Spiderman saves you from Doc Ock and immediately falls in love with you.
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@greadzzzThe New York summer heat clung to the pavement like a second skin, even as the sun dipped below the skyline and painted the buildings in shades of amber and rose.
Y/n's sneakers slapped against the sidewalk in a steady rhythm, her phone buzzing in her hand with directions to Maya's apartment. A party. Loud music. Bad decisions. The usual Friday night.
The streets were still busy—taxi horns blaring, a street performer strumming a guitar on the corner, the smell of hot pretzels and exhaust mixing in the air. Normal. Ordinary.
Then the ground shook.
It started as a low rumble, like a subway passing underground. But it didn't fade. It grew. Windows rattled in their frames. A car alarm shrieked somewhere down the block.
Y/n stopped mid-step, her phone lowering as she looked around. A few other pedestrians paused too, exchanges of confused glances rippling through the crowd.
Then the screaming started.
The sound split the evening like a siren—dozens of voices rising at once, a stampede of bodies suddenly surging in the opposite direction. People knocked into her, shoulders slamming, elbows flying. A man in a business suit nearly sent her sprawling, his briefcase swinging wildly.
Run!
The word echoed through the chaos, shouted by a dozen different throats. The crowd tore past her like a river breaking its banks.
Y/n didn't move.
She stood her ground as the street emptied, as the people around her vanished into doorways and alleys. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her feet stayed planted.
A sound like metal screaming—screeching, grinding, tearing through concrete—split the air ahead of her.
And then she saw it.
A claw of gleaming steel, curved and menacing, slammed into the side of a parked car. The vehicle crumpled like tinfoil, flipping onto its roof with a deafening crash. A second tentacle followed, then a third, then a fourth—each one ripping through the street with terrifying precision.
At the center of it all stood a figure. Tall. Broad. Four mechanical arms sprouting from his back, twisting and coiling like serpents. His coat billowed in the artificial wind of destruction, his goggles glinting in the fading light.
SPIDER-MAN! His voice boomed across the block, raw with fury. COME OUT AND FACE ME, YOU COWARD!
He ripped a chunk of concrete from the ground and hurled it into a building across the street. Glass exploded outward, raining down like glitter.
Y/n pressed herself against the corner of a brick wall, her breath shallow. Her mind screamed at her to run—to follow the crowd, to get to Maya's, to pretend she hadn't seen any of this.
Then she heard it.
A small, choked sob.
Her eyes darted to the left. There, crouched behind a dumpster no more than twenty feet away, was a little girl. Maybe five years old. Her face was streaked with tears, her small hands pressed over her ears, her body trembling so hard she looked like she might shatter.
Doc Ock's head turned, his attention snapping toward the sound.