issue #1: your friendly neighborhood
summary: Y/N has spent months writing about New York’s favorite masked hero. The only thing she doesn’t know is that every time Spider-Man disappears, her boyfriend is already on his way to her.
content: spider-man!michael jackson x reader. journalist!reader. au. fluff. pictured otw/thriller mj. fluff. proofread but there might be some mistakes.
NYC, 1981
“Look! Look! It’s Spider-Man!” A little boy’s voice echoed across the sidewalk, rapidly drawing the attention of everyone nearby. Conversations died mid-sentence. A businessman stopped checking his watch. A woman carrying grocery bags looked up so quickly she nearly dropped them.
Y/N had been on her way home, struggling with all the papers and files she had been carrying, when she stopped abruptly and followed the kid’s pointing finger toward the skyline.
‘There he is.’ She thought to herself.
A flash of blue and white swinging effortlessly between Manhattan’s buildings, disappearing behind one skyscraper only to reappear from another only a heartbeat later. Graceful and weightless. So smoothly it was almost criminal. Like New York City itself had decided gravity was optional for exactly one person.
A small grin appeared on Y/N’s face as her eyes caught the afternoon sun reflecting off the rhinestones scattered across the single glove Spider-Man wore over his right hand. Nobody knew why only one of his hands sparkled while the other remained hidden beneath the blue fabric of his suit. Rumors ranged from it being good luck to some elaborate superhero technology, but no explanation ever stuck.
It had simply become part of him, you know? The sparkly glove. Whenever the sunlight caught it just right, it flashed across the Manhattan skyline like a shooting star, announcing his arrival before anyone even laid eyes on him.
The crowd collectively gasped and pointed. Some waved. A few children jumped excitedly, convinced he could somehow see them from thirty stories above.
Nobody screamed hysterically anymore, not these days, no.
Spider-Man had become less of a mystery and more of a friendly neighborhood protector. Of course, nobody knew who he was. And nobody seemed particularly interested in ruining the mystery of his identity, There was an unspoken understanding throughout the city that some secrets were meant to stay secrets. And as long as he kept catching muggers before breakfast and dangling purse snatchers from traffic lights, new yorkers were perfectly happy minding their own business.
High above them, Spider-Man released one web and caught another.
“AOW!” His voice bounced between the buildings.
The little boy burst into laughter. “Oh, he so does that on purpose!” he exclaimed, delighted, pulling at his mother’s elbow for excitement. “Awo!” He mimed in his tiny voice.
Y/N couldn’t help smiling. “He’s such a dork,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head fondly at the familiar figure.
Spider-Man disappeared around another building, only the occasional glimpse of blue between the steel and glass letting the city know he was still somewhere overhead.
She kept watching until he vanished completely into the skyline. A sigh escaped her.
It had become a small routine at this point: whenever she happened to catch a glimpse of him, her day somehow got a little better.
Y/N wasn’t one of those people who collected newspaper clippings or claimed they’d spotted him every other Tuesday. She simply liked the comfort of knowing that somewhere above the city, someone was looking out for it. It made New York feel… safer, in a way.
“One of these days,” she muttered to herself again, adjusting the strap of her tote bag, “Michael will introduce us.”
Her boyfriend, Michael, somehow, possessed the worst timing of any human ever. Which was particularly ironic considering he worked as a photographer for the Daily Bugle.
You see, the two worked for the newspaper, Michael in photography and Y/N writing. Well, now she was starting to call herself 'spider-writer', since their boss and chief editor, J. Jonah Jameson had been making her write solely for one topic and one topic only: your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
Y/N was starting to get bored, to be honest. People always circled back to the same tedious questions — “WHO IS SPIDER-MAN?” or“HOW DID HE GET HIS POWERS?”. But Y/N had outgrown those wonders—now she had interests in things like why did New York trust him? What was his moral compass? Would he be there whenever needed? Why on earth did he war that bedazzled glove?
At least Jonah allowed her to get into those matters.
Michael, on the other hand, had photographed Spider-Man more than one time. He had sold front-page pictures of him and even claimed the guy was ‘actually really nice’. Meanwhile, Y/N had yet to see Spider-Man do anything more exciting than swing between buildings yelling nonsensical little noises.
He always seemed to catch the interesting parts. She seemed to always miss those spicy bits. It was beginning to feel personal, truly.
What Y/N didn’t know, though—what she couldn’t possibly know— was that she had, in fact, seen Spider-Man every single day face to face. Usually over breakfast, wearing oversized sweaters and apologizing for being more than five minutes late.
🕸️ྀི
“Excuse me!” His voice rang through the air. “Oh, careful there, miss!” He swung from a traffic light to another. “Hee-hee!” He yelled.
Michael swung through New York as fast as he could, trying to make it to his girlfriend’s apartment before movie night officially became ‘Michael’s late again’ night.
“Oh, shoot!” He cursed as his eye caught the time in a digital watch nearby that hung off a nearby storefront. He looked around for a few seconds and spotted a familiar face shaking their head negatively at him.
Bill Bray, who Michael considered a friend and was lucky enough to have as father figure, stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a bouquet in one hand and an unmistakable scowl of disapproval on his face, staring at Spider-Man as though he were one of the bad guys.
Michael sighed before dropping directly in front of Bill. The man stood in the street in front of a little flower cart wearing a beige hat, an elderly lady standing behind said cart looking a little taken aback. Her eyes wandered from Bill to Spider-Man a few times before she mimed Bill’s disapproving expression in a very comical way. Spider-Man was truly becoming a regular client nowadays.
“I know, I know!” Michael complained, voice sounding tired, as he tried to reach for the bouquet. Bill retracted his arm, keeping the flowers out of Michael’s reach. Instead, he reached up and fixed Michael’s blue mask, smoothing it out where it’d shifted. Then he brushed a bit of dust from one shoulder. “Thanks.” Michael said softly.
And then Bill pointed a sharp finger towards him. “You gotta watch out, kiddo,” He licked his lips. “One day that girl will get tired of these poor excuses of yours!”
Michael sighed again and ran his gloved hand through his face covered by the Spider-Man mask. “She believes me.” He argued.
“No, no,” Bill cut him off mid sentence. “She loves you! And it’s about damn time you fill her in, and you know it!”
“Yeah, I know, I know.”
The lady’s eyes darted between Michael and Bill with obvious interest. Then they drifted down to the bouquet. Every week Spider-Man would show up and grab a bouquet. Sometimes it was lilies, sometimes it was sunflowers. This week was sunflowers.
“Does Spider-Man have a special someone?” Curiosity got the best of her and she couldn’t resist in asking.
Spider-Man’s body language changes completely. He scratched the back of his neck and looked away, as if someone could see the blush that crept its way into his cheeks.
Bill rolled his eyes.
“I, uh—Maybe.” Michael said in a shy tone, a little nervous laugh escaping through his lips.
“Ya know, ‘maybes’ buys flowers every thursday.” The lady mocked, an amused smile crossing her sweet wrinkled face.
“She’s uh,…” He bit his bottom lip underneath the mask. “Ehm, she’s a… a pretty young thing.” You could actually hear his smile.
The florist’s own smile widened. Even Bill fought back a grin.
“Oh?”
“Mhm.”
“And does Pretty Young Thing know she’s dating Spider-Man?”
Michael let out a breathy laugh and shook his head.
“No, she doesn’t and it’ll bite him in the butt!” Bill answered before Michael had the chance.
“Oh, you must tell her, then!” The lady sided with Bill and Michael (besides recognizing signs of some irritation at their persistence) knew they were right.
But the thought of it alone made his stomach tighten. Could you imagine if one of enemies found out she mattered to him? That could go wrong really quickly. All it took was one enemy. One photograph. One wrong person putting two and two together. Suddenly Y/N wouldn’t just be his girlfriend—she’d be a target.
And sweet, caring, love-of-his-life, Y/N deserved something as close to normal as he could possibly offer her. And Michael felt selfish enough to keep her as his girlfriend, even if that meant hiding the truth for as long as he could. She was everything to him. Everything.
He let out another sigh before checking Bill’s wristwatch. “Can I go now?” He asked, softly. Tiredly.
Bill clicked his tongue and let out a huff. He extended the bouquet to Michael and let him grab it.
“Sunflowers are her favorite.” Michael said with a tiny smile taking over his masked lips. “Thanks, Bill.”
“No problem, kiddo.”
“Thank you, ma'am.” He tapped two fingers against his forehead before pointing them toward her with a boyish smile underneath the blue mask. “See ya!”, then launched himself back into the Manhattan skyline.
The florist watched him disappear, then turned to Bill. “He’s hopelessly in it, isn’t he?”
Bill didn’t bother looking up. “Yup.”
“Sweet boy, though.”
“Too sweet for his own good.”
🕸️ྀི
As Michael swung through the familiar streets and avenues on the way to Y/N’s apartment, something caught his attention, like it usually would: an orange cat was stranded on the fire escape of a six-story apartment building, meowing pitifully while an elderly man leaned out of his window a floor below.
"Oh, Mr Buttons…” He pleaded helplessly, one hand over his chest. "Please, please don't jump."
Michael sighed. "Really?" He looked toward the skyline. Then at the cat. Then toward the skyline again. Then at his wrist, which had no watch. Well, was already late. Might as well, right?
"AOW!” he yelled dramatically to absolutely no one before changing courses. A web caught the side of the building and, seconds later, Spider-Man landed smoothly on the fire escape.
"Oh, thank goodness!" The elderly man sighed with relief at the sight of him. Michael waved politely at the man.
He placed the bouquet under one of his arms, trying and hoping too keep it at least, somewhat, secure.
The cat blinked up at him with its enormous amber eyes.
"...Hi."
It let out one tiny, pitiful meow in response.
Michael smiled beneath the mask. “M’kay, here we go..." He reached out carefully, scooping the orange fluff into his arms.
The transformation was immediate. Claws, teeth and hisses—all at once, everywhere.
"HISSSSS!"
"Oh my god!”
The kitten twisted like it was possessed, every paw going in a different direction. Michael kept trashing around along with the feline, trying to get ahold of it.
Sharp, tiny claws latched onto his forearm. Then his shoulder. Then— "Dang it!" One particularly offended swipe caught him clean across the cheek, getting a small rip through his mask.
At that Michael nearly lost his footing on the fire escape. "Hey, hey!" he pleaded, desperately trying not to drop the tiny menace. "I'm literally rescuing you! C’mon, don’t make this difficult!” The cat responded by attempting to climb onto his head. "No, no, no—we don't need to be up there!"
It hissed again.
“Now you're just being dramatic."
Another hiss.
Michael sighed, gulped and reached one delicate hand out, trying to pet the cat. “I know you're scared." The kitten bit his gloved index finger.
“Ouch!” He jerked his hand away. “Okay, maybe you're just mean."
The cat somehow managed to hook all four paws into his suit at once, dangling from his chest like an angry orange ornament.
Michael sighed.
“Out of all the dangers in the city, this is what will take me…” Michael complained under his breath, slowly starting to turn towards the old man’s window.
He finally managed to peel the cat off his suit one tiny paw at a time, cradling it firmly enough that it couldn't launch into another attack.
The cat glared up at him. Michael glared right back through the white lenses of his mask.
"We are never doing this again." He warned, pointing a sharp finger at the cat.
It sneezed in his face.
Michael closed his eyes. “Alrighty, then.”
A moment later, he lowered the little orange menace safely into its owner's waiting arms. The transformation was miraculous--It immediately began purring.
Michael stared in complete disbelief. "Oh, so now you behave?"
The old man laughed. "Mr Buttons can be... spirited."
"Spirited?" Michael touched the fresh scratch on his cheek, grimacing at the stingy feeling of touching it. “Sir, respectfully, your cat just tried to kill Spider-Man."
The cat blinked innocently.
“Oh, don’t you gimme that look!”
🕸️ྀི
A few moments later he reached the familiar alley he always hid his suit and ‘transformed’ into simply Michael Jackson, the photographer and boyfriend, before going to Y/N’s place.
Michael caught his reflection in the rain puddle at his feet and stared. The suit looked exactly as it always had: royal blue from neck to boots, broken only by crisp white panels sweeping across his shoulders, forearms and sides like the sharp lines of an expensive suit tailored for someone who spent more time in the air than on the ground. A black spider stretched across his chest, its long eight legs blending with the white. The mask's white lenses reflected the city lights back at him, giving away nothing of the tired eyes behind them. His right hand glittered--tons of tiny rhinestones caught even the weakest light, turning the glove into a shooting star whenever he swung between buildings. Most New Yorkers assumed it was part of the costume, some flashy signature, something Spider-Man wore simply because he was Spider-Man.
But in reality, the glove served a purpose: it was stitched with fine grip pads along the fingertips and palm, giving him greater precision whenever he aimed a web or caught the edge of a building at impossible speeds. The rhinestones weren't just decoration: their texture gave his fingers subtle tactile reference points, allowing him to adjust the angle of his wrist without ever taking his eyes off where he was going. The sparkle had simply been Michael's idea.
'If I have to wear it every day,' he'd once reasoned while tailoring the whole suit, 'might as well be pretty.'
He wiggled out of the blue suit before putting it away in a handbag he kept hidden behind a metal trashcan, the rhinestone glove being the last thing he placed inside the bag. He took a deep breath and zipped it shut, placing it hidden and shooting a web at it to keep it secure. You never know, right?
His curls were messy and a few stubborn locks stuck to his sweaty forehaed. Cheeks flushed bright red and the scratch on his left one (curtesy of Mr Buttons) stood out in bloody maroon. He hadn’t notice it, since it had stopped stinging.
Michael jogged with the bouquet in his hand to the familiar building where his girl resided. He finally made his way up to her floor, two steps at a time.
A little disappointed huff left him as he caught sight of the (now ruined) flowers as soon as he reached her door. Couldn’t even get her proper flowers, he thought. Shaking his head, he finally knocked.
Y/N opened the door about two seconds later, a wondering gaze on her eyes. She was still in her work clothes, dark pants, white shirt and black vest on top. Michael gulped, looking away for a split second. He loved her in those outfits. But then again, he loved her in anything (specially nothing).
She lifted a brow and tilted her head, leaning against the doorway and crossing her arms over her chest. An amused expression crossed her face. “Well, did they fight back, at least?” She asked while nodding towards the wrecked flowers.
Michael looked down at the bouquet and smiled shyly. “Bravely.”
Y/N shook her head and reached out for it. She lifted the bouquet up to her nose and took a deep breath, sighing and closing her eyes at the pleasant fragrance. Then, she turned her eyes to Michael’s face, frowning and reaching out delicately for his cheek. She softly crossed her thumb across the bloody scratch. Concern started to kick in.
“Did you get hurt? What happened? Did you get into a fight? Do you need me to-”
“Baby, baby-” Michael cut her off and took her wrists delicately into his hands. A warm smile appeared on his lips. “I’m okay. Just a scratch, isn't it?” He shook his head, quicly trying to come up wiht a good excuse. “I just, uhm, the camera, you know?”
Y/N narrowed her eyes at his response. “Yeah, right,” She pulled him inside by the arm. “the camera.”
Michael closed the door behind him and pulled Y/N back into him by the wrist, kissing her temple before she made her way to her kitchen, searching for a vase for the flowers. She stopped on her tracks briefly, though, turning around and pecking his lips not once, not twice, but three times. Michael kissed her back, leaning in for more, but was met with nothing but disappointment as she made her way to flower-care.
He looked down in a bummer, but trailed after anyway. That was until something caught his eye. A few papers laid messily around the coffee table in front of her couch, notes scattered and some cut-out newspaper pieces with Spider-Man’s name and pictures. His heart skipped a beat.
Among the scattered newspaper clippings and notes, one hastily written headline immediately caught his eye:
'WHY NEW YORK TRUSTS SPIDER-MAN?'
“Another Spider-Man article?”
Y/N didn’t bother looking up, concentrated on making the flowers fit the vase.
“Mhm.”
“I’m starting to think you have a crush on him.” Michael teased, crossing the living room and placing himself right behind her, arms around her waist and chin resting on top of her head.
Y/N raised her brows at that, shifting around to face him. Her back was now against the kitchen counter and her front faced Michael. “Well, if anyone has the hots for him, it’s Jonah,” She slipped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers together behind it. “The man won’t let me write about anything else besides Spidey content. It’s annoying, really.”
“Mhm,” Michael nodded, a teasing smirk on his face. If only she knew how much he enjoyed reading her words on him. “Spidey, huh?” Oh, if only she knew.
She frowned. “Are you jealous of Spider-Man, Mike?”
“What? No! That’s ridiculous!” He immediately replied.
Y/N burst out laughing at his defensiveness. She shrugged. “Oh, well, at least Spider-Man is pontual!”
Michael let out the most offended little gasp she'd ever heard. “You take that back!”
🕸️ྀི
A few minutes later, they were curled up together on Y/N's couch, wrapped beneath a shared blanket.
Michael managed to keep the bowl of popcorn equilibrated on his stomach as he laid with his head resting on Y/N’s tights. She sat up, a hand playing absentmindedly with his curls.
About 15 minutes into the movie he fell asleep, little snores coming out of his mouth selling him out.
Y/N was used to it by now and she didn’t mind it—stopped pretended to get upset over it months ago. She carefully reached for the bowl on his stomach, placing it on the table next to her side of the couch before letting her fingers wander back into his hair. She looked down at him and softly ran a finger through the cut in his cheek.
Before, she meant to clean and take care of it, not wanting him to get it infected or anything. Michael had protested, of course. “It’s barely even a scratch!” He had complained. “It’ll heal on its own.”
Y/N just stared at him looking very unimpressed before cleaning it with antiseptic spray and applying some healing ointment over it.
Michael secretly loved whenever she took care of him. He thanked her afterwards with a kiss.
Now, a warm feeling took over her chest as she stared at him. He was painfully handsome. And Y/N was painfully aware of it. But not only physically beautiful, no. He couldn't walk past someone who needed help without stopping. He remembered everyone's birthday, always gave away more than he kept for himself, and carried the weight of other people's happiness as though it were his own responsibility. Sometimes she worried he cared so deeply about the world that he forgot to leave a little of that kindness for himself.
She brushed another curl away from his forehead, smiling to herself. She loved him. It almost hurt just how much.
Her gaze drifted toward the stack of papers on the coffee table, and her stomach tightened ever so slightly. Jonah had been making her life miserable over the Spider-Man article for days now, despite the fact that the deadline was still a week away.
Her thumb gently brushed another curl away from his eyes. She let her fingertips linger against his cheek, smiling when a tiny snore escaped him. Her thoughts, however, betrayed her once more.
Spider-Man.
Y/N had stopped wondering about his identity long ago. Whoever hid beneath the mask had proven, time and time again, that he loved this city enough to bleed for it. To put strangers before himself. To keep showing up. That was enough for her.
Outside her appartment, the city didn’t sleep.
If you got really quiet, firefighters sirens could be heard several blocks away. Car horns and curses from angry civilians could be heard as well. A police helicopter crossed somewhere above the rooftops. People cursing. Shouting. Laughing.
All across the city, crime carried on. New York never slept. Neither did danger.
But just for a little while, for just one quiet evening, Spider-Man did. Just for one quiet, rare night off, the mask sat forgotten inside an old handbag hidden in a forgotten alley.
The webs could wait. So could the city. Just for a little bit.
For a moment, Spider-Man allowed himself to be simply Michael Jackson. A shy photographer who was always running late; a hopeless romantic who bought wrinkled flowers every tuesday and who fell asleep on his girlfriend’s lap over movies.
Y/N smiled down at him one last time before closing her own eyes, still hoping Michael would introduce her to Spider-Man, someday.
And somewhere in the coffee table, an unfinished articled asked:
'WHO IS SPIDER-MAN?'
The answer? Slept quietly in her lap.
Taglist:
@skiicoreee @18lkpeters @ami-kay-01 @bouncylikebouncyball @hewassunshine @umafanficdoidaqualquer @darkgreengrl @boredpretty @thatonegirl412 @watamotee33 @nodisdino @leipforggy @amoravelee @defmaybesam @niyahctrl @daniela75201 @d3adlyclassrat @bangtan7553 @romansbbg @chims-kookies @needjoekeery @cruelsummer01 @dreyar-palacez @maerawrrr @maxivstappen @iris-xoxo-juhu @cakewiththecreamer @lovern-9 @faercia @ladyjacksonsblog @quietlyscornfulfable @whoscamila @bakugotypecrashout @heyitsm4di @ieesohees @this-is-biebers-world @itsloveee @victoriarosaline @thrilleronvinyl @officialcaptain @wazabii @meowmeowbby @darlimoi @justboredroaming @asamantis @leillaa @appleheadsbiggestfan