally pricking your eyes. “you check everything else, michael. you’re meticulous. the fact that you let her lipstick stay on your face tells me you were comfortable with it. you were comfortable with her mark on you.”

he stared at you, completely stunned by your logic. “that’s genuinely ridiculous.”

“is it?” you asked quietly, tears escaping down your cheeks. “would you have left some other woman’s lipstick on you? really think about it, michael.”

michael opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. he swallowed hard, lowering his face to the floor of the car. the silence stretched out between you, heavy and suffocating.

the car had slowed to stop at a red light, and in the silence, michael finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “no,” he admitted. “i wouldn’t have.”

your heart clenched painfully. you didn’t want him to say that. you wanted him to fight back, to tell you that you were being crazy. but he was being honest.

“i didn’t think it through,” michael continued, his jaw tight with self reproach. he finally reached his hand up and rubbed at the smudge, erasing it. “you’re right. i should have noticed. i should have wiped it off the second it happened—diana or not, stranger or not. but i didnt. and that’s my fault.”

he turned his hand over, looking at the lipstick now on his hand from wiping his jaw. the lipstick was gone of his face, but the damage was already done—you already believed that you come second to diana. you were crying, upset over something so stupid as a smudge of makeup. he felt like an asshole. “baby, stop crying.”

“come here,” he said softly, reaching for you. you hesitated before leaning into him, your shoulders shaking with sobs. he wrapped an arm around you tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “i’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair.

“i didn’t realise how disrespectful it looked to you, especially coming from her. i know there’s history. i know that makes it sensitive. i should have been more aware.” you pulled back slightly, wiping your eyes, sniffling.

“talk to me,” he prompted gently. “i know i messed up, but i need to understand what’s really bothering you about this besides the lipstick itself. is it because it was her? is it because i didn’t notice immediately?”

you took a shaky breath, gripping his hand tightly. “it’s the history,” you admitted quietly. “it’s that no matter how much time passes, she always acts like she has a claim on you. and tonight…tonight you let her have that claim. you walked around with her mark on you like you belonged to her.”

michael’s face fell, the realisation hitting him hard.

“and that hurt you,” he said, understanding finally dawning in his eyes. “not the fact that it was lipstick, but the fact it was her lipstick. and i let it stay there because i didn’t want to upset her by wiping it off in front of her.”

“exactly,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “you prioritised her comfort over mine. you didn’t want to be rude to her, but you didn’t mind insulting me.” you let out a big sigh, “it feels like she still comes first, michael. it feels like no matter what i do, i’ll never outrank her history with you.”

michael looked absolutely stricken by your admission. he shook his head vigorously, reaching out to cup your face. “that’s not true,” he said firmly. “she does not come first. you are my reality. she was in a part of my past. there is a massive difference.” he searched your eyes, desperate for you to believe him.

“baby, you’re not competing with her,” he said gently, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “you don’t have to outrank her because you’re not even in the same category. you’re my partner, my present, my future, she’s my past.”

you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch despite yourself. “i know,” you murmured, though the jealously still simmered beneath the surface. “i know you love me. i just…” you trailed off, biting your lip. even as his words sank in, the image of diana’s red lips against his skin still made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

“i get that it still bothers you,” he said softly, reading your body language even as you tried to hide your lingering jealousy. “even if you understand logically, it still feels bad emotionally.” he kissed your forehead against gently. “and that matters.”

you nodded, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “it’s stupid,” you admitted, “but i keep picturing it. her leaning in, her lips on your skin, and you just…letting it happen. and then carrying it around all night.” your voice dropped to barely a whisper.

“i’m sorry,” you muttered against his chest, feeling foolish. “i’m being ridiculous. she probably didn’t even mean it in that way. i just saw it as that, im being stupid.”

“hey, don’t apologise for feeling hurt,” he said firmly, tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. “your feelings aren’t stupid. diana targeted something sensitive deliberately—that doesn’t make your reaction invalid. she knows exactly how to push your buttons, and she did.” he brushed his thumb across your cheek gently. “the fact youre upset means you care.”

“i just hate feeling this way,” you admitted, your voice small. “jealous and insecure over something that probably means nothing to you. it makes me feel weak.” you looked down, embarrassed. “you always handle things so smoothly, and here i am falling apart over a lipstick stain.” michael frowned, tilting your face back up to meet his gaze.

“first of all, falling apart over a lipstick stain means you give a damn about me,” he said firmly. “it means you’re not just sitting back and letting some other woman mark your territory without care. it means you’re human and you’re jealous.”

“so don’t apologise for feeling jealous over something that actually matters to you,” he said softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “because it matters to me that you care enough to get jealous. it means i’m doing something right.”

you just nodded your head, staring into space. michael notices this and grabs your chin softly, pulling your head towards his and connecting your lips together.