#brxt-prince | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

docockbrainrot · 2 years

Text

i think i want you (to leave)

Summary: We’re all running from something. Sometimes, metaphorically. Sometimes, literally. Literally running, from the very strangely hypnotizing supervillain that seems hellbent on ruining every bit of your life he can get all eight of his limbs on.

Pairing: Doc Ock X Reader/ Otto Octavius X Reader

Content: Slow Burn, NSFT occasionally, 18+, Female Reader

Tag list: @aleksstern @theedgeofhappiness @obibaekenobi @the-simp-tm @doveghoul @perniciousmockery @lostgirllulu @brxt-prince @zenexph @thelokipokey @nicole-lightfoot

AO3 link!

Previous Chapter

Chapter 19

the night we met // amber run (cover)

Stupid Harry with his stupid pompous attitude and his stupid money and his stupid envelopes and… and… You're running out of things to fume about in your head, but you know there's got to be more. You study the address written down on the scrap piece of paper for the hundredth time and then look up at the building in front of you. Yep. This… this is the place.

Yep.

Here it is.

You're definitely not putting off going in. That would be silly. You shift your weight on your feet. It is really cold out. The sun is starting to set, already hidden behind the high rises and casting an orange glow over the city. You toe at the sidewalk seam with your sneaker and heave a great, burdened sigh. Okay. Might as well get this over with. With a glance over your shoulder in either direction (you can't shake the feeling that Harry is somehow always watching), you slowly force your feet to carry you up the steps to the rundown building. It looks borderline derelict, a condemned brownstone with the bricks eroding away and paint long since peeled from the trim. Some of the windows on the top floor are broken in and others are boarded up altogether.

"Homey…" you mutter to yourself, hesitating once more at the front door. You crumple up the paper and shove it into the depths of your coat pocket. It's probably only a 50/50 chance of someone shanking you the second you knock, right? After all, this would be a ridiculously roundabout way for Harry to kill you, however… the possibility still lingers in the back of your mind and your hand is shaking when you rap your knuckles on the wooden door. You hear the echo rattle through the building.

Nothing.

Okay. You frown and the doorbell catches your eye. It probably doesn't even work. Well… it's cold as a witch's tit, you hauled ass all the way to Brooklyn for this, you're ringing the damn doorbell. You mash the button in and hold it there. And hold it.

And hold it.

And then the door flings open, shuddering on it's rusted hinges and you slowly lower your hand, not even having the decency to look sheepish. It's been a very long few weeks. The man who greets you looks… well … friendly, for lack of a better descriptor. He's dressed casually, but… nice. Like maybe he doesn't actually live in this tetanus den. "Osborn sent you?" He was expecting you then. Or at least he was expecting someone. You wonder briefly if Harry has a back-up courier should you go AWOL. Hm. You decidedly don't like that thought- being replaceable to Harry Osborn doesn't bode well.

"Uh… yep, got your delivery, I guess?" You hold up the envelope that only got a little smooshed on your drive here. "Unfortunately, I don't think it's a pepperoni pizza." The man snorts and takes the packet of hyper-sensitive-information from you. He flips it around, presumably checking for the intact seal. You didn't open it- you're not a total fucking idiot.

"Thanks. He already paid you, I hope."

"I… oh. Yes. Money. He gave me… money, yes." Yeah, good job. You try to mentally photograph this guy, with his short, kind of messy hair and his goatee and kind of stocky build. He looks like someone's uncle. Wonder how he got mixed up in this shit. He must work for whoever Harry's trying to do business with- you sincerely doubt this dude's the brains of the operation.

"Good. Well," he holds up the envelope as if in thanks, "you should get going. Nice to meet you." Before you realize it, the door is closing and you abruptly jolt forward to shove your foot into the door frame before it can shut. The man sighs and his face comes back into view as he pulls the door open again, an eyebrow raised. You remove your foot from the threshold.

"Uh, sorry. Sorry- no, I just- what's your name?"

"I don't think I'm allowed to tell you anything. Sorry, kid. You should really head home."

Of course. Information is transactional, you're quickly discovering. And with little to wager, you suppose you'll have to accept your place in the dark. Right where Harry wants you. "Can I just… ask you one more thing?" He looks like he wants to throw you off the brownstone stoop, but with a tired expression, he gives a short nod.

"Can't guarantee I can tell you much though."

"That's fine. I know. It's just that… um… whoever you're working for, are they… are they a good person? Friends with Harry?" The man snorts in response.

"Yeah, hardly 'friends'. He's… I think he'll change the world someday. But if you're asking if he's anything like Osborn- he's not. You still should keep your head down. There's big things happening, you really ought to mind your own business," he waves you off and you know when to stop pushing your luck. "Just take the paycheck and move on, kid." He doesn't wait for you to leave, he turns and the wooden boards of the floor creak under his weight as he disappears deeper into the bowels of the rundown house. A draft blows in from the open door and you're reminded of how frigid your fingers are, sad and gloveless- a poor choice on your part.

"Fine then," you mumble, the words puffing a little visible cloud into the air before you retreat, grabbing the doorknob to pull the door shut behind you. You survey what little neighborhood is left in the area from the porch, no doubt a chunk of land bought up by some kind of company for development that must have fallen by the wayside. Or so wealthy people could do sketchy things in broad daylight. You wonder if there isn't more to this- would there be like a super secret base or creepy villain lair underground? The thought makes you crack a smile. Silly. Probably just wanted to build a mall or some bullshit.

Back at your car, your fingers on the handle, you pause. It still feels like someone's watching you. The back of your neck prickles and you look over your shoulder not for the first time, scanning the busted up windows of the rows of brownstones. Hmmm. Maybe it's best to just hurry home, where at least if someone is following you, you'll die in the comfort of being surrounded by your stuff.

---

You've barely made it home when you receive a text from Harry, not even up the steps from the lobby yet. You stop in front of the mailboxes, staring at the message and ghosting your thumbs over the keyboard as you think of a response.

'thank you. good work. ill let you know when i need you again ;)' He says. You read it over and over again, getting more and more irritated with every pass.

'I truly have no idea what to say to that. Please stop being weird.'

And SEND.

Ugh. You unlock your mailbox and check it while you're at it, shoving your phone into your pocket so you can collect the newspaper and the envelopes inside. You're about halfway up the staircase before your phone pings again and you sigh inwardly. Can't he just leave you alone for a while? Before reaching your door, you hover briefly at the broken window in the hall that's now been temporarily replaced with plexiglass. Fighting down the emotion that wells up in your gut, you hurry to your apartment, doing your damnedest not to dwell on what happened when that window was busted. There's another notification sound from your coat.

Upon entering your unit, you unceremoniously deposit the mail on your kitchen counter before retrieving your cell once more. You don't even read the message in your exasperation before furiously typing out a reply,

'I don't care stop being creepy it's weird and I don't like you good night' and promptly send it before you can begin to talk yourself out of it. It's not even night. It's like… 2 pm. Whatever. Shucking off your winter coat and hanging it up, you also remove your shoes before shuffling into your bedroom and throwing yourself dramatically onto the mattress.

'That was uncalled for, don't you think?' You read the text. And then again. And then you realize- it's a different phone number. Not the same as Harry's, the first one who had texted you. Someone else. Your heart seizes like an engine and your mouth feels dry.

'Who is this?' You already know the answer.

'I think you know.' Otto. Smarmy bastard.

'I was worried about you. You should have called. Or something.'

'Oh so you don't think I'm creepy and weird?'

'That… sorry. I thought you were someone else.'

'Someone else is being creepy and weird to you?'

'i really don't want to get into it. Where are you?' You've been gnawing on the inside of your lip. You stop before it bleeds. He doesn't respond right away and as the seconds tick by into minutes, anxiety claws at your belly like a rabid dog. A new message notification lights up your phone screen and your hands feel a bit clammy as you scramble to open it.

'Thats not important. Just checking in. Have a good evening.' Otto texts exactly like he talks, you muse, finding yourself smiling like a giddy teenager. Stop that. Stop it.

'will I see you soon?'

There's another uncomfortably long pause. 'Fate has a way of working out like that for us.'

'oh shut up' Just as you send it, an error message pops up.

Message unable to be delivered.

#doc ock #otto octavius #doc ock x reader #otto octavius x reader #fanfiction #yay! finally!!!#its a weak chapter im sorry yall #we just need to get through some stuff before the big plot things happen

135 notes · View notes