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n0vazsq · 12 days ago

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go read this RIGHT NOW because wow. best fic ive ever read?!

friendly neighborhood boyfriend

spiderman!esteban ocon x reader

w.c.: 4.3k

warnings: curse words, mentions of violence

summary: WHY were your boyfriend’s clothes always scuffed up, his body always bruised, and his hands so freaking sticky??

a/n: sorry to any hardcore marvel and spiderman fans if there are any huge inaccuracies... i know close to nothing about the to the mcu spiderman lore besides a few watches of tom holland's spiderman movies so errr yeah.

picture credits from pinterest :)

present

three whole hours of doing nothing but waiting on your boyfriend’s stupid bunk bed had to be a new record- you’re sure of it. if there was a contest for this niche topic, you would literally be the reigning world champion. your last personal best was an hour and a half, which seemed pretty long, but was definitely miniscule to this new groundbreaking achievement of three hours.

you were heavily considering filing a missing person’s report before the telltale noise of his squeaky fire escape window opening and the soft “thump” of his shoes landing on the carpet sounds in your ears.

estaban slips in like a ninja of some sort, which makes you roll your eyes. he innocently re-adjusts his clothes and brushes off any offending pieces of dust that had landed on his school backpack as if he didn’t just climb through his freaking window, seven stories up. you finally speak up when he reaches his hand towards the window panel.

“what is the excuse this time, huh? did you like, take a detour to save the entire city of new york in the three hours it took for you to travel from our high school to your own house?”

esteban freezes half-way in the middle of closing his window, looking alarmed, before his face morphs into a guilty frown when he sees you with your arms crossed on his blue bedspread.

“i’m so, so, sorry baby!” he exclaims, hurriedly sliding the window all the way shut with a bang. “something came up again- i swear! i- i can explain! please don’t be mad at me!”

you just sigh and roll your eyes, watching as esteban, like always, stutters out an excuse for his lateness as he peels off his mangy jacket that, more often than not, was dirt-coated. it was after-school detention a few days ago, an unplanned stop at the grocery store last week, and heavy traffic the week before that.

”let me guess… you got stuck in an elevator? subway delays? or maybe traffic again?”

”yes…?” esteban responds, nervously wringing his hands under your harsh glare.

when it is clear you are not going to let up, he quickly reaches into his backpack, a mangled and stained piece of cloth that looked like it was on its last life, and pulls out a rather flattened object wrapped with wax paper.

he holds it out to you like an apologetic offering.

“i also stopped by delmar’s deli grocery on my way back and got you your favorite - ham, cheese, pickle on french bread with mustard, grilled and pressed real flat,“ he says quietly.

you suppose you can forgive him- this time.

“alright,” you huff, taking the sandwich from his hand. “i guess i forgive you.”

esteban brightens up almost immediately, and quickly skirts around the half-built lego death star littered on his bedroom floor to jump into his bed next to you as you take a huge bite from the sandwich.

besides the fact that it was a little cold from sitting in your boyfriend’s backpack for a little while, it tasted absolutely scrumptious.

in the minutes it takes for your boyfriend to lay his lanky self horizontal on the bed and place his head in your lap so you can rake one of your hands through his short black hair, you scarf down the last of the sandwich.

“merde!” he notes from your lap, looking at the empty spot in your hand where he swore the sandwich was a second ago. “was it that good?”

you laugh, patting the top of his head.

“of course- mr. delmar always makes the best-“

almost immediately, you are distracted by the most ginormous hole in his shirt that you were surprised you hadn’t noticed before. it lies on the area where his shoulder meets his neck, probably hidden from his jacket when he came in, but visible from the angle from above his head. the edges of the hole look burnt.

what the fuck?

esteban looks at you quizzically when you pause your sentence.

“-best..?”

“sorry, i got distracted by the biggest hole you have in your shirt right now,” you giggle, jokingly poking at the soft skin visible from where the hole resides.“did you blow something up in chemistry and get acid on your shirt or something?”

instead of laughing though, he hisses and shrinks away from your touch almost immediately.

you snatch your hand back with a gasp, feeling terrible for hurting your boyfriend, even if you didn’t mean to.

“i-i-i’m so sorry,” you stutter out. “i didn’t know…?”

”no, no, no, it’s fine- i’m fine- it’s all okay,” he says reassuringly, yet he still sits up and adjusts his shoulder gingerly.

”did someone beat you up at school, este?” you ask slowly, searching his face for answers.

this isn’t the first time he came home with bruises on his body. bullies were the only possible explanation, and it wasn’t out of the park, considering there were some pretentious assholes at school who you knew openly disliked your boyfriend for no reason whatsoever.

reaching up and placing a hand comfortingly on your shoulder, he looks you in the eye.

“baby, thank you for your concern, but i’m okay- i promise- i just ran really hard, um, backwards, into a shelf, and there was this whole big thing about somebody dropping some cigarette ashes onto a part of my shirt, so that explains the whole burnt hole scenario.”

you obviously don’t buy it, but you still, you nod, hesitantly.

esteban smiles at you and squeezes your shoulder once reassuringly, before starting to turn back around to sprawl himself back in your lap.

however, to your horror, when he lifts his hand off of your shirt, it sticks to his hand like it’s superglued there.

???

in your state of confusion, your boyfriend’s eyes widen and he yanks his hand back from your shirt, almost propelling you off of the bed from the force he exerts.

“what the fuck was that, este?” you screech, looking at the shoulder at your shirt to see if there were somehow remnants of whatever magic your boyfriend used to temporarily glue his hand to your shirt.

there isn’t, really- just a small white stain of sticky, web-like fluid?

”i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he repeats, hands held high in the air away from you.

at this point, you snap.

“esteban ocon, you need to explain right now. i just went through, like, five different emotions in the last five minutes, and i don’t know what just happened, but as your girlfriend, i need you to tell me why you always show up with your clothes scuffed up, body bruised, and fingers all sticky???”

“i don’t,” he defends desperately.

you sigh.

”let’s take a trip down memory lane, huh? last saturday?”

last saturday

your little kitten heels clack against the pavement, shiny and sleek against the dirty grime-covered grey of new york’s sidewalks. you wore it on purpose, obviously, along with one of your favorite outfits that you knew would leave esteban drooling. the hazy sky orange sky bleeds into black behind you, but the always-on lights of new york light up your jewels, leaving a shiny hue around your neck.

the restaurant that you had booked almost a month in advance loomed overhead, fairy lights around its exterior that you knew would perfectly set the mood for you and your boyfriend’s two-year anniversary dinner.

“yeah, i’m almost there,” you parrot back to your boyfriend on the phone as you squeeze through a group of noisy tourists who were- quite rudely- taking up the entire sidewalk. “i’m at the corner, like, a minute away from the french restaurant-“

before you can finish your sentence, a shrill scream from among the crowd of people interrupts.

“hey! give me back my bag!”

a masked man whips past you, knocking straight into a pretty girl in gym workout clothes nearby.

the giant protein shake in her hand flies out of her hand, and it is almost like slow motion when its contents splash across your clothes.

“fuck!” you yelp.

the shake is cold as it drips down the entire side of your right side. it smells like cookies and crème.

esteban’s voice sounds frantic on the other side.

“what? what? baby, are you okay? i’m on the way, just hold on!”

with the rise of crooks and supervillains in new york lately, it was no wonder that he sounded worried.

“i’m fine,“ you reassure him. “just- let me call you back- there’s a situation where i’m at,” you reply quickly, glaring at the backside of the masked man who continues to scamper down the road with a bright pink purse that obviously didn’t belong to him.

you jam the red “end call” button on your phone just in time to see the girl offer you a semi-moist gym towel. a monogrammed “abbi” is stitched on the edge.

”i’m so, so, sorry!” the girl- abbi- blurts out apologetically. “i just left the alpine gym a block away and that-“ she gestures over to the man, who was now leaping across lanes of new york traffic, “-absolute dick just pushed me! i can, like, pay for your dry cleaning, if you want?”

you start to reassure her, using the towel to dab up some of the bigger chunks of protein shake and unmixed powder, when, in the corner of your eye you spot a flash of red, blue and black from the metal scaffolding of a nearby construction site.

abbi’s mouth drops in amazement.

“is that-?”

you stop dabbing the towel and turn, only to find the great superhero of the new york- the one and only spider-man- swing down onto the concrete, barely missing the tips of your heads.

well, great. thanks, spiderman, for conveniently showing up now, you think.

“hey ladies, no worries, i got this!” spider-man shouts, throwing finger guns at you both before sprinting towards the crook.

he propels himself like a freaking rocket across the street onto the masked man with the purse, sending the both of them into a dirty puddle on the gutter of the sidewalk. they scuffle for a bit before spider-man successfully knocks out and ties the crook, semi damp and scuffed up, onto a nearby pole.

huffing with exertion, he stands back up before swinging with his webs over the heavy traffic and back towards you and abbi with the bag hoisted on his shoulder.

landing with a soft thump, he stiffly extends the bag out towards the pair of you, arm straight at a 90 degree angle with his body.

“um, is this yours?” spider-man asks, voice barely muffled through his mask.

it wasn’t every day that an average new yorker saw spider-man in real life. he seemed a little- taller than you expected. and a little more…awkward.

“no, no, it’s not,” abbi says quickly. she looks starstruck, hand limply holding the half-empty shake container and the other barely gripping the dirty monogrammed towel you gave back.

“yeah, it’s not ours,” you say in support. “i think it was some lady way behind us.”

spider-man scratches his head.

“oh,” he says. “um, well okay.”

there’s a slight pause before he continues.

“did um, any of you guys, want me to escort you to wherever you are going next? with all this, like, crime and all, going on, you know?”

wherever you're going...shit, the anniversary dinner!

“i’m fine, thank you,” you assert, hurridly turning to go. “i have an dinner to get to with my boyfriend.”

abbi, however, just about explodes with giddiness.

“you? spiderman? escort me? yes please!”

after sprinting like you were usain bolt into the french restaurant and avoiding the weird looks regarding the giant stain on your outfit, you are seated in a comfortable spot underneath the twinkling fairy lights. a waiter comes by and lights a few candles as well, creating what would have been a real romantic atmosphere- if esteban was there.

present

“even after being held up by spider-man, i waited for like, twenty minutes in that restaurant, este.”

your boyfriend shifts awkwardly on the bed.

“yeah, but-” he starts.

“no, i’m not done,” you snap. “not only that, your entire dress shirt was literally wet and had unidentified scuff marks on it. care to explain yourself?”

he stays silent.

you sigh.

“even if i forgive you for that, how about you explain the weird bruises you got at the school fair on wednesday?”

last wednesday

as the reigning associated body president, you were in charge of one of the biggest fundraisers at midtown school of science and technology- the grand fair. it was a tradition, at this point, for every president to host a larger, bigger, fair than the last in an effort to outdo one another. it always raked in thousands of dollars from the community that single-handedly funded many of the school’s programs.

last year, gwen, the asb president then, had somehow gotten bumper-cars as an attraction, which you decided to one-up by adding an enormous ferris wheel and dunk tank, which would more than likely look even more impressive.

the new york state fair had nothing on you by the time you had most of the stalls set up an hour and a half before the event started. the cotton candy and popcorn machine was up and running, making whiffs of spun sugar and melted butter float over the quickly darkening site. between a few student workers, milling about, the little game stalls flashed red and yellow, advertising bean bag throwing or ring tosses to earn giant stuffed prizes shaped like the school mascot.

esteban, being the good boyfriend he was, had volunteered to come “help” you organize and sort all the booths at the fair site, but you knew it was a pitiful excuse that would probably end up with him taking advantage of open booths and nicking a shit ton of cotton candy and kettle corn popcorn.

like you predicted, after rounding the final grassy corner from the balloon darts booth, you spot your boyfriend metres away, sitting still and looking pretty at a little decorated picnic table stuffing his mouth with cotton candy.

so much for helping set up the stalls.

when esteban spots you from the table, he beams and waves energetically, teeth and lips colored an artificial strawberry pink.

“hi baby!” he shouts, startling a few classmates setting up and a few poor birds in the trees. “the fair is looking really good- and so is the food!”

you roll your eyes, but nonetheless blow a kiss to him.

reaching a hand up, your boyfriend exaggeratedly mimes snatching your kiss out of the air and sliding it into his pocket before patting it protectively.

you giggle softly and turn back towards the front of the venue after he blows an air-kiss back with a more-than audible smooching sound. even if he was a little goofy sometimes, he more than made up for it with all the love and support he gave you.

weaving through small groups of students that were just-arriving, you flip through your clipboard of papers to do some last minute checks.

it’s not until a few seconds later when you hear a thundering sound of propellers behind you.

huh, you don’t remember setting up anything that involved propellers.

curiously, you turn around and snap your head up, only to meet a glowing green hoverboard paired with a grinning, wild haired man that immediately strikes fear in your heart, freezing your feet from moving.

the green goblin.

“hiya there sweetie,” he says, peering down at you in a sickenly sweet voice. “do you know where your-“

before he can finish his sentence, a flash of blue-red flashes across the sky and sends the green goblin flying, narrowly missing the game stalls.

for the second time in a freaking week, you were graced with the presence of spider-man. but now, he was fighting green goblin. over your just-built fair.

in all of new york, of all the times, green goblin decided to pick now to start a petty fight?

almost immediately, screams from your classmates start up, blending weirdly with the jolly carnival music surrounding the atmosphere as the green goblin’s pumpkin bombs rain down from the sky. they sprint past you, pushing and shoving to get away from the potentially-deadly scene.

the first thought in your head is: esteban.

you force your legs to start moving to find your boyfriend in the now burning fair-site as the pair in the air above you crash straight into your house of mirrors, sending glass shards everywhere.

even when you straight-up almost die after one of the bombs land a little too close to your feet, you continue searching through many of the booths and stalls for your boyfriend. there was no way you were going to let him die to something as stupid as one of spiderman’s city-demolishing fights.

your search is largely unfruitful, even though you do find a few trapped classmates under a destroyed balloon-making stand as spider-man and green goblin grapple each other and do irreversible damage to your fair.

by the time you find the picnic table your boyfriend was sitting at a few frightening minutes later, it didn’t even matter that spider-man had won the fight by propelling green goblin’s unresponsive body straight into the dunk-tank that you spent a wild amount of asb money on, because the table was entirely crushed, with your boyfriend nowhere in sight.

an existential feeling of dread fills your chest.

no. no.

you wipe a few stray tears from your eyes.

you refuse to accept this. esteban had to be around here somewhere.

before you set off to look someplace else, a red-and-blue clad body blocks your path.

spider-man.

“are you okay?” he asks, patting your shoulder.

you could almost throttle him.

”no!” you screech, on the verge of bursting into tears. “you fucking destroyed my entire fair, and now i can’t find my boyfriend!! why couldn’t you fight green goblin somewhere else?”

spider-man recoils, snatching his hand back.

“i-i-i’m sure he’s fine,” he stutters out. “he’s probably, you know-“ he gestures around the burning debris next to him- “around..here.”

you’re not satisfied with spider-man’s flippant answer. what if esteban was buried under a bunch of heavy wood planks? what if he was trapped underneath a fiery inferno?

although you were pissed at the so called “hero” in front of you, you couldn’t help but admit that he would probably be the best chance in finding your boyfriend.

trying your best to hold yourself together, you snap, “look, spider-man, can you just please find my boyfriend? he’s kind of tall, has straight short black hair.. i just can’t bear losing him right now, okay?”

he nods once, tersely, before swinging off into the flames.

it doesn’t even take five minutes before your esteban steps out behind a wrecked hot dog stall. even if he looks absolutely disheveled, with countless bruises littering his arms and a half-ripped shirt, you can’t help but to run straight into his arms, feeling his body against yours.

your boyfriend tucks you into him, making sure to pat head comfortingly.

“hi baby, you okay?” he asks a little too nonchalantly, as if you both weren’t standing in the midst of what looked like to be the aftermath of a meteor shower.

“no!” you shoot back, leaning backwards to look up at his face. your face must be streaked with tears, but you didn’t care at this point. “i genuinely thought you died, esteban.”

“ah,” he replies. “well i, um, didn’t, so that’s good. i just, you know, went to the bathroom.”

present

“don’t get me wrong, esteban, i was super glad you were fine that i didn’t really question you, but now i realize- what the hell were you doing in the bathroom that got you bruises that bad?”

your boyfriend wrings his hands.

“i, like, ran into the bathroom door really hard after i heard those banging sounds from outside the restroom.”

hmm.

you roll your eyes.

”okay, how about yesterday when you got literally everything in my room sticky during our physics study session?”

esteban raises and eyebrow before snorting, seemingly taking your words a different way.

you huff. boys and their dirty minds.

“no! i’m being serious!”

yesterday

although your boyfriend could somehow ace physical education class, no problem, and run a mile in, like, under six minutes, he struggled sometimes with other subjects. thirty one sit-ups? sure. thirty one algebra or physics questions? eh, not so much.

good thing though, he had a top-of-the-class, straight a student as a girlfriend.

by hosting impromptu study sessions (that honestly usually ended with you both making out on your bed since esteban got distracted pretty easily), you were able to boost his average grade up to a moderately acceptable level.

currently, your room looked like an absolute mess, with esteban’s physics papers scattered everywhere on the floor, eraser shavings all throughout the area, and your heavy textbook flipped open halfway.

“alright, next problem!" you exclaim. "what is the net force of a race car on a 30 degree-angled bank- are you even listening?”

while you read out the next question on his homework, it is clear that your boyfriend’s attention has drifted elsewhere, specifically the tv mounted on the corner of your room.

you knew you should have turned it off before you started tutoring him.

when you glance over to what has caught your boyfriend’s attention, the screen blares an all-too-common scene of a bank robbery that was taking place a few blocks away. from the helicopter live-footage through the side of the bank's glass window pane, a masked man greedily stuffs green bills into his camo bag.

it doesn’t cause you that much concern though. you knew spider-man, the sometimes good/sometimes bad friendly neighborhood hero would show up soon or later to patch up the situation, so you reach over the papers to tap esteban gently on the shoulder.

“okay baby, focus! you’re literally almost done with the worksheet!”

instead of snapping his attention back to the work though, he scoots back rather hurriedly and announces that he was going to get something to eat.

you let him rush out of the room, knowing that he was probably going to be stuffing his face with the fresh pain au chocolat that your mother had freshly made a few hours ago.

meanwhile, you scribble shapeless blobs on the corner of your history homework.

the news network on your tv moves on from the robbery (like anticipated, spider-man came in, swinging on his webs, and slingshotted the robber against the bank wall) to some car race in australia by the time your boyfriend skips back into your room, slamming the door behind him with a flourish.

you pat the seat next to you, gesturing for him to sit down.

he peers at your tv for a quick second before settling down next to you.

“welcome back, este!” you say enthusiastically. “don’t worry- you didn’t miss much from the tv- just spider-man saving a bank or whatever.”

“oh,” your boyfriend murmurs, fiddling with a pencil. “was- was he cool?”

”huh?” you blurt out, puzzled.

he waves you off quickly, setting the pencil down and scooting closer to your desk.

”no, nothing, just joking. so um, where were we on the physics homework?”

you send him a weird look before shuffling his papers back to how it was before.

“ok, back to the problem- what is the net force of a race car on a 30-degree angled bank…”

when you finish re-reading the problem, you reach over to grab the pencil that esteban put down to draw out a diagram to clarify the problem, when surprisingly, it doesn’t budge.

even when you pull as hard as you could, the pencil stays stubbornly stuck to the desk.

what the..?

present

“okay,” esteban says, waving his hands in the air as if it was clarifying things. “i went to your kitchen to eat those éclairs your mom made, remember? i got the crème filling on my hands, and it got on the pencil and everything, so that’s why it got stuck to the table...”

you were so done with this guy.

“este- my mom didn’t make éclairs- she made pain au chocolat!”

caught up in his lie, there was nothing your boyfriend could do but to scratch his head awkwardly and pretend not to make eye contact with you.

scoffing, you shake your head. honestly, you didn’t understand why your boyfriend had to lie all the time. what did he even have to hide?

pushing off the bed, you take off your piece of clothing with the weird stain that had came from esteban’s hands in one smooth motion. it was probably best to get the stain out immediately before it ruined your shirt. besides, it would give him a chance to reflect. maybe then he’d tell you.

before walking out to throw your laundry in the wash, you sternly tell off your boyfriend.

”este, i suggest you tell me whatever it is you’re hiding after i come back from starting up the laundry, because, as your girlfriend, i think i deserve to know, no?”

chucking your piece of clothing into the washing machine, you decide to wash a few articles of esteban’s clothes as well, cause hey, it saves water, right?

you throw in a few mismatched socks, a scuffed up hoodie, and a worn shirt before you spot a flash of red-spandex like material at the bottom of his basket.

brushing aside a rolled-up pair of jeans, your eyes widen almost comically when you spot what it really is. tucked haphazardly at the bottom of your boyfriend’s laundry basket is a wrinkled spider-man mask.

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