I love that Jimmy Olsen is exactly the type of photographer Peter Parker pretends to be. Just bat-shit insane.
Whenever someone asks Peter how he took a picture he's like "Oh! I uh-, climmed a flagpole. Totally"
And very mortal, normal-human Jimmy is like "See, Clark, is not that weird"
I mean, look at this nutjob.
The world could be ending, lava on the streets and Jimmy would be out there photographing away. No powers, no sense of self preservation. Just khakis, a camera and a dream.
I like to imagine Peter meeting Jimmy and immediately being mortified about it.
Jimmy: –and so luckily I was able to take the picture before the building collapsed on me... Superman was super pissed at me but, photographer to photographer, it was totally worth it.
Peter: Right, no– See, this is actually my first time hearing how fucking insane that sounds. No wonder people at work look at me weird.
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Danny Fenton stormed into the Daily Bugle building like a man possessed, camera slung over his shoulder, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. His black T-shirt was on inside-out, his jeans had something suspiciously green on them (was that ectoplasm? Probably), and he looked two seconds away from spontaneous combustion. “I GOT THE SHOT!” he howled across the bullpen, startling at least three interns into dropping their coffees.
From behind a stack of papers that looked like it could topple and kill him at any moment, Peter Parker popped his head out like a whack-a-mole. His brown hair was tousled from stress and probable head scratching, and his sharp brown eyes narrowed like a cat spotting a laser pointer. “What shot?” he said, voice dripping with suspicion.
Danny slapped a photo onto the nearest desk, narrowly missing someone’s lunch. It was a pristine, perfectly lit shot of Phantom — that is, himself — battling some ugly sludge ghost over Times Square. Midair. Lighting perfect. The skyline behind him dramatic as hell. He looked like he belonged on a propaganda poster for ghost superheroes.
Peter’s nostrils flared.
J. Jonah Jameson himself, like a vulture sniffing out fresh blood, materialized from his office with the speed of a man half his age. “FENTON! MY BOY!” he bellowed, grabbing Danny’s shoulder with a grip that felt like being caught in a bear trap. “THIS is what I’m TALKING ABOUT! Parker, you see this? This is journalism!”
“I take great shots!” Peter barked defensively. “Better than this amateur!”
“You take shots of that masked menace Spider-Man standing still like a mall Easter Bunny!” Jameson roared. “Fenton here got the flying ghost punk throwing a goddamn ghost punch! Action! Drama! Fear! It’s what the public wants!”
Danny tried very hard not to preen like a smug cat. Peter looked like he wanted to throttle him with the camera strap.
Danny leaned over Peter’s shoulder with all the subtlety of a Mack truck. “You know,” he whispered, “maybe if your subject actually moved once in a while instead of just posing for you, you’d have better material.”
Peter gritted his teeth so hard Danny could practically hear them shattering. “Maybe if your subject wasn’t a literal glowing neon sign with no sense of stealth, your photos wouldn’t look like paparazzi shots from a concert.”
“Oh, is that why my shots sell and yours just gather dust in the bargain bin?” Danny chirped.
“Screw you,” Peter said sweetly.
“Boys!” Jameson barked. “Less flirting, more photos!”
Danny and Peter exchanged murderous glares, which lasted exactly until Jameson stomped away and slammed his office door so hard the windows rattled.
“I hope Phantom drops you off a building,” Peter muttered.
“I hope Spider-Man webs your face to a moving bus,” Danny hissed back.
Neither of them knew that later that night, Phantom and Spider-Man would be perching on a water tower together, eating street tacos and gossiping about the villains they’d fought that day.
“You’re kidding,” Phantom — aka Danny, in his ghost form, white hair glowing faintly under the moonlight — said, laughing so hard he nearly fell off the water tower. “Green Goblin threw a pumpkin bomb at you? Seriously?”
Spider-Man, legs dangling off the edge like a kid on a swing set, groaned into his mask. “It wasn’t even Halloween. I don’t even get thematic consistency. And he monologued for like twenty minutes about being the ‘spirit of mischief’ or some crap. Like, bro, get new material.”
Danny howled with laughter, clutching his stomach.
“And what about you, Casper?” Spider-Man teased, nudging him with an elbow. “You and that sludge monster. Heard it made Times Square look like a Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards slime zone.”
“It tried to eat a hot dog cart,” Danny said, still giggling. “I had to bribe it with a corn dog just to get it off the vendor.”
There was a long, comfortable silence as they sat there, munching on tacos, the city sprawling out beneath them.
“Hey,” Spider-Man said after a moment, “you ever feel like… weirdly lucky? Like… we’re the only sane people in this town?”
Danny snorted, accidentally inhaling some shredded lettuce. He coughed violently. “Oh, God, no. I’m the most unhinged person I know. You’re just enabling me.”
“Glad to be a bad influence,” Spider-Man said solemnly, bumping his shoulder.
They grinned at each other, the best of friends, utterly oblivious that by day they were mortal photographic enemies ready to commit homicide over who got the front page.
The next day, Peter and Danny both showed up to the Bugle at the exact same time, both slamming their best new action shots onto the desk with the kind of passive-aggressive force that cracked the laminate.
Jameson, sipping what smelled like pure battery acid from his coffee cup, squinted at both photos. One was Spider-Man in a perfect mid-swing action shot, muscles taut, city blurred behind him. The other was Phantom blasting a giant ghost in the face with a green energy blast, looking like an angel of vengeance with glowing eyes.
Jameson looked up at both of them. “I’m putting them both on the front page,” he said gruffly.
Danny and Peter stared at each other in horror.
“Joint credit,” Jameson added gleefully.
“WHAT?!” they shouted in perfect unison.
“I’M NOT SHARING A BYLINE WITH HIM!” Peter shrieked.
“HE STILL USES AUTOFOCUS!” Danny screamed.
“I’LL AUTOFOCUS YOUR FACE!”
“I’LL SHOVE A CORN DOG UP YOUR–”
“OUT!” Jameson roared. “OUT, BOTH OF YOU, BEFORE I THROW YOU OUT!”
They bickered all the way down the hall, accidentally knocking over a filing cabinet, a poor intern, and somehow setting a potted plant on fire.
Later that night, Phantom showed up to their usual rooftop hangout with two burritos and a soda.
“You will not believe the jackass I had to deal with today,” Danny said, dropping dramatically next to Spider-Man. “This punk at my job thinks he’s better than me just because he’s been there longer or whatever. I swear to God, if I wasn’t trying to maintain a secret identity–”
“Bro,” Spider-Man said sympathetically, handing him the soda. “I feel you. There’s this guy at my job too. Cocky little bastard. Thinks he’s so great because he got a few good shots of you.”
Danny nearly choked. “Of me?”
Spider-Man nodded. “Yeah. Just because you are a little flashy, everyone thinks it’s hard to get a decent shot of you. Like, no offense. All that brat needs to do is just stand there with a camera for five minutes and he’ll get praised by our boss.”
Danny felt personally attacked but chose to let it slide. “Sounds rough, man.”
Spider-Man peeled off a piece of his burrito. “Maybe we should swap workplaces. You go deal with my guy, I deal with yours. Mutual destruction.”
Danny smirked. “Tempting. But I don’t think I could survive two minutes without punching Parker in the face.”
Spider-Man nearly dropped his burrito. “Wait. Did you just say Parker?”
Danny froze. “Uh. No? Maybe? Shut up.”
Spider-Man leaned closer, suspicious. “Do you work with Peter Parker?”
“Do you?” Danny shot back.
They stared at each other.
“Wait,” Danny said slowly. “You know him?”
Spider-Man shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. I work…in the vicinity.”
Danny narrowed his eyes. “So you know he’s an annoying, smug, camera-hogging little–”
Spider-Man laughed nervously. “Haha, uh… yeah… he sucks…”
Danny glared at him, not buying it.
Spider-Man cleared his throat. “ANYWAY. Uh. You know what else sucks? Ghosts. Ghosts suck. No offense again.”
Danny laughed and threw a chip at him. “None taken, Webhead.”
Meanwhile, across town, Peter was already spiraling internally.
“Oh my God, my best ghost buddy is probably best friends with my biggest work rival.”
“Oh my God, my best ghost buddy IS my biggest work rival.”
“Oh my God, I am the problem.”
The true chaos didn’t erupt until the annual Bugle Staff Picnic.
Danny showed up late, sweating through his T-shirt, sunglasses perched on his nose, and a single bag of chips as his contribution. He was halfway through dodging Karen from Accounting’s attempt to set him up with her niece when he froze.
Peter Parker was across the lawn. Talking animatedly to someone. Gesturing. Laughing.
Laughing exactly like Spider-Man.
Danny’s soul left his body.
“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no, no, no.”
Peter turned. Their eyes met across the sea of coworkers.
Danny saw realization dawn in Peter’s eyes at the exact same time.
Both of them mouthed a silent “OH SHIT.”
Peter dropped his burger. Danny dropped his chips.
They sprinted toward each other at full speed. Everyone else thought it was some dramatic teenage romance moment and started cheering.
“What the hell!” Danny whispered-hissed as they collided behind a conveniently parked hot dog cart. “You’re Spider-Man?!?”
“What the hell!” Peter whispered-hissed back, grabbing Danny’s collar. “You’re Phantom?!?”
They stared at each other in horror.
And then, slowly, devilish grins spread across both their faces.
“You know,” Danny said thoughtfully, “we could use this.”
Peter leaned in conspiratorially. “Team up?”
“Ruin everyone’s lives?” Danny agreed.
“Front page domination,” Peter said.
“Partners in crime,” Danny added.
They shook on it, sealing a blood pact of chaos neither the Bugle nor New York City would ever recover from.
J. Jonah Jameson watched from his office window, sipping his coffee suspiciously.
Something told him he was about to have an aneurysm before the summer was over.
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 bumped 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.
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