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why just BA? there are other black people too yet for some reason, y’all only gaf about the american ones
This is about African American Vernacular English and you’re asking me, why just Black Americans?
Mind you, I didn’t not say “only listen to them” I said listen to them primarily because what Ebonymuse did was use BA culture to appear black. Obviously we all matter and it hurts us all but you cannot deny that most popular black culture is Black America black culture.
summary: A routine story sends Y/N and Michael to a bank robbery scene. By the end of the day, Spider-Man has saved her life, Michael has vanished without a trace, and one small detail refuses to let go of her mind.
content: spider-man!michael jackson x f!reader. journalist!reader. au. fluff. violence. guns. fluff. a little angst. no proofreading we die like men.
word count: 5.3k
The office smelled of strong, freshly made coffee, cigarets and newly printed newspaper. Phones rang every two minutes, typewriters clicked frantically and people walked around without looking where they were going as they read their new drafts.
Y/N could feel it before she even heard it. She simply massaged her temples and threw Michael, who sat in the office table across her, a ‘please, save me’ look.He snickered at her.
“L/N!” J. Jonah’s voice rang throughout the Daily Bugle office. “How’s the Spider-Man piece going?” His head popped out of his office door, a frenetic expression on his face.
Michael stifled a laugh as he watched the scene unfold before him, and that earned him a glare from his girlfriend. He looked down at his camera and bit his bottom lip, trying to hide another smile.
“It’s done, Jonah. I left it at your table this morning.” Y/N replied with a tense smile, pointing towards his office.
“Did you, now?” He mumbled, wandering back into his office. Y/N just stared after him.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment, counting to three in order to get it together. Her boss had the tendency of making her lose her temper a little bit.
After a few seconds of counting, she opened her eyes and was met by the most beautiful pair of big brown eyes she had ever seen: her boyfriend’s. Michael stood in front of her desk with a tiny smile on his face, as he usually did. He wore s pair of capri cream pants and a maroon sweater. Y/N felt as is she could take a bite out of him right on the spot. So, obviously, she said the first thing that popped int her mind:
“What’s up, Bambi?”
“Bambi?” He questioned, looking actually confused.
“Mhm,” She got up from her chair, pressing her palms flat against the desk and leaning towards him. “With those pretty brown eyes.” She glanced briefly to see if anyone was watching and stole a little kiss from him. Michael felt blood rushing into his cheeks, a warm feeling taking over him. He held his breath for a split second before looking at Y/N, shaking his head negatively with a grin.
“Are you ready for lunch? I heard Mr Delmar has the good stuff today.” Michael finally asked, grabbing Y/N’s coat from her desk and motioning to the exit with his head. “Turkey sandwich heaven. Your favorite!” He extended the coat, motioning for her to pass her arms through it as he held it open.
Y/N put one of her arms through the sleeve, a content sight escaping her. “Thank goodness. After everything Jonah put me through today, I could use a big, fat—“
“Jackson! L/N!” A loud, authority voice cut her off mid-sentence. The couple exchanged a glance before turning around to where J. Jonah stood, a cigar between his fingers and that usual look of chaos on his face. “Bank robbery! Need both of you covering.” He pointed the cigar at them. “With any luck Spider-Man will show up.” He didn’t even wait for a response, just walked back into his office blabbering some nonsense and slammed the door shut.
‘Oh, no.’ Michael gulped.
Y/N looked up at him. “Well, so much for lunch, huh?”
Michael let out a nervous little laugh and nodded, eyes wide. He needed a plan ASAP.
“I, uh— I just need to make a phone call.” He blurted out. “Meet downstairs in five?”
“Uh huh.” Y/N nodded. “I’m gonna grab my bag and some notepads.” She added, already making her way to the supply room. Michael gave her one last nervous smiled and sprinted to his desk.
He grabbed the phone and dialed in the number in a rush. The line rang a few times (the longest three rings of his entire life, Michael would later say) before Bill picked up.
“Hello—“
“Bill, I need a favor!”
🕸️ྀི
Michael felt his palms getting sweaty as he walked side by side with Y/N. Lucky for him, she had her hands tucked inside her pockets due to the cold weather. He took a look around, trying to get it together. Failed.
His senses left him completely overwhelmed.
Every conversation bled into the next. Sirens wailed somewhere across New York. A taxi horn blared three blocks away. The sweet scent of fresh flowers drifted from a nearby florist, only to be swallowed by cigarette smoke and the warm smell of fresh bread from the bakery across the street. He could hear hurried footsteps, racing heartbeats, distant crying. He could almost feel it all, too: the anxiety, the grief, the anger clinging to strangers as they brushed past him. Every sight, every sound, every smell crashed into him at once, his heightened senses refusing to filter any of it. His senses refused to let anything go unnoticed.
By the time Y/N finished speaking, he realized he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said.
“Earth to Mike.” Y/N stood in front of him while shaking her hand in front of his face, trying to grab his attention. He snapped out of it and gulped before offering her a nervous smile. She stared at him. “Hey, you okay?”
He nodded slightly and tried to offer her another smile. “Yeah, ma.”
She threw an accusatory look at him. “You sure, Mike?”
“Yeah, don’t worry.” He brushed it off and threw one arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer. “What were you just saying, hm?”
“I was just saying we’re almost there. Just one more block, I think.” She enlaced her fingers with his as his hand hung off her shoulder.
Michael took a quick look around, searching for Bill. “Yeah, right.”
Y/N looked up at him for a second. “Do you think he’ll show up?” She couldn’t help but asking, her mind wandering to Spider-Man. She hoped he would.
“Bill? Oh, I'm not sure...” He answered with a shrug.
Y/N frowned. “What does Bill have to do with anything I just said?” Confused laced her voice. She shook her head. “I am obviously talking about Spider-Man!”
Michael finally looked at her at that sentence. “Spider-Man?” He blurted out. “Oh, I don’t know I—“
He got cut off by two cops that sprinted past them.
The couple stared after at them, Michael focusing on what one was saying over the radio.
“Yeah, we’re on our way. Hostages negotiations have already began and they’re armed to the teeth—”
“Hostages...” Michael mumbled under his breath. He needed to hurry up. “Uh, baby?”
“Mhm?”
“I need to uh, set up the camera.” He motioned to the device hanging from his neck from the leather belt.
“Oh, right.” She shook her head slightly. “Yeah, I figured. I have to go interview civilians and authorities in the perimeter, too.”
Michael allowed himself a moment to look down at her.
To anyone nearby, it looked life a boyfriend staring lovingly at his girlfriend. Which, in some level, was. But also it was so much more than that. It was Michael about to go risk his life and silently praying for the universe to not take her from him while he was doing what he was meant to do. It was Spider-Man pleading for any higher force to not take away his anchor.
“Promise to stay safe?” He asked in a quiet voice, eyes locked on Y/N’s. He tried to memorize every single detail in her.
She smiled. “Always.” She said, nodding. “Stay safe too, okay?
Michael let out a breathy laugh and nodded. “Will try my best.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, okay?”
“I love you more, Mike.” She closed the space between them with a quick peck on the lips. When they pulled away though, Michael pulled her closer again by their still enlaced finger and gave her a proper kiss.
Y/N thought his lips felt like heaven. Soft and warm and sweet. He caressed her lips with his tongue before deepening the kiss. Y/N sighed into his mouth and took her free hand to the nape of his neck, fingers running through his curls.
The kiss ended with a couple of lighter kisses over each other’s lips. “I love you.” Michael repeated one more time before stepping back, Y/N still holding his hand.
Well, at least he thought she was holding his hand.
Y/N frowned. She could’ve sworn she had just released her grasp over his fingers in order for them to go their separate ways. But when she glanced down at their hands, the sight made her very confused: Michael’s palm placed flat against hers. No finger enlaced. No hand holding the other. It almost looked like they were… stuck?
Michael followed her gaze down, eyes widening a bit at the sight.
‘Dang it!’, he thought.
Sometines, whenever he got nervous, his spider abilities went through the roof. At times it was the webs—he couldn’t move his hands too harshly or they would start shooting at every and any thing. Sometimes it was the super strength—he still recalled breaking Y/N’s handle, lamp and bed frame the first time they had been together. At other times it was this—he got stuck. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that knew about Spider-Man that he could walk on vertical surfaces, hang from buildings and moving vehicles, among other things. And, when he got nervous, he got sticky. Which led up to this precise moment where he physically couldn’t move his hand away.
“Mike?” Y/N looked up at him with confusion.
Michael let out a nervous laugh before shaking their hands together slightly. “Static electricity , huh?”
Y/N looked very unimpressed, but at the same time very confused. “I guess…” She mumbled with a small shrug.
‘Get it together, man.’ Michael told himself as he reached for their joint hands with his free one, peeling one finger from hers at the time. When he reached the last finger—pinky, to be precise—it came off with a pop. He let out a tiny laugh.
“That was weird.” She mumbled, gazing at her palm while holding her own wrist . “Well, gotta go.” She blurted out after a few moments, placed a quick kiss on Michael’s cheek and made her way into the crowd before them. “Stay out of trouble!” She shouted without looking back.
Michael ran his hands through his pants in nervousness, eyes not leaving Y/N as she walked away. That was until he spotted another familiar face already making its way into the crowd after her. Bill.
Michael felt his shoulder loosening up a little. He let out a shaky breath and offered Bill a nod. “Thank you.” He silently mouthed.
Bill just nodded back at him.
Michael immediately ducked into an alley just across from where he previously stood. He looked around in a rush, just to make sure no one was watching and dropped his bag on the ground, beginning to wiggle out of his sweater.
He changed so fast he almost walked out with the mask facing backwards.
He looked back to the chaos that waited for him, took a deep breath and a few quick jumps, warming up and trying to ease up his nerves.
“Alright.” He reached out for the fabric hanging on his forehead and pulled the mask down.
Spider-Man was on his way.
🕸️ྀི
“AWO!” Spider-Man’s voice echoed through the buildings of Manhattan as he swung above the streets.
Y/N smiled up at the sight, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with a hand. She turned her attention back to the civilians, searching for her next interview or for someone in need lf help.
“Y/N!” Bill’s voice rang in her ears, grabbing her attention.
“Bill? What are you doing here?” She frowned before giving him a quick hug. She absolutely loved Bill. Couldn’t possibly know why he was there at that precise moment, but she was grateful for it nonetheless.
Bill had worked at the Daily Bugle longer than anyone could remember. He'd reported on everything from blackouts to mayoral elections, and whenever Jonah wasn't breathing down her neck, he was usually the one slipping her advice over bad coffee and stale donuts. He also was some sort of father figure for Michael, always being there when and wherever he needed. Y/N was very grateful.
"Thought I'd rescue you from another terrible angry cop interview.”
Y/N laughed. “Oh, so you’ve been reading the Bugle?"
"I've been reading you ask all the wrong questions."
She gasped dramatically, a hand flying and clutching her chest. "I do not ask the wrong questions."
“Oh, sweetie, you do."
"I absolutely do not!”
Bill pointed toward a shaken bank employee sitting on the curb.
"Come on."
He started walking, Y/N trailing behind him.
"Watch and learn, kiddo.”
They stopped in front of the woman and Bill crouched slightly.
"I'm Bill, with the Daily Bugle."
Y/N rolled her eyes, but starting taking notes nevertheless.
🕸️ྀི
When Michael crashed through the skylight of the bank the crime scene was set. His eyes swept across the room.
Four men armed to the teeth wearing balaclavas stood separately while about fifteen civilians sat on the ground with their writs bound. Bank workers were tied up on the other corner. Children and elders were placed behind a wood counter.
Still, he tilted his head to the side with unnerving calm. He raised both his hands. The men just stared at him while pointing their guns at him. The closest one held a riffle up to Michael’s eye level.
“Now hold on, you guys. No one needs to get hurt here today.” He began.
“Spider-thing, we’re gonna need you to leave. Or else…” Riffle man threatened, getting the barrel closer to Michael’s face.
Michael, bless him, let the sass get the best out of him. “Spider-thing? Oh, you wound me…” He simply raised a hand a lowered the gun, a cocky grin spreading across his masked face. “AWO!”
With that, he fired a web at two guns at the same time; the one being held closer to him and the other across from where he stood. He jumped and flipped back, while firing another web.
He crouched on top of a marble pilar in the center of the bank, civilians staring in awe at their savior. But before he was able to take down another armed guy, one of them fired, the bullet grazing his left arm. “Ouch!” He yelled. “Okay, that hurt a little.” He mumbled, checking his bicep. Only a scratch, but it managed to draw some blood and rip his suit.
One of the men swung a metal pipe onto him, hitting him in the ribs. Michael let out a huff of breath before launching himself into the wall across the room, taking the man down with a quick on the face. “Sorry!” He yelled after at the sight of the man’s bloody nose. “Well, not really.” He mumbled under his breath.
He turned to the scene unfolding before him, throwing himself gracefully onto the ground. Two guys came for him at the same time, and the fight resumed.
Punches, scratches, webs. Michael managed to swing away from their gunshots.
“HEE HEE!” He shriked before landing smoothly on the ground.
His eyes traveled to a little boy who had his bottom lip trembling. One of the criminals was making his way to him with a gun in hand and a nasty look on his face. Michael threw himself between them and tackled the man to the ground, webbing him so he wouldn’t be able to move.
He looked down at the boy and crouched until they were at eye level. “Hey, buddy.” The boy sniffled. “You were really brave, you know that, right?” Michael brushed one of his tears away with the back of his hand.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Y-yeah, mister Spider-Man!” He said with the bravery of a determined six year old.
Michael chuckled. “Stay right here with your mom until the police tell you it’s okay.”
The boy nodded.
Michael held out his hand for him to shake. “Deal?”
The little boy managed the tiniest, toothless smile before reaching out and shaking Spider-Man’s hand.
“Deal!”
Finally, it seemed that he managed to stop all of the bad men. He felt sore, bloody and tired. But also relieved. He placed both hands on his waist and took a look around just as policemen started to enter the perimeter. He was just starting to breathe.
That was until he felt the hair at the nape of his neck standing up. A cold feeling rushed through him and he felt every muscle in his body tensing up. His heartbeat lurched. There was only one thing and one thing only that had that effect on him.
The certainty that she was in danger took over him. He had to get to her.
Michael didn’t think. Before he could even process what was happening, he was already swinging through the same skylight he came.
🕸️ྀི
Meanwhile, Bill and Y/N had managed to interview a few more people. The latest was a cop who was giving Y/N a piece of his mind on his thoughts on Spider-Man.
“Well, but shouldn’t you be a little more grateful to, you know… have some help?”
The cop shook his head and ran his fingers through his thick mustache. “You hear me, young lady, eh? That guy is a punk! He runs around wearing that ridiculous costume of his doin’ our job, thinking he has ANY right to—”
Y/N and Bill exchanged a tired glance, silently telling each other to wrap it up with that guy. But before either of them could say anything a sound of tires screeching and a worrying BANG cut them off.
Steel groaned. The ground shook. A veil of dust blurred everyone’s vision. People started to scream. The cop fell over the crosswalk. Y/N was already reaching down to help him when Bill looked up. His complexion immediately changed. His eyes traveled back to the journalist before him.
“Y/N!”
She only had time to look up and realized the sun had disappeared over her. Her body froze and her eyes widened: a massive piece of steel came crashing down to exactly where she stood.
She closed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact. But it never came.
Next thing she knew, air was knocked out of her lungs and she swung thought the Manhattan skyline. A strong arm was wrapped her waist, keeping her close and secure. “I got you.”
When Y/N opened her eyes and was met by no other than your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
He swung them through the buildings with his free hand, dogging the collapsing building remains.
Somehow, through all that, Y/N noticed his arm had a bloody wound. Sharp, straight and precise. “Y-Your arm is bleeding.” She pointed out bluntly, like she hadn’t been almost turned into pancakes a few seconds ago.
Spider-Man looked down at her. He scoffed. “You almost got crushed by a steel beam and this is your first thought?”
Y/N didn’t reply. Just kept staring at his blue mask. She noticed the right eye lens of it had a crack.
Michael felt her body shaking against his. He felt his heart sinking into his chest.
‘She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay’, he kept telling himself over and over again. He was breathing so hard Y/N could hear it through the mask.
“You okay?” He finally managed to ask as they approached the ground where it was safe. He lowered them down with gentleness, arm not leaving the grip on her waist.
Y/N hesitated, but nodded after a moment. “I—uh,” She shook her head, feeling her mind hazy. She hadn’t really processed what just happened in the last minute. “My boyfriend. I gotta find him.” She started to wander away without further explanation, looking at some point behind of Spider-Man.
Michael felt his heart sinking even further into his chest. ‘I’m right here, mama.’ He wanted to say. God, how he wanted to say. All he wanted was to hold her and tell her she was okay. He clenched his jaw.
Y/N stopped on her tracks after a few steps, turning back to Spider-Man. “T-Thank you, for—“ She motioned to nowhere in particular. “You know.” She nodded. “Thank you, Spider-Man.”
Michael bit his bottom lip. He felt his eyes stinging a little bit as he stared at her. She was in shock. “No problem, ma’am.” He tried to keep his tone lower than usual, so she wouldn’t recognize it. “I’m sure your boyfriend is okay.”
Y/N simply nodded and turned around again, proceeding to walk away from him.
Michael watched her go. And when she was finally out of his sight, he let out a huff of air and grabbed a streetlight that stood tall next to him.
He leaned on it and closed his eyes. His breath was uneven and one gloved hand traveled to his tight chest. He felt like he couldn’t breath properly.
‘She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay.’
🕸️ྀི
Y/N’s eyes kept glancing everywhere, scanning around for Michael.
She asked a few firefighters if they’d seen him. Policemen. Paramedics.
“Have you seen a photographer? About this tall, curly hair, red sweater.” She had asked, desperately. “His name is Michael.”
Nobody had seen him.
At some point the sun started to go down and Y/N sat down on the crosswalk. Her heart was racing on her chest and her mind had a million thoughts rushing through. All about Michael.
“There you are!” A familiar voice rang through her ears, which broke her train thoughts.
Y/N looked up and saw Bill.
She let out a shaky breath and got up, throwing her arms around him.
“Have you seen—
“No, kiddo.” He answered before she finished. He pulled away from the hug, but kept and arm over her shoulder, starting to lead the way. “I’m sure Mike’s okay.” He nodded down at her. “Now let’s get you home, okay?” He ran his hand over her arm, trying to warm her up.
But Y/N didn’t want to go home. She wanted Michael.
🕸️ྀི
The drive was quiet. Y/N kept looking out of the window, hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of the face she was looking out for.
Bill kept gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual, guilt starting to eat him away. ‘If only Michael would tell her…’ He kept thinking.
When they reached her house, Bill made sure she was alright before leaving. Y/N assured him and he left after some insistence.
An hour passed. Almost two, now. Y/N felt as if she could feel every second passing.
She sat on the couch with a comforter draped over her shoulders, her eyes fixed on the static dancing across the television screen.
Shock had a funny way of delaying itself.
At the time, she’d been too busy looking for Michael to process what had almost happened. But now, in the silence of her apartment, it finally caught up with her.
She could’ve died today.
The realization settled somewhere deep inside her, quiet but suffocating. Life wasn’t something you could plan or bargain with. Sometimes it changed in the space of a heartbeat.
Y/N started to reach for the remote, needing to distract her mind, when she noticed her hands were shaking. She clasped them together took them to her lips, blowing hot air at it. The remained in that position for a few seconds.
A soft knock on her window snapped her out of her thoughts. She frowned and turned slowly toward her fire escape.
“Oh my god.” She mumbled under her breath, the comforter slipping from her shoulders as she scrambled off the couch, nearly tripping over it in her rush to reach the window.
Michael stood outside, one shoulder slumped against the brick wall, barely keeping himself upright. His curls were damp and disheveled, one eye already beginning to swell beneath a bruise. His split lip curled into a small, sheepish smile the moment their eyes met.
Y/N’s hands trembled badly as she struggled to open the window, and when she finally she fell angry for about two seconds as she stared at him. How dare he disappear on her like that?
“You—” But then, at the sight of a bruised eye, upper lip split with dried blood over it and his torn maroon sweater, the anger went away as quickly as it came.
She opened her arms.
Michael let out the smallest breath of relief before collapsing into her. The impact nearly knocked Y/N off balance, her feet stumbling backwards as she wrapped both arms around Michael tightly.
She held him as though letting go might make him disappear again and guided them back to the couch. He dropped onto it with a groan and pulled her to him, holding her closer and burying his face on her shoulder
“You have no idea how happy I am that you’re okay.” She mumbled, her voice muffled by his arm as he held her. “I thought…” Her voice broke and she stopped mid sentence.
Michael felt awful. His eyes fluttered shut. “I’m here,” He whispered. “I’m here, ma.” He placed a kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter. “You’re okay.” He whispered. Another kiss. “I’m right here with you.” He kissed her forehead one more time, his eyes getting glossy again.
Y/N sniffled and leaned back to look at him, taking in the sight of her bruised boyfriend. She shook her head faintly and cupped his cheeks gently, careful not to touch the bloody mess. She examined his face for a second longer before closing the gap between them with a kiss.
Michael kissed her back immediately. Relief washed over him so completely he almost melted into her. He deepened the kiss just enough to linger, letting out a quiet breath he had been holding all day long against her lips.
She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay.
“You scared me, Mike” Y/N admitted when they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other’s. She pulled further away after she didn’t get an reply from him. “I looked everywhere for you.”
Michael felt his blood running cold. He froze.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was?”
Silence. His mouth parted, but the answer never came.
Silence settled heavily between them.
Y/N searched his face for something. An explanation. An excuse. A reassurance. Anything. Instead, all she found were tired brown eyes that looked just as shaken as she felt.
She let out a humorless laugh, blinking back fresh tears.
“That’s it?”
The hurt in her voice cut deeper than any bruise he’d earned that day.
But Michael didn’t know what to say. He only felt his heart beating on his chest and his mind racing at the possibilities of what could’ve happened on that day. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms. The terror in her voice when she’d thanked him. The way she’d walked away searching for him while he’d stood there unable to tell her she had already found him.
Every apology he wanted to give died behind his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” He whispered at last.
She let out a sigh and placed a hand on his chin, gently turning his face toward the light so she could inspect his injuries. Michael let her.
“Come.” She said quietly, getting up from the couch and making her way to the bathroom where her first aid kit was. He obeyed immediately and followed after, groaning in pain as he got up.
Michael set on the sink, Y/N standing between his spread knees with a wet cloth as she cleaned his face. He winced and hissed through his teeth at the contact with his busted lip.
Y/N didn’t apologize. As he stared at her mending him up he thought she looked upset. She had every right to be.
He kept observing her every tiny movement. The way she furrowed her brows when she was on edge. How she bit her lip in concentration, the same way she did whenever she was writing.
Michael turned his face and placed a small kiss on the inside of her wrist. “I love you.” He murmured, quietly.
His lips lingered there for a second before he looked back up at her through impossibly large brown eyes.
“Keep still.”
“Sorry.”
Five seconds later he kissed her nuckles.
“Mike,”
“Sorry. I’ll behave.”
He didn’t.
Y/N let out an exasperated sigh that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh as he placed another kiss on her wrist.
“Well, you’re impossible, but I’m done with your face.” She stated while peeling the last adhesive strip from its packaging and smoothing it carefully over the cut on his cheek. She stated at him for a few moments before locking eyes with his injured arm. She could see a bloodstain forming at the sleeve of his sweater.
“Let’s see…” She lifted the sleeve and tilted her head in confusion. Her fingertips gently hovered over the skin around the injury, a strange look on her face. “Huh…” Something about it tugged at the back of her mind. She couldn’t place her finger on what it was, though.
A weird wound rested bloody on his bicep. It wasn’t a scrape, no. A perfect clean line sliced across his upper arm. She brushed her thumb over it gently, still concentrated.
Michael watched her, his eyes traveling from the wound to her a couple of times. “What?” He asked casually.
Y/N looked up. “Where did you get this?”
'Why is she such a journalist?’ Michael pleaded on his mind.
“I d-don’t know.” He shrugged—which made him wince instantly. “I probably bumbled into something in all that mess,” He forced a laugh. “Didn’t even noticed.”
Y/N kept staring at the wound.
Michael reached out and cupping her cheek, which finally stirred her attention back. “I don’t remember, baby.” He let out another nervous laugh. “D-did the beam hit you?” He tried to deflect.
Y/N’s eyes turned to him, a small crease forming between her brows. She blinked. “What beam?”
Michael’s hand slipped from her cheeks. “You said—”
“I didn’t say anything about a beam.” She cut him off. Michael felt his mouth getting dry. “I only said the building colapsed.” She pointed out. Not accusing, just… curious.
Michael felt his heart pounding loud enough that he could heart it. So loud even Y/N could probably hear it
‘You absolute idiot!’ Michael cursed himself internally.
“Bill!” He blurted out the first lame explanation that came into his mind. “Bill told me.” Y/N just stared, looking unconvinced. “He called and I— you know.” He nodded. “Just to make sure everything was alright.”
Y/N felt her mind racing everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Her eyes traveled back to the wound on the left arm. Then to his bruised right eye.
She definitely wasn’t convinced. But she wasn’t convinced he was lying, either. Something tugged at the edge of her memory.
Spider-Man clutching his left arm.
A streak of red blood against the deep blue of his suit.
The image flashed through her mind before disappearing just as quickly.
Nothing clicked fully on her mind. Just… something.
Michael could practically see the wheels turning beginning to turn on her head. His stomach twisted.
He reached for her hand again, pressing another absentminded kiss to her knuckles. “I love you, mama.”
Y/N didn’t answer. She simply kept looking at him.
And slowly, she lifted a hand to the nape of his neck, her fingers absentmindedly combing through his curls as her eyes searched his face for something.
waking your boyfriend michael up after hearing a noise that startles you in the middle of the night😭
You were currently annoyed—it was 3am and something was tapping at the window and your beloved boyfriend was fast asleep completely unbothered by the sounds and that enraged you—how could he just sleep so peacefully?
You huff, getting up deciding to check for yourself. Feet lightly tapping as you tighten your pink silky robe around your waist. You hardly make it out of the room before the sounds start up again.
Chitter—Tap!
“Oh my god!” You yelp immediately running back towards the bed where Michael slowly stirs up. You jump into his arms immediately. “Michael! Michael, Michael wake up!” You shake him and he sits up, hand flying to your waist as you grip him for comfort. “Baby what time is it?” He questions, “it’s—that doesn’t matter I think someone is trying to break in!”
He sits up immediately, “no one is trying to break in I can promise you that.” he says, a bit annoyed you woke him up from his sleep and he turns around. “Michael.” You urge again, shaking him harder so he didn’t fall back asleep. “Baby.” He responds. “Please check?” He couldn’t resist your begging and what sounded like genuine fear so with a heavy sigh he stands up.
You follow close behind him as he tiptoes out the room and towards the front door, the first thing he does is look out the hole of the door before swinging it wide open, the cool air hitting the both of your faces. He steps outside and you follow, except you stay closer by the front door.
Hiss—Tap!
You see no Michael, you start playing with the hem of your robe, growing nervous by the second, once you notice how long he’s taking to return you bite your lip and clench your fist as you step out into the breezy night, following the sound.
“Boo!” He pops out and you let out a shrill. “Michael!” You shove his shoulder. “You ass.” Your lip trembles. “Did you see what it was?” He nods, “It was a raccoon, baby, can we go back to bed now?” He ushers grabbing your hand and leading you back to the bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief. A raccoon..you almost laugh at the fact.
He drapes the blanket over you both and switches the lamp off. “Wait.” You murmur, he softly hums waiting for you to continue. “I want to go to sleep first—don’t go to sleep until I’m sleep.” You say against his chest and he traces invisible shapes against your back.
“Your wish is my command, mama.” He placed a kiss on your forehead.
From time to time you call out his name to make sure he’s still awake and he always responds with a soft hum or a ‘still awake, baby’ along with a ‘mhm’ or a kiss on the forehead.
guys literally there’s a raccoon that’s terrorizing me rn EVERY NIGHT at exactly 4am im mad as hell!!!😭 also I’m thinking about making a tag list sooo let me know if you want to be tagged !!
━ SUMMARY: You and michael spend some quality time together while he works late in the studio
━ CONTENT: fluff, smiley giggly michael, lovey dovey established relationship, not smut but it gets just a little saucy at the end, a brief make out sesh, mentions of dry humping if you squint, was picturing bad era michael when i wrote this but feel free to choose your fighter
━ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Alrighttt the Michael biopic has me revisiting my decade long hyper fixation. That’s right!! we’re writing some mj fanfiction because I have no shame!! This little drabble came to me in a dream so I had to write it out lol hope you enjoy
You shut the book in your hands, gently setting it down in your lap. The words on the weathered pages started to lose their meaning as you finally gave up on reading.
Repetitive melodies and the quiet murmuring of lyrics from the man sitting a few feet away made it nearly impossible to focus.
He had assured you it wouldn’t be too loud in the studio tonight as he practically begged you to come sit with him while he worked on new music.
Michael made a habit of it— asking you to join him for brainstorming sessions. He once teased that you were his greatest muse.
He was extremely private, never directly involving you in his writing or recording process. Most of the time you would simply sit in the room with him while he worked. You’d thumb through a book and let the incomplete tracks and rhythmic tune of his voice act as background music to your reading.
Tonight was no different. He was focused on the notebook in front of him; sticky notes and scribbles littered the pages. The same melody filled the air over and over again as he hummed along with different words, each one acting as a piece to the never ending puzzle of his next album.
The weight of your book sunk into your lap as you let your back rest against the cushion behind you. Your lids felt heavy and your mind was foggy with sleep as you began dozing off.
“Sleepyhead.”
The familiar voice carried to your side of the room, lulling you out of your slumber before you could completely drift off.
You opened your eyes just enough to see Michael turned around in his chair, facing you with a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
“Well forgive me, I didn’t realize you’d be working well into the early morning hours when you invited me to tag along.” Your sarcasm only made his grin widen.
He watched you for a minute, a small giggle fighting its way past his lips.
“C’mere” He motioned you over to him with a slight tilt of his head toward his notebook.
“I need your opinion on something.”
His voice was soft against the quiet of the room, and a smile still stained his lips as he turned back around to face the array of sticky notes plastered on the surface in front of him.
You stretched from the couch, closing the distance between you and Michael in sleepy strides.
You stood next to him, following his gaze to the words written on the notebook below.
He sat in his chair, fingers tracing the lines of lyrics in front of him.
“Which do you like better?”
Without even looking at you, he began playing the unfinished track that you’d been hearing all night.
You listened to his voice as he sang the first string of lyrics written in his notebook, watching as the written words flowed so effortlessly off the paper and into the room to the tune of his voice.
He played it twice, each time singing a different set of lyrics, both similar yet somehow entirely different.
You leaned down, peering at the two different options written on the page, Michael still humming softly next to you.
As you studied them, you felt the warmth of his palm rest at the base of your spine.
Michael was no stranger to physical touch— not with you.
He was obsessed with having his hands on you, even in the most innocent ways.
He was constantly reaching for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his; always wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer.
“I think I like the first one.” Your stare was still fixed on the notebook below, as your body angled further over his.
“It feels right.” Your mind was still sleepy as you gave your final verdict.
The room fell silent for just a few seconds, and you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your lower back— tender and soothing.
“It feels right.” His voice was a delicate chuckle as he repeated your words into the nearly empty room.
“First one it is.” His words still held a subtle giggle.
With one hand on your back, the other reached for a pen as he wrote a few more words in his notebook.
He looked up at you, admiration in his gaze and that same sweet grin on his lips, “Thank you.”
His hushed words were simple, yet laced with an abundance of gratitude and love.
The gentle devotion in his voice and the careful touch of his fingertips along your spine sent you leaning down further as you placed the softest kiss on his cheek.
“Anything for you.” Your response met him with the same adoration.
You lingered like that, staring at one another. Smitten smiles nestled into your cheekbones, faces only inches a part.
“Yeah, you mean that?”
Michael’s tone shifted ever so slightly. There was a certain playfulness in the way he spoke; the question tucked behind a veil of mischief.
You loved this side of him; when his quiet, gentle demeanor was replaced with something more light hearted and whimsical.
You murmured a quiet, “mhmm” nodding your head and leaning in even closer, this time just barely pressing your lips against his.
It was a quick, gentle kiss, but it was enough to cause Michael’s hand that was once at your back to snake around your body, lightly grabbing your waist and pulling you against him.
Your body responded to his touch, sinking down into his lap, your legs straddling his and your hands cupping his jaw.
This time the kiss shared between you was much deeper, and it was impossible to miss the way he smiled ever so slightly against your lips.
His hands gripped your waist pulling you completely against him. Your lips moved in harmony; a whirlwind of hunger and affection as you melted further into his touch.
You began trailing kisses toward his jaw, under his ear, down his neck…
Each touch of your lips on his skin was determined and methodical— your actions ruminating in the passion radiating between you.
Soft hums fell from his lips as his fingertips tightened at your waist, fighting the urge to guide your hips against his.
You continued peppering kisses to his skin
down
down
down—
Your mouth was dangerously close to his collar bone when you felt one of his hands loosen from your hip.
He was reaching behind you, grabbing the pen from beside his notebook and jotting something down on one of the ink filled pages while your lips were busy on his neck.
“michael…” you sighed in defeat as your face fell into his shoulder.
“Hold on, hold on,” his words were a breathless hush as they spilled from his lips.
You buried your head deeper into the crook of his neck, your giggle muffled against his skin.
You sat there for a moment soaking in the warmth of his chest against yours. Letting him scrawl out whatever idea just came to him.
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Summary: See what happens when 2 exes bump into each other after 3 years at Wimbledon
WC: 1.2k I think
Warnings: Exes to lovers, these fools broke up over BS, they get back together, allusion to her finna get broken through that mattress, not an OC his nickname for her is just cherry
Note: Calling all agents, another fic has been posted. I know it's late, but like yall saw my man again take it easy because 🩴 I don’t play…
Your close friend Tiffany asked if you wanted to go to the Wimbledon match with her today, and your answer was an automatic yes. You would be a fool not to go. You had a plan to look your absolute best, get some content to post, watch a match, and maybe, just maybe, meet a man or two. Bumping into your ex was not on your damn bingo sheet. So imagine your surprise when you're walking with Tiffany, looking to your right, and there he is, looking the way he does. Finally making eye contact with you, he stops his conversation, excusing himself to the person he was talking to, making his way over to you.
Tiffany starts slapping you on the shoulder: “ Girrrll, your man is coming over here, and he looks good”. Straightening out your clothes in a hurried fashion, you turn to her: “ First, he is not my man and has not been in 3 years, and second, I am not worried about him at all. Now, how do I look?”
Hearing someone clear their throat, pausing in your bickering, you see your ex- fiance standing there in front of you with his hands in his pockets. “Wow, Cherry, you look just wow,” folding your arms. “Jaafar, you look quite handsome yourself”. Nodding his head, he takes a glance around, then back to you, “Yeah, it's been a while since we've seen each other”. “Yeah, Jaafar, that’s what happens when two people break off an engagement”. He sighs, messing with his shades.
Sighing, “ Jaafar, listen: what we had was fun, but it’s over; we’re not together anymore for a reason,” going to walk away but gently grabs her wrist. Looking over at Tiffany, “Could you give us a few minutes?” She looks at you: “Scream if you have to, and I’ll cut him; I don't care how big his booty is,” and you stare at her with your head tilted. “Tif- yeah, it's fine, just go.” She walks away .
“ Listen cherry I miss you-” cutting him off, “ Jaafar, I don't want to hear that, dude”. Gently grabbing both of her wrists, “Woman, please, will you just listen to me for once? This is why we split”
“No, we split sir, because we just didn’t work”. “See, I don’t believe that these past three years of my life have been miserable without you, baby. I miss my woman.”
Removing his hands from around your wrist, “Okay, we can talk after, just not right now,” putting a hand on his shoulder and letting it trail down, you turn to leave.
It’s been about 45 minutes since your conversation with your ex-fiancé. It was not you and Tiffany walking to your seats. “ So girly, what did he say? Let me know,” rolling your eyes. “ He wants to get back together”. Stopping and staring at you “ and what the hell is wrong with that”. Staring at her, you throw your hands in the air: “Everything, Tiff, you were there when we broke up, so why would we do that again?” Sucking her teeth she side eyes you “ I’ll tell you something becuase I love you and I understand that was a rough breakup for yall but that was also a bullshit ass breakup yall negros were being immature.” Walking the aisle to your seats you pause in disbelief “no way in hell. I know you fucking lying” Tiffany bumps into your back “ what girl im trying to sit down” attempting to look around you.
Jaafar looks up at you from his seat, now smirking, “Well, isn’t this just fate for us, Cherry?” Sitting down in the seat next to him, you heard Tiffany cackling in your ear. With a raised eyebrow and a quirked lip, you point a finger at him, shake your head, and proceed to turn away.
“Nope, I said talk after, so we’re talking after”. He rests his left arm around the back of your seat and looks at you: “ I think this is the perfect time- I really did miss you, mama; we- no, I should’ve fought more to keep you”. You go to speak, but you're cut off, hearing everything begin, you put your hand on his thigh, patting it.
The point that was in play is now over you and jaafar were itching to continue the conversation from earlier. You lean over to whisper, “Come on, let's go talk”. Walking without waiting for him to follow, because the way it was looking, you had a feeling you were getting your man back. He was single and begging for you, and you missed him, so yeah, you’re getting him back. Checking your mini mirror to make sure you still looked good, you didn't hear him walk up behind you.
“Cherry,” you gasp, “ Jaaf yeah, umm.” “I can't sit here and lie and say I haven't missed you as well, but I don't want to be how we were when we broke up,” putting your hands on your face, laughing.
“For three years straight..” You inhaled deeply before letting it out slowly. “I pretended not to think or be bothered by not having you anymore, but you’re right, I can’t do it anymore”.
You’re not paying attention, pouring your heart out before you feel a pair of pillowy lips against yours. You both stand there for a moment, reconnecting through the intimacy of kissing, pouring your longing from the past years into each other. You separate to catch air and laugh as you wipe his bottom lip. His hands are holding your face, and yours are holding onto his neck. “You know, if you wanted me to shush forehead, you could have just said that.”
He laughs, “Mama, you should be the last person to speak on foreheads.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever mr.dumptruck”. He stares at you: “Too far, no butt jokes”. You laugh, letting go of him reaching for your purse to grab your phone. Putting up a finger to signal one minute to him as he looks confused, you take your phone and start typing. “So we’re really trying this thing over again?”
He nods, “Yeah, we are, and we’re going to be mature and communicate and not run at the first sign because I can't imagine life with anyone else”.
“Well, in that case, you should check your messages.” Walking backwards, you wave your phone towards him. “Why ,what did you send me?” he looks at his phone. “You sent an address”. With your back now facing him, you call over your shoulder, “It’s my hotel address, and if you're not there in the next 30 minutes, I’ll definitely already be started before you ”. Jaafar grabs his keys and runs to the valet area to beat you to the hotel. Looking down at the text you sent to his phone, cheesing because he got his woman back, and this time he wasn't letting her go.
Cherry Pie💋: 423 Stewart Lane. See you soon.
Outer Galaxy Space Agents
Tags- @mamasturns @mamasturn @swavydadon @niyahctrl @neighbourscat @melaninjoys @darkseidex @mouthfullofrocki @moodymp4 @multifandomposts-blog @callmeoncette @cherrishkissed @faiology @angelfacediary @esioleren @allth3stars @sintizc @yourleogf @narratedillusions @alohaluz @bawdylanguageee @prettyangeliczz @maczken @aristoleyaferrarii (let me know if anyone wants to be removed)
And please don’t ever use my words as the law when it comes to situations like the one we just had. I’ve said it before but I’m not Black American. I cannot fully speak for them. I can only speak UP for them when I believe I’m qualified enough to. Their voices need to be amplified more than mine when issues around their culture and language are being addressed. As much as I am black, I do not share the same lived experiences as BAs. So please, listen to Black American voices.
your post was so performative like you said you’re not even a black american who cares can y’all stop drama farming everything i swear this is why mjtwt and mjtumblr are dying y’all are always making something out of nothing
News flash. I don’t have to be BA to care about my brothers and sisters across the pond. ‘Performative’ do you know what that means? I gained nothing from my post. Exit left. Amen
And if you think digital blackface is nothing then baby you gotta be the dullest star in the sky.
Synopsis: Michael kept his word about seeing you again. Things take a soft turn and you spend a quiet night with him. ────❥ Prev part
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: Fluff and a touch of angst
Note: I'm taking a little break from here. I have assignment and a new job so I need more time off the site. I'm making this a mini series so I hope you like it. Thank you for 1k followers! I love each and every one of you. Thank you so much. Bye for now.
You spent the weekend working on new tracks for your upcoming album, writing and rewriting lyrics to a song you’ve been stuck on for the past month. Your eyes strained as you fiddled with the home tape recorder you used for demos, laser-focused on finding the best rhyme scheme for the second verse.
Two months had gone by since the award show. Two months since Michael Jackson stared at you intensely as you performed. Two months since he indirectly promised to visit.
‘I’ll come by and get it another time.’
You never stopped thinking about it; the way his eyes never left yours, the way he admired your work and the way his cologne hugged you in the cool LA night when you both stood near the parking lot away from wandering eyes.
Kyle noticed you sniffing the collar of Mike’s jacket as the car drove off that night. He snickered to himself every time you pressed it to your nose and inhaled deeply.
“Oh, you’re gone.” Kyle laughed, running a hand through his hair.
“Shut up, I’m not.” You dropped Michael’s jacket on your lap and crossed your arms defiantly, but you knew he was right.
You were absolutely gone. Utterly gone.
Your doorbell rang, snapping you out of thought in your silent home. 8pm. Who could that possibly be?
You stood up from the carpet, striding barefoot on the cool tiles. When you reached the door, you looked through the peephole and your heart hammered.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god!” You squealed and ran away from the door, hopping around the open space between your kitchen and living room to get as much excitement out of your system.
The doorbell rang again, its sound echoing softly through the house. You finally got a grip over yourself, hands flattening your silk dress and then your hair before tiptoeing to the door. When you opened it, Michael stood on the other side in black pants, loafers and a jacket so unmistakably him. He looks gorgeous, eyes shimmering from the light inside your home and hair cascading over his shoulder so effortlessly it felt like an insult to your barely laid lace front.
“Hi.” Michael broke the silence after a beat, shifting on his feet when he noticed you staring at the bouquet in his hands. “I hope I’m not intruding.”
You shook your head frantically, stepping aside to let him in before closing and locking the door. He handed you the bouquet of deep red roses and took his loafers off as he followed you to the living room. “No, not at all.”
Michael’s gaze scanned the cream carpet, noticing the open notebook and pen discarded on the coffee table and the glass of red wine almost empty a few inches away from it.
“How have you been?” He asked sheepishly as he took a seat on the couch, tilting his head to watch you fill up a vase and plop the flowers in it.
You rounded the kitchen island and sat on the floor by the notebook, feeling more comfortable on the carpet than on the couch. “Busy.”
“Yeah? With what?” Michael instinctively shifted to the floor too, sitting adjacent to you by the coffee table.
Your breath hitched quietly as the closeness, that unmistakable feeling in your stomach, bubbled warmly. Get it together, woman.
“I’m uh…I’m writing a song for my new album.” You explained, tapping a finger on the notebook.
The page sat blank, waiting patiently to be filled with a new verse for the track. A couple of ink dots scattered over the margins from you poking the page with your black pen — a habit you’ve had since you could remember. Michael hummed in response when he gently pulled the notebook towards him.
“’Acknowledge Me’?” He read the title, skimming through a few lines before looking up at you with curious but cautious eyes.
“Yeah,” You giggled awkwardly, making short eye contact with him.
You watched him read the first two verses, seemingly dissecting each line with furrowed brows. The room fell quiet, a hushed buzz of your refrigerator filling the quiet space between you two.
“Who’s this about?” The question came out more rushed than he wanted it. “I mean—if you don't mind me asking.”
You huffed out a soft laugh and straightened your posture, eyes darting to the kitchen before finding his. “My ex-boyfriend…”
Michael blinked a few times, each one slow and controlled. He read over the verse again, crossing one leg over the other.
“This is good stuff.” Michael complimented your work. His eyes lit up when he noticed your smile. “You’re really innovative, you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, not a lot of women aren’t this open in their music right now,” Michael responds right away, his tone passionate and endearing. “I hardly hear women cuss niggas out like that on a track. Not even I can do that.”
“Dirty Diana.” You quipped.
Michael’s eyes popped out for a split second before they relaxed and chuckled. “That’s not the same.”
“You cussed her out in the nicest way possible.” You laughed, standing up to grab a wine glass and a half-empty bottle of wine. The cork opened with a pop, rolling on the kitchen island as burgundy liquid poured into the glass you held.
“It’s about groupies.” Michael corrected you, his gaze still fixed on the notebook. You made your way back to the carpet and handed the drink to him.
“Right…and these groupies are coincidentally named ‘Diana’.” You raise your brow, sipping from your own glass.
Michael took a sip from his, peaking at you over the rim with mischievous eyes. It was a pretty stupid, really. He doubts anyone with more than two functioning brain cells believed him when he told the press that ‘Dirty Diana’ was about groupies.
“Ok, fine,” Michael laughed, gently setting the glass down on a coaster, “It is about her, but I didn’t get to say everything I wanted. Quincy made me ‘water it down’ out of fear of public backlash.”
“Fuck public backlash.” Your eyes rolled, and you leaned forward. Michael’s face seemingly faltered for a moment. “You okay?”
He brought the glass to his lips again but didn’t drink. The room fell silent, not tense but definitely shifted. The air between you no longer felt casual. Michael’s shoulders stiffened, and he looked away. You fiddled with the carpet fluff beside your leg, waiting for him to break the quiet.
“Can you promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to say?” His voice was smaller now, his humorous demeanour replaced with vulnerability.
“Of course.” You nodded immediately, placing one hand on the coffee table between you.
Michael inhaled before he spoke. He flashed you a weak smile. “I wanted to be more specific in the track. I mean, it is about Diana Ross.” He shrugged.
“How much more specific?” You pried gently, not pushing too hard for information he didn’t want to disclose.
“About everything.” He started. “Her lies, how she used me, how she manipulated me, how much time I wasted waiting for her, all for it to mean nothing because she got married behind my back.”
“You—” Your voice cracked, taken aback. You smoothed your hair down in shock, closing your eyes to get your thoughts together. “You waited for her?”
“Yeah. Stupid ain’t it?” A laugh escaped him, sheepish and self-loathing.
You shook your head to disagree, scrunching the carpet to calm yourself down.
“That bi—lady made you wait for her?”
“Yeah.” Michael cringed, gulping a huge sip of wine.
“Wow, that's…wow.” You exhaled and did the same, alcohol running down your throat. You knew a thing or two about their history, maybe not everything, but enough to make you distrustful of her intentions whenever you shared the same rooms.
“I saw her watching your performance that night we met. Her face was all—” He mimicked her envious expression.
“What a bitch—” You covered your mouth. Michael chuckled, shoulders easing up at your eventual slip-up.
“No, you’re right. She is a bitch. I wanted to flat-out call her that in the song, but—”
“Media outrage, right.” You finished his sentence, pouring another glass of wine for you both.
“But you…” Michael taps a finger over your now-closed notebook. “You don’t care, do you?”
“Damn straight I don’t!” You scoff, rolling your eyes obnoxiously with a giggle. Michael laughed too, harder this time. His joy echoed through the house, his shoulders shaking with every sound he made.
“Oh Lord, you’re hilarious.” He wipes a tear from under his eye, taking another sip of wine. “Your label’s ok with it?”
“They gave me creative freedom. Have you heard my other songs? I suffered the press with ‘Hot Pink’. ‘Planet Her’ was better received—I suppose it’s because it sounded more in line with what’s mainstream, but I didn’t like it.”
“You didn’t? You won a Grammy for it, though.” Michael tilted his head, eyes focused on you.
God, he’s beautiful—
“Uh, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I liked it.”You blinked back into focus. “I’m a rapper. I want to make rap music, not pop junk with generic lyrics and melodies.”
“You want to push barriers—stand out.”
“Yes, exactly! Like you!” You blurted.
Michael's eyes widened again, like your words hit a soft spot in his heart. He rubbed his neck, pursing his lips to hide the smile forcing itself onto his face. You felt your cheeks heat up, a tingling sensation washing over your neck as you both looked at each other.
He looked down at your feet, then his own, noticing how you somehow mimicked each other’s posture while talking. You looked at him, gaze focused on the one curl that fell right between his beautiful brown eyes. Your clock ticked in the background, gently guiding your attention to it.
10:3Opm.
“You should probably get going.” You whispered, as if saying it stung. You didn’t want him to leave, of course not. There’s so much more you wanted to talk about.
Michael looked at the clock as well, his expression going solemn. He didn’t want to leave either. The thought of being alone right now felt like a curse, especially after being so vulnerable with you.
“Or…” You began. His expression immediately softened with quiet anticipation of what you’ll say next. “I have an extra room if…if you wanna stay the night.”
“Really?” Michael blinked, eyes glistening as if he were about to cry. “I don't want to overstay.”
You placed your hand on his lap, warm palm against his toned leg. “Stay.”
Michael’s muscles stiffened for a second before easing up under your hold. His hand slowly covered yours, large and slightly calloused. He turned your hand over and squeezed it with a grateful grin.
The moment felt like it lasted a lifetime; Michael holding your hand as if you meant the world to him, as if your offer was the best thing anyone had ever given him.
“Thank you,” Michael whispered, hand still wrapped around yours. He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“C’mon. I’ll show you the room.” You stood up slowly, keeping your fingers intertwined. You weren’t sure why, but you knew he needed the physical contact.
“Ok.” He stood too, following behind you as you both walked upstairs. You felt his warmth behind you, protective but vulnerable. He breathed slowly as you passed one locked door before reaching the guest bedroom.
You stepped inside, turning on the lights to reveal a cosy earth-toned room. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room, a large headboard separating the bedroom from the bathroom. Michael’s hand on yours loosened, shoulders relaxing but with a raised brow.
“Yeah, I know it’s weirdly oriented,” you giggle, opening a cupboard to grab pyjamas big enough for him, “But the bed’s super comfortable, I sleep here sometimes rather than in my main bedroom.”
“All because of a bed?” He chuckled and took hold of the pyjamas, running his hands over the cotton fabric.
“Trust me, that thing…” You pointed to the bed, “…will have you knocked out in seconds.”
“We’ll see about that.” He laughed softly, motioning for the bathroom. You nodded and turned to leave, giving him privacy to change. Before you could close the door, he called out for you, voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah?” You tilted your head, body still facing the door.
“Sleep well, and…” he took a deep breath, biting his lower lip, “and thanks for letting me stay the night.”
You huffed out a little laugh, a soft smile on your face as you stepped out of the room. “Goodnight, Michael.”
summary: you're a curious scholar who desires information about the vampire outside of town. who would've thought it would've led to something like this?
content: MDNI, smut, vampiric themes, lonely vampire trope (i know), blood drinking, intimate porn w/ plot, oral (f!receiving), pinning, very very gothic environment but i love it
w/c: 3.1k
taglist | requested | masterlist
The rain tapped a steady rhythm against your bedroom window, a comforting pitter-patter as you continued another night of research.
Your desk was littered with open books, their pages filled with detailed illustrations of fangs and accounts of nocturnal beings. A half-finished cup of tea sat cooling next to a notebook filled with your own gruesome imagined theories and illustrations.
But this particular book you were reading — borrowed from the dusty back shelves of the town's tiny library — spoke of a being not just from myth, but one that supposedly resided just outside town.
The book called him "The Lord of Blackwood", a vampire of immense age and power, who had withdrawn from the world centuries ago. The description was vague, but it mentioned something about eyes that held the weight of eternity.
So, you decided to test the waters the next morning. Approaching an old woman who ran an antique shop, her knowledge of the town's history was as vast as you could dream of. You walked into the shop under the guise of 'shopping'.
She looks up from polishing a silver locket. "Can I help you, dear?"
"I was wondering if you knew anything about Blackwood Manor just outside of town? The history seems so fascinating."
Her friendly demeanor vanishes instantly, putting down the locket so sharply you were afraid she might've broken it.
"We don't ask questions like that here."
Over the next week, you ask others — the postman, the baker, the farmer on the edge of town — and their answers were always the same. A nervous glance, a hurried change of subject with intelligible mumbling, or a warning not to speak his name here.
But of course, you didn't listen. They knew you wouldn't. They even started planning a funeral in your name without your knowledge.
You decided to pack a small bag that weekend, full of a change of clothes, a lantern, a notebook, and some fruit. You take the old path leading out of town, the dirt road almost completely covered by long-term abandonment. The woods are dense and quiet, the canopy thick enough to block out most of the moonlight, and the air grows colder.
After an hour of aching steps, you push aside a final, low-hanging branch. And there it stood before you. A monolith of dark stone against the dark blue sky, all sharp angles and towering spires. It wasn't as ominous and scary-looking as you thought.
No light shone against the windows, and the path to the front door was overgrown with thorny vines that snagged your clothes as you pushed forward. The massive, iron-branded door looked like it hadn't been opened in forever.
You take a deep breath and raise your hand, your knuckles hesitating for just a second before connecting to the metal. The knock echoed into the silence behind the door, and for a long moment, there was nothing. You hoped you didn't walk all this way for nothing.
But then the door groaned inward on its own, the sound a deep, weary sigh. It hadn't been locked. You then pushed with all your might, the heavy door moving inch by agonizing inch until there was just enough space for you to slip through.
The air inside was still and cold, carrying the scent of old dust, dried herbs, and something metallic, maybe blood or iron.
The grand foyer was vast, and the moonlight from the open door sliced through the darkness. It fell across portraits in gilded frames — faces from centuries past; their eyes seemed to follow you as you descended into the castle. Your lantern aids your vision, glinting off a suit of armor as you pass by, a marble statue, then a collection of ancient-looking urns.
"Hello? I'm looking for the one they call... Michael?"
Your voice doesn't echo, but is swallowed by the immense silence. You take another few cautious steps forward, your heart beating loudly in your eardrums.
A shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness near the grand staircase. It was tall, impossibly so, and moved with a silence that was more unnerving than any kind of footstep. His voice is smooth as velvet, yet cold as it suddenly spoke from behind you. "You have a great deal of nerve coming here. Or a death wish. Which is it?"
You spin around quickly, the fire in your lantern highlighting his features, sharp and pale. You nearly drop the damn thing. "I was looking for you—"
"Why?" His voice sounded more like an order than a question as he took a step closer. You felt your blood run cold, and your voice trembled slightly.
"Because... the books. The stories. They couldn't all be wrong. I had to see for myself."
A faint, cold smile touches his lips. "See what? If the monster under the bed is real? You risk your life for a child's curiosity."
"Not exactly from a child's curiosity, but a scholar's. I've studied your kind, and I believe there's more to you than the stories of monsters."
He lets out a soft, humorless laugh that doesn't reach his eyes; his voice is full of mockery. "A scholar. How quaint. And what do your 'studies' tell you I am?" He circles you slowly, and the air grows colder with his proximity. He smelled faintly of wine and old wood, acquainted by faint ash.
You swallow hard as you try to keep your head upright, keeping eye contact as he passes by. "They tell me you value truth, given your own collections and studies. I thought maybe you'd appreciate someone who actually wants to learn, rather than just scream and run at the sight of you."
He stops his circling, now standing directly in front of you. "Appreciate? You think I crave the company of morals?"
"No, but I'd assume a life without interaction would be rather lonely." You try to shrug and laugh, but he continues to stare at you with an unreadable expression. Only continuing the conversation when you fixed your face. He reaches out to touch you, but gently taps at the cover of the notebook sticking out of your bag.
"Your book is full of little fairytales."
You lift your chin, "It's not a book of fairytales. It's full of records with history you left behind. I know you're not the mindless beasts people make you out to be."
"You think you can trace all my steps through history?"
"No, but I could with your firsthand account."
He turns and walks toward the grand staircase, his back to you. "Firsthand account?" He glances over his shoulder. "You want an interview with a vampire?" (haha get it?)
You stay in the same spot, but your voice elevates slightly. "I told you. I'm a scholar. I want to understand."
He turns around and moves back towards you. A slight, genuine smile — the first one you've seen — curves his lips. He stops an arm's length away, his head tilted. "Understanding is a dangerous thing to seek from you. Knowledge has a price."
"I'm willing to pay it."
The weeks turned into months, and your visits to Blackwood Manor became a nightly ritual. The intimidating foyer soon felt familiar, the shadows less threatening, and they were now clean from age and dust, thanks to you.
Michael's library became your home. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held books you were sure existed in places you couldn't bear to think of, and he would watch you — sometimes for hours — as you pored over ancient texts you could barely read yet.
He leaned against the bookshelf, using his nail to pick the human flesh from his teeth, clothes still slightly blood-stained from his hunting. But he did clean up the best that he could, out of respect for you. He didn't want to scare you away just yet.
"Your fascination with the Venetian plague is... odd."
"It's all the eyewitness accounts." You mutter, not looking up from the fragile pages. "I mean, you lived through it. What was it really like?"
"Messy. You humans are so terribly fragile."
"You were a human once. Weren't you?" The silence that followed your question was deafening, aside from the soft crackle of the grand fireplace.
He pushed off the bookshelf, his movements slower than usual.
He walked to the fireplace, staring into the flames before resting his back against the stone. "Yes. I was. A very, very long time ago." He paused for a moment, as if it was difficult to remember how life was before his transformation.
You closed the book fully in your lap, giving him your full attention. "Do you miss it?"
He lets out a short, sharp breath, almost a laugh. "The sickness, the fragility, the inevitable decay? No."
He pauses, his gaze now at the expensive rug beneath him. "But.. I do miss the sun. Cherishing the days well-lived. I used to get the best sleep.
And I do miss the family I had."
He pushed away from the mantle, turning to face you fully, but the vulnerability in his voice was now gone. "But don't romanticize it. What I am now," he gestures vaguely around the vast library. "This is freedom. Of a sort."
You stand up, taking a tentative step toward him. "Sounds lonely."
His eyes narrow, but there's no real anger to them. "Lonely is a human concept. I would say that we're patient."
"You've been patient for centuries. That's a long time to be alone."
"Who said I was alone?"
You give him a knowing look, your arms crossing over your chest, and he chuckles. "You ask a lot of questions under the ruse of a 'scholar'."
"You keep inviting me back. So you must not mind them too much."
A slow smile finally touches his lips. "I don't." He glances toward the tall library windows. "It's nearly dawn. You should stay. The spare room is yours, as always."
He turns and walks toward the door, his cape whispering against the cold stone floor. He pauses at the threshold for a moment, bidding you goodnight before the heavy door clicks shut.
The next few nights progressed this way. Your conversations linger later, the topics drifting from history to philosophy, and then to the small absurd details of your moral life that seem to fascinate him somehow.
Tonight, you find him not in the library, but in a solarium you'd never noticed before, full of meticulously preserved plants that should've died a long time ago. You never thought of him as having a green thumb. "A habit from another life," he says. Some routines were harder to shed than others, but it didn't make him any less admirable. You reach out to touch one of the leaves he was catering to, your fingers brushing against his as your thumb traces over the petal.
He doesn't pull his hand away; instead, he turns his hand, his cool fingers lightly tracing the line of your wrist. "Your pulse is fast. Even after all these months, are you still afraid of me?"
"No. Not afraid."
"Then what is it?"
His dark eyes hold yours, and you could feel your breath catch. You couldn't find the words to describe how you felt. Let alone a vampire. But you knew that wasn't how you saw him anymore. He wasn't dangerous, nor a monster. He's gentle, kind, more than any human could be.
He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I can hear it, you know. The shift in your heartbeat."
"Does it bother you, Michael?"
The space between you vanishes, and he closes the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that's so soft, it almost feels airy. His lips were curious against yours, a taste so sweet, you could easily fall addicted to the drug of him.
His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that contradicts his cold skin. His breath ghosts against your lips before deepening the kiss. His other hand slides to the small of your back, pressing you flush against the unyielding coolness of his body, which never seemed to warm against yours. He didn't mind your warmth, though. You felt like sunshine against his skin, inviting him with want and endless curiosity.
In a fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms, and the castle blurs for a moment as he carries you from the solarium through the corridors.
He lays you down upon the vast expanse of his bed, the black silk sheets slippery beneath you as they ground you from your slight dizziness. The room is lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the left side of his bedroom.
He kneels over, caging you in, his dark eyes burning with undeniable hunger and desire. A look both thrilling and terrifying.
"Are you sure you want this with me? Truly."
You reach up, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw, tucking stray strands of hair behind his ear. "I've never wanted anything more."
A low groan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to kiss you again, peppering soft kisses downward as his lips find the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath catches as he sucks on the dip of your collarbone. A soft moan escapes you as his mouth finds a sensitive spot against your sternum, your back arching off the silk sheets.
He pulls back slightly, his breathing unsteady — something you thought was impossible with him. And you could feel the tension coiled in his body. His fangs, which you've only seen in glimpses, are a subtle pressure against the skin of your stomach as he kisses his way lower.
His hands slide up your thighs, pushing the simple fabric of your dress higher, exposing you to the room's chilling air. He moves down your body with a reverence that steals your breath more than you thought. His lips brush against the inside of your thigh as your fingers tangle in the smooth sheets.
It seems like forever before his tongue dances on the fabric over your clit, clear with intention as you feel his fingers hesitantly pulling against the waistband over your panties.
You become breathless, your hips lifting in silent invitation. "Michael, you're teasing. Please."
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly, deliberately, slides them down your legs. The air feels sharp against your core, now soaked with arousal. He lowers his head again, his tongue tracing wet circles against your slit. The sensation was almost too much. You could feel his teeth as he suckled and kissed on your bundle of nerves, and his cold breath ghosts over you, making you shudder slightly.
You cry out as his slender tongue slowly fucks your entrance, tasting you with the focus of a connoisseur, each thrust and flick and kiss a slow, aching torture. A string of pleas falls from your lips as he groans against you, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.
His fingers join his mouth, a finger sliding inside you in a way that brings spots to your vision, the dual sensation overwhelming the heat building in your stomach. He looks up to watch your sweet reactions, his eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Is this what you thought would happen when you knocked on my door, scholar? To come apart on my tongue? Is this what you wanted?"
You can only manage a frantic nod, your hands fisting in his dark hair. "D-Don't stop."
His pace quickens, his tongue circling your clit relentlessly while his fingers curl inside you. Your orgasm washes over you unbearably fast, and you feel his fangs brush against your inner thigh, a sharp threat amidst the bliss. Your vision grows white, and your body trembles uncontrollably against the silk.
He gentles his movements, drawing out the last shudders of your release with a soft, lingering kiss over the same spot as your inner thigh.
He moves back up your body and hovers above you, his gaze dark as he brushes a damp curl from your forehead. His touch is tender as he kisses you, the taste of your orgasm still fresh on his tongue. His bulge presses against your thigh, so undeniably hard and prominent, even through his trousers.
You reach between you, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his pants.
He guides himself to your entrance once you free him, the tip of his dick a slick, hot pressure against you. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper as his slow thrust steals the air from your lungs. He stills, buried deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours. You couldn't contain the small pants falling from your lips; it felt like he was splitting you open, and he hadn't even moved yet.
He begins to move, each thrust a rolling movement that pulls your mouth agape, a silent scream as he kisses your cervix. His lips find your neck again, his tongue tracing the frantic pulse there. "You smell so sweet. Practically screaming for me, sweetheart."
You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him in absolute surrender, and it seemed like all of his control frayed at the edges, deteriorating with every moan against his ear.
Then a sharp, sudden pain of his fangs piercing your skin is eclipsed instantly by a wave of euphoria. It became a pleasure so intense it borders on pain, a dizzying rush that syncs perfectly with the fast rhythm of his hips. His mouth is sealed against your throat, a low, continuous moan vibrating through you as he drinks you in.
Your body instinctively jerks against him, your hands flying to his abdomen, but he captures your wrists, pinning them to your chest as he fucks you senseless.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Just relax and take what I give you."
The dual sensations of the intimate fullness of his dick moving within yours and the deep, pulling ecstasy of the bite bring you to your orgasm simultaneously. It is a silent, yet hot convulsion of pleasure, lasting longer than usual as he follows closely behind you.
He holds you there for a moment, his body draped over yours before letting your wrists go, lapping gently at the small wounds on your neck. You drift into an exhausted sleep as you wrap your arms around him, the taste of metal and dizziness on your tongue.
You wake to the soft kisses on your cheek, the curtains now closed as they concealed the grey light of pre-dawn light filtering slightly at the edges. His voice is a low murmur next to your ear, his arm a heavy weight across your waist. "Good morning. Or what passes for morning here."
"Did I pass out?"
A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest. "You did. I may have done too much."
You shift slightly, feeling a pleasant ache in your muscles and the faint mark on your neck. "It's okay. I don't mind. It's the price I'm willing to pay."
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i need to have a long day, come home to michael waiting for me on the edge of the bed, and watch me ramble while i do my night routine, admiring me ‘cause he loves his girlfriend. a little bit of making out before cuddling to sleep, i need that.
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after everything—the racism, prejudices, tabloids, endless attempts to tear him down—a black man who endured more scrutiny and cruelty than anyone ever should has a legacy that continues to speak for itself.
