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[blackberry-gingham]

Catch | Otto Octavius x Fem! Reader

<... Previously | Chpt 8 | Next up...>

Several days after the accident, thinking they've lost one another forever... The doc and reader finally come face to face at last.

I poured my entire Cancer sun and Cancer moon emotional ass soul into this chapter and it may very well be some of my best work. Enjoy

Tag list: @smokeywhalee @stupid-stinky @busybeingtrash @momos-peaches @pinkieperil @amongpresidents @bimboshaggy @nanjalee @mickeyperkins @tolovaj @jupiters--moonxx (tag list open to additions, lmk if I forgot you 😅😅, or follow here on ao3!)

Tags: Canon divergence, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort

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Not a second went by there in the hospital that news of what the doctor had done wasn't beaten over your head. Tvs everywhere were set to the news station. Updates on the failed experiment, statements from Oscorp, and the conditions of the survivors were the least of the tortures.

Now and then you'd see some footage of Otto himself... Pounding around the city, held aloft by those terrible, cruel arms. Your stomach churns at the sight of it.

You know, it's not even the idea that they're now fused to his body. No, nothing hurts as much as watching the gentle, sweet man you thought you knew strike up fear in the hearts of the masses. So much destruction... So much reckless abandon.

It wouldn't be a couples days still until you/re sent home, but when you are... Well, you almost feel lucky being sent home at night. At least it means that, wherever he stay goes to lay low, he's off the streets.

The doctor stares back at his reflection for a long time...

He's here in your apartment. Again.

God, he feels so disgusting... But this is the only place he can sneak off to for food and water. His home has long since been locked down by police. It's too obvious that he would return there. All he'd be doing is walking into a trap.

So, this is where he spends half his time.

He can't travel much, considering how attention grabbing his appearance is. Hell, he's done his best to try and hide the arms, but they're just too unwieldy. No amount of folding of twisting them can create even a semi natural appearance under his coat. Besides, he still has to content with the fact that he has no shirt to cover his torso with.

Just a wide open trench coat.

Despite the crushing weight of guilt he feels simply by being here... There is a comfort to it too.

A part of him feels glad, hopeful even, that at least he's able to watch over your apartment for you. Perhaps... Perhaps you will come back. Maybe you truly are just getting treatment, and one of these fine days... You'll walk right in through that door.

It's a wonderful dream.

But it's one that slips further and further away from him as the days drag on.

He spends his time laying in your bed. A bed you've both shared so, so many times...

Staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts play back unpleasant memories over and over. His hand lazes over his belly, gently grazing it in a back and forth motion. Do you ever miss someone, or something, so badly... You can feel in in your very body?

Right now everything hurts... His back and joints were stiff and sore, his head filled a migraine, and all around his eyes feel strained.

Those same eyes were locked onto the ceiling above him, but all he saw was you being taken from him again, and again in that terrible, horrible accident. An act of his own doing.

Finally he screws his eyes shut for a moment, relieving some of the strain before they are slowly opened again. His head turns to gaze at the empty spot on the bed beside him before returning to stare back at the nothingness above.

Of all the peers and superiors in his life... Lately he's come to feel that no ones opinion has ever mattered more to him then yours.

In light of that, he asks himself again, for the countless, obsessive time, how you would feel if you could see him. Especially now, so changed and monstrous as he is. What he would give just to hear you give voice to your thoughts... Even if it was just to lambaste him in some small attempt to get him back on track. It would be worth all the shame just to hear the sweet notes of your beautiful voice again.

Otto drops a hand onto the pillow. He hates an notion of sleeping before the midnight hours. A waste of good time, he always felt. And yet... there was something so entertaining about your head on his torso or curling an arm around your body as you rested that never failed to coax him into bed with you again and again.

Sometimes, now that you're gone, he could close his eyes and imagine that he can still smell the unique scent of your hair on the pillow, or that the weight of this torturous harness belt was you peacefully resting on his abdomen.

It's only ever until he opened hi-

Otto tries to close his eyes again, but a hot, angry tear escapes anyway.

He pulls the empty pillow close enough to muffle the choking, dry sobs that follow. This was so unlike him, these outbursts of emotion.

Regardless, this was the second time today alone that they’d gotten the better of him. In the very beginning when he first realized he loved you, it scared him to know that one single person could cause him to lose control like this, pushing him to become angry, elated, or jealous so easily… He would’ve thought he’d be use to it by now.

He should've talked you out of this... You never should've been there.

Why oh why did he not see this sooner? Why does he only now have to realize, that if something were to go wrong... That, if he were to lose you… it would destroy him.

Late that night, you hobble down the long hall to your apartment.

Damn... Everything hurts, even after all the medicine you've been on.

With a little hiss, you turn the key and open the door. The room is pitch black, just as you left it all those days ago. Hmp, who knew that when you left here that fateful morning, you wouldn't return until several long, boring days later...

You click on a little lamp, just enough lighting for eyes too adjusted to the dark. Your keys clink in their little bowl, your heels clatter to the floor as you discard them. With quiet, padding footsteps you turn the corner an-

For the life of you, you shriek.

There, there stands the doctor. Tall and menacing, mechanical arms poised to strike down the intruder he thought you to be. Fear overwhelms you, clouding you thoughts and mind... Your heart beats wildly, as though at any moment it may suddenly stop.

You fall back onto the ground desperately crawling backwards, before coming flush against the wall.

And the doctor? He couldn't be more over joyed...

All this time... He though he'd killed you. That you'd never walk through those doors. That he'd never hear your voice or see your face or, or.... His heart pounds inside his chest...

God, he can't even begin to express his emotions.

He takes a few steps forward, completley lost for words, but far to overwhelmed to simply do nothing.

You give a brief, terrified scream, fearing for your life itself. Before he can take another step, you shield yourself with your arms, anticipating a strike...

You've seen what he's done. To the city. To Spiderman. How can you trust him? You don't even know who he is anymore...

All this time, tiny cracks have chipped away at the doctor's heart. Something wasn't right from the moment you screamed at the sight of him, but... To see you like this. So injured and terrified, all because of him... It breaks, once and for all.

Like a knife in the chest. Like a bone shattering punch. Like a heart full of wasps... The pain is so great, he can't bear it.

You know... It's almost funny. For so long he'd carried inside him this... Primitive, masculine desire to be... feared, he supposes. Feared by those around him. That one day his large, imposing frame would command an air of dominance and respect instead of backhanded compliments and unfunny jokes.

All he wanted was to be seen as a man.

All he's ever gotten was treated like a jolly, fat clown.

It almost makes you want people to be afraid of you. To know that there's more to you then you let on... That there's a side of you that, if it came to it, could fend off the worst of characters in defense of yourself or others. But...

Not like this.

Not to have the woman he loves... That he cherishes heart, mind, body, and soul... Cowering in terror. Afraid of him. This isn't love, or "respect"...

This is tyranny.

The weight of the guilt, and the agony in his chest is too much. Otto falls to his knees one at a time, tears steaming down his cheeks as he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

What happened?

With several heavy clangs, each of his arms hit the floor in turn.

Where did he go wrong?

What he had hoped would be taken as disarming... As a show of peace and food faith... Only serves to frighten you further.

Your shoulders bunch together, trembling. You are so quiet and trying to be so small, you can barely manage to squeeze out the tears of fear running down your face, "Please... Don't hurt me"

Don't hurt me...

What words are there to describe the pain and grief that that tiny, pleading request of yours causes him?

The doctor falls forward onto his hands, never daring to take his eyes off of you, "I...", he can't even speak. Perhaps he doesn't deserve to. He reaches out to you weakly, but... It's no use.

After all this time... There wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't give to see you again. And yet...

He could never have imagined it would be like this...

There are no words to make this right.

But... even so, he cannot fight his instincts... The ones that tell him to protect and to care and to love... All these things he would do for you. He would give up his very life for you, if only you'd ask...

Selfish as it may be, he could never bring himself to abandon you now.

The doctor's tentacles whir softly, moving just enough so that he doesn't have to drag them after him as he crawls along the floor.

Instead, he drags himself. Pitiful and pathetic, as he dares to come close to you.

Like a cowering dog, he lays low, only stopping a few inches beside you, looking as though he can barely support his own weight. You make no movement or sign of agitation, far too fearful to do so, even as you watch him from corners of your shielded eyes. The doctor slowly drops his head bringing his soft jaw and chin down to rest on top of your skull.

"I'm... So sorry...", the doctor breaks down, weeping, moving down to bury his face into the crook of your neck. There are no words to make this better... But he can only hope that the truth may brng you some peace. After all...

It's all he has left.

"I... Never wanted... to hurt you..."

Such a pathetic, meaningless phrase... And yet it holds more things then he could ever hope to express.

He can barely speak, his heart is in his throat. So choked with tears and emotion and guilt, he fears it may kill him. Perhaps even... A small part of him hopes it would. That's about what he deserves.

All you can do is sit there frozen...

You'd been so convinced that he'd changed into someone else... It never quite occurred to you that maybe he's still trapped in his same old self, but now forced to deal with these overwhelming circumstances.

Even through the chilly night... It would seem that nothing can dampen his natural furnace.

You'd almost forgotten how warm he is. But... You never remember him being so uncomfortable.

Your throat is raw from screams and tears. It hurts a little to speak, your voice is hoarse and quiet, "...Does this... hurt?", you tap a tentative finger to his metal belt.

The doctor just barely stows away his emotions long enough to answer. He sniffs and gasps for some air, "...A little"

"Is there anything you can do about it?"

"...I don't want to frighten you anymore"

"If you can... help it...", you cough and take a breath of air, "I'll be alright...", you encourage.

The doctor looks from you to his belt. It hurts like hell to be honest with you... It's not like this get up was designed for prolonged wear, after all. He looks back at you again, maintaining eye contact for any change in mood from you as he slowly retracts the metal.

It clicks and makes a deep, but gentle whir as it parts to go on standby. A long, angry red stripe is present on his waist, indented into his skin from the pressure of the belt.

You run the tips of your fingers over his bare skin. There was a time there where he was finally over the anxiety it caused him to have you touch his stomach, but now... He can't help but feel that same old fear again.

Your nails tickle a little, but the doctor refuses to move even a muscle until at last you look up him with those precious, sad eyes.

You open up your arms in acceptance, and the doctor cannot believe it...

For a moment, he holds himself back. He surely does not deserve your forgiveness. Your pity. Your love... And yet, here you are, offering just as much.

He can't dare refuse such a gift, nor the sacred, invaluable opportunity to feel your embrace again after all this time.

The doctor leans across, always careful as he holds you as tight as he dares... His belly slouches a tad into your lap now that it's finally free and a wall of warmth washes over you. You sigh a little, holding him tighter. This is the Otto you know... Soft and warm and kind and round.

You hold back tears and laughter as he kisses your face a thousand times in thanks. He'd easily kiss you a thousand times more... It could never be enough. He could kiss you and hold you for the rest of his life, and would maybe only begin to express how he feels for you.

The doctor pulls you in close, squeezing tightly to keep you with him. At last he takes a shaky breath, "My darling... I've missed you terribly"