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tryonfemme · 2 months ago

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✮🕷✮⋆˙ not so funny

spider!ellie williams x neighbor!barista!reader

chapter 2 ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ liar's drink

⚡︎ series summary: ellie promised herself she wouldn't let anyone else get hurt because of her secret identity—which is why she hasn't dated in six years. she doesn't need to date. but for some reason her new next door neighbor won't leave her mind, in a friendly way. god ellie hopes it is a friendly way.

✮ overall content of series: soooo much pining, fem!reader, grief, the loss of a partner, death, language, conversations of homophobia, mental health, drug use, alcohol use, hurt/comfort, disaster lesbians, sunshine!reader, slightly grumpy but more so awkward! ellie, reader & ellie are both 26.

word count: 8.9k

a/n: woot woot chapter two yay yay yay!! this one is longer, so i hope y'all love it :D

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

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august 12th

6:13 am

ellie woke up pissed.

which wasn’t a rare occurrence for her. she felt the pile of sweat under her and her face half stuck to the pillow— a mixture of sweat and droll.

for a moment, she didn’t move. instead she just stared at the ceiling above her; it spun in slow, lazy circles but she was sure that air wasn’t circulating. ellie’s head ached like she'd been out drinking — yet she hadn’t touched anything other than mint tea.

ellie couldn’t shake away the honey-sugar-shampoo smell that was still lingering on her shirt.

she rolled onto her side. groaning as she immediately regretted it.

her body ached—sore in a way she couldn’t justify. she hadn’t patrolled for long last night and even on patrol, all she had done was stop a bike robbery which she had found out was the guy’s actual bike. this could only mean that her body was punishing her for feeling somewhat close to happy. awesome.

by 7:00 am she had forced herself to be up. a splash of cold water on her face—a simple remedy to wake up.

she could feel the weight of the barely started day on her shoulders. it already felt like too much. ellie had woken up feeling off, and maybe it was because she had felt close to happy last night. at least the closest she had felt in awhile. it wasn’t the fake it till you make it happy; it was the happy that lingered in your stomach.

but ellie williams didn’t happy. she didn’t do meet cutes with the suspiciously soft looking neighbor who had a honey-smile. she didn’t think about girls like you—she avoided girls like you, because falling for you would end in her crying like a baby.

her happiness could be defined by beer and cigarette with dina and jesse. it was too dangerous to let people in. she wouldn’t have another person get hurt because of her—she wouldn’t let someone else die.

throwing on black jeans that hung on her waist; shit she needed to eat more. a buttoned short sleeve blouse, shoving her socked feet into the rattiest converse anyone has ever seen. auburn hair half up in a bun because she swore if she felt hair on her neck, she would have a panic attack.

ellie looked at herself in the mirror, blinking hard. she shook her head. then she shoved her spider-suit into her backpack and grabbed onto her camera bag.

ellie knew it was gonna be a long day. everyday was a long day for her. but she felt the length drag whenever she stepped outside her front door and made eye contact with the little engraved ‘512’ on your front door.

and so what if she decided to swing by the little coffee shop on sixth?

it was no one’s business but hers. even if she did hate coffee.

7:45 am

you were in the midst of wiping down the counter. you watched as the rag went from a sunshine yellow into a brown, transforming into the liquid it absorbed. and the small view made you smile, because hell this is the life you dreamed for.

being a business owner. feeling like you had a purpose. it was tedious and sometimes you felt like your whole world was going to shatter beneath you—but fuck you had worked for it and you were allowed to dawn that feeling of pride.

in the midst of restocking the milk fridge, you heard the soft opening of the employee door in the back. straightening yourself out, you pulled down the red sweater that was hung on your body.

“you are late anderson,” you called out projecting to the back, a shit-eating grin displayed on the face of an angel.

and guilty as charged, abby stuck her head out from the side of the door. looking at you with a glint of something in her eyes. “sorry boss, but can’t i just say you look mighty fine in cherry red.”

“you can’t flirt your way out of being in trouble.”

abby shook her head now fully walking behind the counter—taking herself to the espresso machine, getting herself a shot. “well shit, guess i’m fired.” she teased as she went to take the shot of liquid.

you watched as she threw her head back; downing the liquid in a big gulp. watching as she slightly winced at the heat. eyes meeting yours. that fucking anderson smile.

“god stop undressing me with your eyes y/n,” abby nudged your shoulder as she reached for the opening checklist. the way she held the clipboard almost masked the amount of times she had stared at it cursing it out.

you shook your head; “you wish.”

abby winked at you before grabbing a pen off the counter, already scrabbling something on the checklist—she had halfway memorized it and halfway despised it.

you couldn’t help but note that she looked good today. well she looked good most days—if you were attracted to the ‘ex-softball-player-who-could-break-your-back-and-then-read-you-to-sleep’ kind of thing.

and you couldn’t lie, you had thought about it once or twice. maybe even three times.

but something about abby was too easy. it was too safe. and everything you had ever done in your life had been safe. so you could pass on it this time around.

you had stepped around her, going to double check the pastry case. chocolate chip muffins that were slightly crooked, croissants looking almost melted into each other as if they were a family. it was all perfect. it was perfect because it was yours.

you heard the oven beep—cinnamon rolls ready. grabbing onto the tray, sniffing softly as the sweet scent of fresh sweetness and the spiciness of cinnamon. placing them in the display case, trying to find the middle ground between something being perfect and something being imperfect.

as you went to put the last roll in the case—you heard the soft sound of the bell above the door. eyes fluttering up and shit you couldn’t believe it.

there she was.

ellie walked in, all sharp angles and tension. shoulders hunched slightly and covered by the obviously thrifted blouse, her camera bag was slung over one shoulder while her other hand was stuffed awkwardly in the front right pocket of her jeans. her hair was half up; the bun was messy as if she had lost a fight halfway through and decided it was the fair compromise. and her eyes—so fucking green you could get lost in them—they sleep deprived and darting around, observing the cafe as if she had regretted walking in already.

“good morning,” you spoke, hoping to not sound too eager—but chipper and cheery, you could even say bubbly.

ellie’s eyes snapped up to you. she blinked as if she expected you to not say anything at all. “morning.” complete opposite of you.

a tension lingered in the air; all of unspoken words, thoughts, what could be, what ifs. someone could feel the tense from miles away. the hairs on ellie’s arms stuck straight up, before she shivered letting the feeling go.

abby was the one to break the silence, leaning on the counter with her head titled. “can we get you something?” she eyed ellie up and down with her words.

ellie hesitated. because she came in expecting to see you, but she hadn’t fully planned out what she was gonna do once she got inside. and she sure as hell hadn’t expected your co-worker to be abby—someone she had run into at the local gym a few times, or at the tiny lesbian bar that dina and jesse loved to bring ellie to. it was the bar she had met cat at. and fuck she hadn’t expected to feel so out of place, so overwhelmed by the sweet smell of vanilla and espresso and…you.

god you looked good in red and the denim skirt you wore cut off at the meatiest part of your thigh.

fuck, ellie was a perv.

“uh,” she started to speak but she felt her throat dry up, her voice cracking. “i’ll just…get whatever she recommends.” ellie used her pointer finger to gesture your way. she hadn’t even looked in your direction, which made the words somehow worse. more charged. less casual.

abby raised an eyebrow at her, eyes darting between the two of them, lips twisting into a smug smile.

“dangerous game, freckles,” she said, tapping her pen against the register. “she doesn’t fuck around about coffee.”

ellie shuddered at the nickname, before giving the smallest shrug imaginable. “i trust her.”

you choked on your sip of water, attempting to cover it up with a weak cough.

abby looked at you. she noticed. she always seemed to notice.

“bold,” she muttered, swinging a rag over her shoulder, stepping aside for you. “all yours, boss.”

you stepped up to the register, giving abby a soft smile as she passed by. wiping your hands on the rag that hung from your apron. you didn’t meet ellie’s eyes yet. not because you didn’t want to—but because you really did want to. those green eyes could distract you from it all.

“so,” you spoke with a certain softness. “do you like coffee?” you laughed softly because the question felt so silly slipping past your tongue. last night this same girl had pounded on your door ready to scream at you, and now here she stood in your cafe at 7:52 am; practically vibrating out of her skin–and trusting you with her order. it felt electric.

she looked at you. and her eyes were all sharp lashes and just spiraling thoughts. they held something murky. not dark, exactly. but foggy, like glasses that hadn’t been wiped properly in months.

she shrugged, bouncing from foot to foot as if it physically hurt to stand still. “not really,” she admitted, she said it sheepishly like admitting the fact would have her killed. “i kinda fucking hate it.”

your smile twitched even wider, “well shit that is deeply insulting.”

she smirked right back, eyes going to the ground, “i mean i tried to like it once, in college. just made me feel like i was going to shit myself and i failed my chem final.”

you looked at her for a moment before suddenly you laughed; it was full of light and completely unfiltered. the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt.

from behind you, abby snorted.

and butterflies completely erupted in ellie’s stomach. she blinked watching you laugh—and if it wasn’t utterly creepy, she’d take her phone out in this moment and click record to just capture how your happy sounded.

“that is a gold mine story.” you spoke coming down from your laughing fit.

“had to learn the hard way that coffee and i dont fuck with each other.” ellie shrugged, feeling her lips twitching.

then there was a pause—not an uncomfortable one, but rather one of knowing. ellie’s face looked as if she hadn’t meant to share that piece of information about herself, but she didn’t look as if she regretted it. it was the kind of truth that cracked open the smallest door. not wide enough to see through it, but enough to know that there was something behind it.

“so, what does a non-coffee drinker want at a coffee shop?” you asked gently.

ellie’s frows burrowed like you were asking her how to solve a calculus equation. “I dunno, something sweet, but not too sweet. but still passable as that i am an adult and am doing something in adult fashion.”

you hummed, tapping your fingers on the counter before reaching for a to-go cup. “sooo, a liar’s drink?”

she blinked. “a what?”

you grinned, “the kind of drink a person orders when they want to look cool in front of someone, but they actually just hate coffee.”

ellie stared at you for a beat too long, “you’re kinda mean.”

you’re kinda mean.

you bit your lip at her words, feigning offense as you poured oat milk into the cup. “i’m not mean. i’m honest. very big difference.”

ellie raised an eyebrow, “brutally honest.”

“brutual is subjective.”

ellie stared at you—like really stared at you—for what could be considered a weird amount of time. and it made your hands move faster, like if you didn’t finish the drink in a certain amount of time you would short-circuit under her gaze.

you popped the lid onto the cup and slid it across the counter to her. “There. I made you a dirty chai with oat milk. two shots, one full caff, one decaf. extra vanilla, dash of cinnamon. it should be a little sweet, a little spicy, and still crafts the illusion of maturity.”

ellie looked down at it suspiciously, “you sure it won’t kill me?”

“no promises, but my end goal is to keep all of my customers alive.”

from behind you, abby barked out a laugh, “freckles, that is called customer service.”

ellie’s eyes cut to abby. her jaw twitched—not with anger, maybe just sheer annoyance, and the usual tightness she wore like armor.

you watched her as she picked up the cup, her fingers grazing the spot yours had been just moments ago. her lips pressed into a flat line. then she took a small sip.

and blinked.

then she blinked again.

“...it doesn’t suck,” she muttered, almost like it hurt to fully admit it. a soft smile broke onto her face.

and your smile widened, “that is a glowing review! I should print it on a sign.”

ellie glanced up at you; it was quick and guarded, but not unfriendly. her eyes had a softness to them that wasn’t present just moments ago.

you would take that as a small victory.

ellie took another sip of the drink—another small victory for you—it was a less cautious sip. her tongue flickered against her teeth as she swallowed, and she gave the tiniest nod. “okay. it is actually good.”

you grinned, a shit-eating grin. like you had just won the biggest trophy possible. “so you are capable of joy.”

“debatable.” ellie muttered, eyes glued to her cup, but her lips twitched as if they were screaming to smile.

you searched her face, taking note of the smile that she was holding back. “on the house, neighbor discount.”

she still took out her falling apart wallet—setting a five dollar bill on the counter. “a tip then, for making me a tolerable liar’s drink.”

you bit back a smile, watching as her hand slid across the counter, an action of giving you the bill. they were calloused, knuckles bruised lightly, and nails bitten down to the edge, skin around looking chewed at. not the hands of a regular photographer. not the hands of someone who had gone untouched by the world.

“this isn’t necessary,” you murmured, but you knew she was someone who wouldn’t take the money back. “but thank you.” your eyes met back with hers. she looked as if she didn’t know if she wanted to kiss you or to never talk to you again.

ellie broke the moment first, clearing her throat and stepping back from the counter, her hands cradling the cup in both hands as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. “i should go, really gotta go. my boss is a yeller.”

you nodded, “yeah, sorry for keeping you.” you still had that grin on your face; like you knew if she asked her to stay that she would plop down in the chair next to the window and just watch you work all day.

“thanks for the drink.”

“thanks for stopping in.”

you spoke simultaneously. causing you to grin and for ellie to look scared shitless.

grabbing a piece of old receipt, you scribbled something down—your number. handing her the paper, “here for late night emergencies of me being too loud, or if you need some tea.”

god you were so fucking sweet, ellie thought to herself.

she nodded, taking the paper; she held it in her hand like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

“see you around.” and with that ellie turned, her beat-up converse scuffing across the tiled floor as she made her way toward the door. she felt the weight of her coffee cup—it was warm and grounding. like it had some spell wrapped around it, the same smell that you had crafted.

the bell above the door jungled as she opened it with her shaky hand. a gust of wind caught her shirt just enough to remind her that she hadn’t eaten today and probably wouldn’t until mid-afternoon. her stomach would remind her and her brain would trail to those damn cinnamon rolls in the display case.

outside, queens was already awake—dogs barking, some sort of siren in the distance, some old man cursing at a fire hydrant. ellie blinked against the sudden shift of sound and sun, she stepped to the edge of the sidewalk not wanting to burden the early morning crowd. she took another sip of the drink.

shit it still didn’t suck.

she shook her head, almost amused at the whole situation. “fucking liar’s drink.” she muttered.

and then, as if it was summoned by the hit of cinnamon, a memory appeared uninvited: rylie, giggling in a blanket fort they’d made dawned with too many stupid fucking fairy lights, holding out a cup of some overly sweet latte and saying “you’re gonna learn to like it, williams. just give in.”

her throat tightened. eyes shutting and she inhaled sharply. counting to five—letting the memory pass as she has learned to do.

not now. not in the middle of sixth. not in front of her shop.

ellie took a deep breath as she readjusted her camera bag and looked up at the awning of the store. the paint on the sign was beginning to chip—she could climb up there and fix that. the ‘o’ in ‘coffee’ was shaped like a little fucking espresso bean. it was stupid. it was also sweet.

and so was the girl behind the counter.

ellie turned her face away before she could think for too long about you. or your damn smile. or the way you laughed at her.

she had photos to take. rent to earn. a suit that was stuffed in her bag. a city to protect.

this wasn’t a romance. it couldn’t be. ellie williams didn’t do romances—she did hook ups with girls who didn’t care, who didn’t have crooked smiles, who didn’t make her feel real shit. she couldn’t have distractions, especially not ones with honey voices and fingers that would brush against hers like it meant something.

but ellie couldn’t help to look back one last time; she saw you bending over to rearrange something in the pastry display case. abby behind you, rolling her eyes as if she had been given the worst job in the world.

the image of you caused ellie to smirk.

fuck, she thought to herself.

and finally she walked away.

8:24 am

ellie pushed through the revolving door and was immediately greeted with the atmosphere of the daily bugle—phones were ringing off the hook, someone was swearing about the printers being jammed, and she could hear jameson’s echoing yell from his office.

the building reeked of burnt coffee, old carpet, and ink. always fucking ink. it caused ellie a headache.

“williams,” a voice spoke from behind her. she didn’t have to turn to know it was jesse. “got some copies.”

he caught up with her, pulling a folder from under his arm and holding it out to her like a peace offering. “that for jameson?” she asked softly, taking it into her hands.

“yeah, his fucking printer is out again. and you know how he wants hard copies like it is 1999.” Jesse then made a face. “He also said if you were late again today, that your ass was getting reassigned to the animal shelters.”

ellie grunted. “guess i better make this quick.”

jameson would be dumb if he reassigned ellie from spider-person. no one would ever be able to get the shots she did—because fuck she was the spider-person. of course, he didn’t know that. no one did.

jesse glanced down at the cup in her hand, “wait a sec-”

“nope.”

“hold up,” he said, stopped dead in the hallway and pointed at the cup. “is that from take a bite?”

ellie turned slightly, raising a brow, “what the hell is take a bite?”

“oh, don’t play dumb els,” jesse grinned, “dina loves that places. cute queer cafe on sixth, good pastries, killer drinks. we go there every saturday, we actually always fucking invite you.”

ellie blinked, “this could literally be from anywhere.”

“nah dude, that little heart on the sleeve? it is like their thing. you don’t forget a cup when your girlfriend has got a whole collection of them on the top of the fridge.”

ellie looked at the side of the cup. and shit. the little heart stared back up at her. it was like the scribble was mocking her.

“so?” she mumbled, “i just happened to be in the area.”

“why would you go to a coffee shop? you hate coffee.” jesse leaned against the wall as if he was settling for a long conversation.

“suck a dick. maybe i changed.” she started to become defensive. “coffee shops provide more than coffee you know? like wellness juices, and just juices in general.”

he snorted, “yeah? maybe jameson will even give us a raise with that demanding attitude.”

ellie gave him a look that said drop it, but jesse had known her for too long to feel the need to listen.

“you meet someone?” he asked casually, but she could hear the bait in his voice.

“no.”

“really? because you look like you haven’t slept, you have your hair in the panic bun, and you are holding a cup with a heart on it.”

“you said the heart comes on all the cups,” she snapped. “it is just a drink.”

jesse raised an eyebrow, with the mhmmmm look in his eyes. “sure. just a drink. from a very specific cafe. with a very cute barista if i remember correctly.”

ellie’s face twitched, lips pressing into a deep line. she couldn’t be having this conversation, it would make it all more real. she attempted to walk past him once more, but he just followed.

“did you talk to her?”

“jesse.”

“oh my god,” his face brightened, “you talked to her you little shit.”

ellie groaned, “for fucks sake—she is the one who moved into 512. she fucking eats crackers in bed which annoys the hell out of me because we have paper thins walls, so i knocked on her door to tell her to stop and she invited me in for tea. i went to yell and somehow i got fucking tea. so we had tea together. that is it.”

“you got tea’ed into a woman's apartment. els, that is rom-com level shit.”

“nothing romantic about it.”

jesse grinned like the devil himself. “okay, sure, having tea with your neighbor late at night is totally normal. nothing romantic about it.”

ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, continuing to walk, “i swear to god, jesse–”

“i am just saying,” he held his hands up in a mock surrender. “going to visit a girls place of work even though you hate coffee is such an interesting choice for someone so disinterested.”

ellie glared at him, “it was on the way here.” she reinstated her earlier point.

jesse gave a low whistle, nodding to himself, “you are spiraling els, god this is fun to see.”

“go to hell.”

jesse laughed, continuing to walk backwards, “seems i am already there.” he motioned to the walls around him.

“i am not spiraling.” she muttered, walking past him and taking another sip of her drink—and she instantly regretted it. it wasn’t because it tasted bad (it still tasted good which made her mad), but because the cinnamon made her think of you again. and your hands. and that fucking smile.

jesse caught back up, nudging her shoulder, “you gonna text her?”

“no.”

“you should.”

“not interested.”

“why els? i mean this could be–”

ellie shot him a look so sharp that it stopped him in the middle of his sentence, “i’m serious. this can not be a thing. i’m not–she’s not–” she paused. her words were caught between her ribs and lungs.

jesse’s voice got quiet, “hey, i’m just messing with you. but…fuck ellie you do deserve someone good.”

ellie didn’t answer. she just stood there, shoulders tight, cup clenched as if it was the only solid thing left.

“just, think about it.” jesse patted her shoulder, giving his friend a sheepish smile, beginning to turn to the bullpen. “maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world, y’know…if someone is able to see all that doom and gloom and still wants to have tea.”

ellie didn’t say anything. instead she just watched him walk away, his voice fading into the newsroom.

she found herself staring at the cup once more, taking in the now more smudged heart.

this wasn’t a romance.

she had to tell herself one more time as she stuffed the cup into the nearest trash can and made her way toward jameson’s office, footsteps heavy, head full of cinnamon and fucking optimism.

6:12 pm

ellie zipped from building to building, the sun was a low fire that bled into the skyline. a golden light poured across the windows, glinting off glass towers like it was trying to set the whole world ablaze. and her suit was clinging to her body in a way she hated—sticking to her because of sweat, not enough breeze. maybe the blue and red was too much. the spandex was too much. and each swing she took felt heavier than the last.

but she needed to be out here.

usually she always felt better in the air; it was all weightless, distant, far from her apartment—she never felt questioned, she felt limitless.

her arms arched as she landed on a rooftop above a quiet part of the city, some sandwich shop rested below her. she could hear a couple arguing about some other woman—and in that moment it struck her how small things felt whenever she up in the world.

spider-person didn’t text people. didn’t flirt or lie or choke because they were being vulnerable.

spider-person didn’t spend half their morning looking at an empty text draft with your name at the top of the screen.

she lifted part of her mask—just to feel like she was actually breathing, to get air on her neck. to feel like she was actually alive, not just living. she took a breath in; queens smelled of smoke and hot-dog stands. ellie closed her eyes trying to go back over what she had planned for the night—circling the same few blocks around roosevelt, slightly hoping something would happen that was bad enough to fight, but not enough for her to hurt someone.

a passing by siren wailed, she tensed but watched it continue to pass.

nothing.

just quiet. her and the wind.

ellie pulled her mask back down, then walked across the ledge of the building and sat with her legs dangled over the edge. she could see a few pigeons on the building across the way. a couple of teens with slushies on the fire escape. a older woman’s laundry fluttering on a clothesline.

a soft breeze finally rolled through. it smelled of the end of summer and warm concrete.

“you ever get lonely up there?”

your voice popped into her head. fuck. you had never even said that, but it felt like something you would say.

ellie groaned, dragging her hands across her face. she should’ve gone home. she should’ve went home and showered. ordered takeout. fucking slept.

instead she was here. sweating in a spandex suit, watching the sun beginning to set like some asshole in an indie superhero movie.

she should’ve quit six years ago—when she wanted to. when she fucked up. when she realized she wasn’t made to be a hero. but fuck she was stuck like this.

she tapped the edge of her mask, “get it together williams.”

the wind shifted again. coming out of the sandwich shop, a group of girls emerged laughing so loudly a close bird flew into the comfort of the air.

she didn’t know why; but it made her heart ache. so she did what she could—swung away.

6:41 pm

the moment she heard the scream, ellie was airborne.

two webs fired—one on a lamp post, the other on the posting above a random hippie shop—and the way she launched herself was sharp, it was harsh, the snap was so hard she could’ve dislocated her shoulder. it didn’t matter. pain was good, it kept her moving.

the scream came once more; it was closer. she identified—female, sharp and real.

ellie landed hard on the top of a food delivery van and spotted them; a man gripping a purse and attempting to yank it violently from a well-off looking woman—middle aged, red lip, white pantsuit—near the corner of the laundromat, her back against the wall, arm wrenched.

“let go!” the woman yelled, kicking out at the man.

ellie didn’t wait, jumping down from the van, landing just two feet from the man. “fuck dude, really?”

the man froze, wide eyes at the sudden vigilante in front of him. his head then snapped at the sudden web that sealed his wrist to the brick wall before he had the chance to bolt. which gave the white haired woman the ability to scramble away.

“go!” ellie barked at her, not taking her eyes off of the man. the woman didn’t need to be told twice—she ran down the street, the sound of her heels clicking on the sidewalk in the distant until she got far enough away.

the guy attempted to reach for something in his waist band, probably a knife. but ellie was quick. she slammed her shoulder into his ribs, and then twisted around to have him pinned with another round of webs. his free arm thrashed around—but it was clumsy, desprate.

“come on, dude,” she hit the knife out of his hand before he could officially do any damage. he muttered ‘bitch’ as he watched the knife skid across the pavement.

she used another web to seal his ankles together, and then his shoulders to the brick.

“queen’s pd will just love you,” she muttered, “a real thinker. a robbery with a steak knife. very old school.”

he groaned against the wall, but his face was half webbed so it came very muffled.

“yeah,” she patted his back, “tell your friends that the spider is cranky today.”

she turned toward the sound of the siren beginning to sound, it was a few blocks down. ellie took note that her pulse was high. her hands were shaking. she didn’t realize that she had begun to hold her breath until she let it out in one, long exhale. fuck it felt good.

focus ellie, just focus, she thought to herself.

she had helped someone. she should be proud of herself. it was good work that she did something.

ellie looked at the guy stuck to the wall, how he was still struggling against the web.

he was still just a guy.

the adrenaline of a fight was beginning to crash. and the noise from the street came crashing back to her—it was all too loud, too busy, too much.

she looked over and saw some kid at the corner store, holding his phone up pointed at her.

she flipped him off, before firing off a web to launch herself upward once again, heart in her throat and eyes scanning for a rooftop to settle. she could breathe when she up, it was a safety place.

but the second she was above it all—the city, the screams, the photo-snapping strangers—your face came right back to her.

you, leaning on the counter this morning, grinning at her like she was a mystery that was worth solving.

you, laughing at her coffee horror story.

you, handing her your number like it didn’t cost a dime.

too much.

ellie landed on the water tower edge and crouched there, huffing, trying to shake the loose thoughts of red sweaters and denim skirts.

taking her mask halfway up, and stared down at the street. thinking about the little piece of paper folded up in her wallet, your number scribbled onto it.

her thumbs twitched.

you can’t start anything, ellie thought to herself.

she wouldn’t let herself fall for someone, because what if they fell. she couldn’t drop someone again.

8:09 pm

you were at some italian place on ninth, one that you usually could not afford—but tommy and bea wanted to take you out, which wasn’t something you would say no to. you also knew that they would let you take home all of the leftovers.

the wine glasses were already halfway empty when bea leaned across the table and asked, “so are the roaches paying rent yet?”

you snorted into the glass, shaking your head. “i’m currently negotiating with them. it is complicated. they are unionized.”

tommy made a face like he had swallowed a whole lemon, “you’re not serious right?”

you tilted your head, “you think i’d lie?”

bea raised her brows, sipping her wine. “i wouldn’t put it past that pervert you have as a landlord. tommy couldn’t sleep the night you moved in, afraid that you would get violated in your sleep.”

you smiled, because you knew they were joking—well sort of. the edge underneath it all wasn’t a joke. bea stirred her pasta absently, watching you from beneath her lashes. tommy wasn’t even pretending not to be worried—in his older brother fashion. he had that furrowed brow look he always got when you told him something he didn’t like but couldn’t argue against.

“i’m fine, i promise,” you said, before they could say anything else. “it’s just…dated. the place has personality though.”

“it has mold,” tommy countered.

you rolled your eyes, “that is just called character.”

bea leaned her cheek against her palm. “babe, i love that you are romanticizing the whole ‘broke girl in new york living above a bodega’ thing, but we have the guest room for you. it has central air. and a stove that you don’t have to kick for it to work.”

“and no haunted pipes,” tommy added adamantly, "which i still don’t understand. what does that even mean? haunted by what? disgustingly cold water?”

you shrugged, “i dunno. they just make…sounds. like the building is alive and mildly pissed off.”

tommy looked like he was in genuine panic. “that is not better.”

you waved around a breadstick as if it were a flag, “look, i love you both. i really do. but we all know I needed my own space.”

Bea nodded slowly, “we get that. you wanted to be on your own again—”her dialect was like she was hinting at so many things, “but you were only with us for six months, but it wasn’t a burden—”

“i know,” you cut in gently. “but it was never meant to be permanent. i needed that time after the breakup, and i am so grateful for the both of you. really. but i couldn’t keep crashing with you forever.”

bea reached for your hand. “it didn’t feel like crashing.”

you squeezed her fingers. “still. i wanted this. to prove i could make something mine. even if it’s ugly and falling apart.”

tommy sighed, setting his fork down, hand rubbing across his chin. “i just hate that you are doing it in a building with windows that don’t lock.”

“they do.”

he gave you a look.

“...shit with enough duct tape.”

bea made a sound that sounded to be somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “i’m sending you a deadbolt.”

you smile into your wineglass. “thanks, mom.”

tommy leaned back in his chair. “i can’t help it. you’re my sister. you living in a shithole will craft anxiety.”

bea’s eyes twinkled. “and i’m your best friend, so i’m doubly allowed.”

“i thought you were his fiancee,” you teased, looking between the pair.

“oh sure, that too.” she glanced at tommy and made a silly face. “barely.”

tommy reached across and mock-pinched her nose. she batted him away, laughing.

you watched them just for a moment, heart feeling full in a wistful, grateful, aching in a sense kind of way. they were safe. they were good. they had taken you in when you were heartbroken and broke and couldn’t stand to sleep in your old apartment that was now alone.

and you loved them so deeply for it. but you couldn’t stay.

because even though the floor in your new place creaked like a horror movie, and your shower ran cold if someone in the building so much as thought about using a faucet—it was yours.

you’d painted the kitchen cabinets a soft sage green. you had books stacked in uneven towers against walls. you had this thrifted pink armchair that looked like it had lived six lives before it found you.

it wasn’t always pretty. but it was freedom.

bea seemed to have read your mind. “you’re proud of it, huh honey?”

you nodded—it was slow, but so sure. “yeah, i really am.”

“alright, then,” tommy smiled but it was reluctant, like he still couldn’t accept it. “just…let me help you install the extra locks. and maybe one of those ring doorbells.”

“done. just stop bringing up the shithole in restaurants.”

tommy laughed, “deal.”

the three of you continued to eat, downing some more wine, just enjoying the company of each other—it was a sweet moment, continuing laughter and comfort.

“so,” you said softly, swirling your fork through the remains of your alfredo, “did you send them an invite.”

tommy paused mid-sip. and the table seemed to go still.

bea had looked up from chomping on her third breadstick. she didn’t say a thing, just looking at you.

you cleared your throat. “mom and dad. to the wedding?” but you knew that you didn’t need to clarify what you had meant.

tommy set his class down, taking in a breath. “no.”

you nodded, knowing not to pry, keeping eyes trained on your plate.

“didn’t really see a point,” he added, quieter at this point. “they made it clear a couple years ago.”

there was a beat of silence—the only sound was people talking at close tables, the low clatter of gathering dishes, wine-drunk people giggling.

you forced a breath, trying to keep it light, “shit, they will probably hear through the grapevine. i’m sure aunt marelene still stalks your facebook.”

“then she can tell them,” tommy spoke. “i’m not doing it. i don’t owe them shit.”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

bea, as always, was the one who reached to hold your hand first. “you okay?”

god she was the best, bea cared so much for both you and tommy even if you both had cluttered messes for lives.

you shrugged, your gaze going from your bowl to the empty wine glass, tracing the rim with your thumb. “it is just weird, you know? watching you both plan this big beautiful thing and knowing they’ll pretend it isn’t happening. pretend that we aren’t happening.”

tommy’s voice was thick when he spoke. he knew where he stood with them. “i don’t want them there. not after the shit they pulled with you.”

“it wasn’t just me,” you murmured, “you had the choice to stay. you didn’t have to pick sides.”

tommy scoffed, looking at you, “yes, i did y/n. and i picked the right one.”

you blinked hard. knowing how much he cared.

bea squeezed your hand.

“i don’t think i will ever forget that phone call,” tommy continued on, his voice rough with memory. “i could hear in your voice that you were shaking. but you weren’t even crying, which scared the shit out of me. you just said that they found out and you needed to come stay with me. that was it.”

you exhaled, thinking back to the day, “you know, i thought they would yell. but they didn’t. which that might’ve been the worst part. it was just…silence, like i had disappeared.”

“they are the ones who disappeared,” bea said softly, looking between the two of you, before her hazel eyes landed on you. “you were the one who showed up. you survived.”

you swallowed hard, before beginning to talk again. “i just thought—i still think a part of me hopes that one day they come around. eventually.” you looked up at them. “i wanted to believe they could change. that i didn’t ruin everything.”

“you didn’t. you just stopped hiding.” tommy’s voice cracked softly before he took a sip of his water.

the table went still again.

you reached out for your water, something cool to ease the burn that had built up in your chest. you hated that part of you still longed for them to call—just to wish you a merry christmas, to say fucking happy birthday. you hated how you still used the old perfume that your mom gave you seven holidays ago.

tommy’s eyes were glassy, but he didn’t look away. “you were so fucking brave.”

you let out a strained laugh. “no i wasn’t. i just did what i had to do to survive. i moved into your guys first apartment and lived off of those damn apple sauce pouches.”

bea smiled through the solemn moment. “that’s our girl."

“and then,” tommy grinned, “you wiped your face, told me that you were gonna open the cafe, and marched your ass into three banks including the one i work at, six real estate offices with a busted binder and a dream.”

you looked down, the pride blooming in your chest like a bruise that somehow still made you feel strong. “i had to prove that i could do it. that i wasn’t broken.”

“you were never broken,” bea spoke, looking at you. “you were just becoming.”

you felt your heart thud in your chest.

“still becoming,” you said, your voice was small.

bea’s smiled softened, “we all are.”

the three of you fell quiet once more, but it was the comfortable silence. it was gentle. one made of safety and shared history and the scent of wine lingering in the air.

you sat back in your seat, your hand still in bea’s, leg bumping against tommy’s.

“this might sound dumb,” you said after awhile, “but i do think the shitty apartment is helping me.”

tommy rolled his eyes fondly at you, “jesus christ kid.”

“no, i am becoming completely serious,” you were insistent, “like…i am actually finally doing it all on my one. not hiding who i am, or changing myself for a partner, not depending on anyone to fix the mess for me. just all me. my own little patch of hell. and yeah, the water pressure sucks and i miss your guys hot water—but it’s mine. i can live there loud. i can make tea at midnight, and cry in the living room, and decorate however i want without asking permission.”

bea laughed, listening to you ramble with a fond smile. “okay, that doesn’t sound dumb in the slightest.”

“it does sound like freedom.” tommy smiled.

you nodded, looking between them with that crooked smile of yours. “yeah. i really think it is.”

10:32 pm

the night clung to you like silk and sweat—warm but shifting, thick with the kind of summer humidity that made your hair grow and clothes feel tighter by the time you got home.

you walked with bea and tommy to their car, they had begged you to let them take you home, but you were stubborn and were insistent that the walk wasn’t bad. you would be fine. you were always fine.

bea made a whole show when you go to the car, hugging you and squeezing your shoulders and whispering something sweet, ‘don’t be a stranger, or i’ll come break into your place.”

you promised to visit them soon, and to stop ignoring their calls. you had even promised that you’d eat breakfast, which bea knew was a big lie.

tommy looked at you like he alway did—like a big brother who was scared shitless of you lying just saying that you were okay. his hug was tighter. lingered a little longer. and when he pulled away, he said “text me when you get home, sunshine.” you nodded. you would.

and now you were alone again.

your sandaled heels scraped lazily against the new york concrete, keys dangling in one hand, the other curled into a loose fist like it always did when you walked alone whenever it was dark. queens was quieter at this time, but a few bars were open—people lingering outside, some looking happy, some looking sad. occasional music bleeding out of cracked windows. a car alarm whined blocks away and no one cared.

you weren’t fond of how familiar this stretch of sidewalk had become—how your apartment always felt just far enough away from everything that it made you question your life choices every time you had to make the walk back.

rounding a corner, you stepped onto the main drag, passing that one grocery store with the flickering fluorescent light and busted freezer. it was an indicator that she was almost home.

then—

thwip.

a sound too quick, too soft. it made you stop.

nothing.

you scanned the rooftops. your heart beat a little faster. maybe it was just your nerves catching up to you. the conversation from earlier—talking about your parents, the apartment, even the breakup—it all linger behind your eyes. made the walk feel heavier.

and then you heard it again. much softer this time. closer.

“you should really stop walking home this late.”

you froze.

your eyes flickered up—and holy shit.

there she was.

perched like a gargoyle on a lamppost above you, croucher in her red and blue attire, the mask covering her face. her voice sounded distorted slightly–but you couldn’t tell if it was from the mask or the way it echoed in an empty street.

you blinked. “what the hell?”

“you could get hurt,” she added. “even in queens.”

you squinted, tilting your head. “are you seriously giving me the stranger danger talk right now?”

spider-person dropped down—it was clean and fast, a few feet in front of you. “i’m just saying,” you could hear the eye roll in her voice.

you flinched. and she caught it.

her voice then softened, less annoyed, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

you let out a breath, “you didn’t. just startled is all.” you glanced down at the cracking sidewalk. before back up to the mask. “are you following me?”

she was silent.

you raised a brow.

“...maybe.”

you blinked, smiling. “okay. super totally normal.”

she shrugged, “i just saw you walking alone,” she attempted to make it sound better, “seen you on this block before.”

something twisted in your stomach. it was warm. it was curious.

“you keep tabs on the neighborhood?”

she nodded once, “try to. kinda my whole point.”

you began to walk, her trailing with you. “you always this chatty with civilians?”

a beat passed. spider-person looked up at the sky, then down at you. “only when they are dumb enough to walk around at night in that skirt.”

you scoffed, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “you did not just slut-shame me after admitting to following me.”

she actually flinched at that, straightening up, defensive. “no! shit no. it’s not—it isn’t like that that. it looks good. i just mean–fuck, i mean it’s dangerous.”

you smiled a little, folding your arms. “so you think i look good?”

she paused. you could almost hear her gulp behind her mask.

“...maybe”

you couldn’t explain why, but with the way her voice cracked—a weird, shy tilt to her bravado—it made your heart stutter. spider-person was, kinda awkward.

“you’re kinda bad at this,” you teased her gently.

“i’m great at this.”

“sure.”

she was quiet again. the tension shifting, it was less banter, more…static. you could feel her looking at you, even if you couldn’t see her eyes.

“you okay?” she asked suddenly.

it caught you off guard; not because she asked, but because of the way she had asked you. it was like she had been thinking it for a while. like she already knew the answer.

you opened your mouth, going to speak, before closing it again. looking away.

“...rough night.”

“figured.”

“how?” your eyebrows furrowed.

“just a guess.” she said, quieter. “sometimes you look sad when you walk home.”

your chest pinched, looking up at her.

“you’ve…watched me before?”

a pause.

“...maybe.”

you smiled, but you weren’t even sure why. “you are really bad at being secretive.”

“what the fuck? i haven’t told you anything.” she laughed, “i could be anyone.”

you cocked your head, “true.” you laughed softly—-surprised at yourself. spider-person just watched you.

you glanced down at your feet, “always this nice?”

“no.”

“so why me?”

you could hear her breath shift. her fingers fidgeting with her web shooters on her wrist.

“i think you are kind.”

you looked back up and she didn’t flinch.

“you’re strong,” she added, “even when this world sucks. i notice.”

you blinked, voice wavering. “that is oddly specific.”

she nodded once. “you deserve to be seen.”

that caused something to ache in your throat. you wanted to ask her more. who are you? how long have you been watching me? what do you see when look at me like that?

but you didn’t.

you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

instead, you continued to walk, asking. “you gonna walk me the rest of the way, masked vigilante?”

she titled her head. a small beat passed.

then she said, “yeah. i got you.”

and with that the two of you started walking—quiet and slow, under the dim city lights, shadow overlapping with hers.

she didn’t really speak much more, but she stayed close. close enough to protect. close enough to be something more.

and when you reached your building and turned to say goodbye—she was already gone.

but that warmth stayed.

1:34 am

ellie stared at her ceiling. she hadn’t even changed out of the clothes she’d worn under the suit—boxers, old band tee, hair damp from sweat. queens humidity was clinging to her like a second skin. she didn’t care though. she kept thinking about you.

you had smiled at her, but not really her, the spider-her.

and fuck it wasn’t fair, because that was the version of her that had a level of confidence she lacked without the mask. the side of her that didn’t wake up every day afraid that she was too much, or not enough. that version of herself could say what she wanted and disappear when it got too hard.

the version of her that go to walk you home.

real-her had to sit in her gross apartment, thinking about your laugh like it was some unreleased song that no one else had ever heard.

her phone had buzzed—a text in her group chat with jesse and dina. something stupid. something she would ignore.

instead, she opened the contact; the one she saved in the morning, she hadn’t texted you yet. she stared at the screen for awhile, thumb hovering, heart in her throat.

now her fingers moved faster than she could think.

ellie: hey.

she hit the send. and then stared at it. and immediately wanted to die.

what the fuck was that??? just hey??? she thought to herself, what are you, thirteen?

she panicked. drafting up another message—like damage control.

ellie: i mean, not to be weird. i just wanted to say thanks for the drink. and the laugh. i guess.

her face was burning. full body cringe. she set the phone face down and rolled over.

fuck what were you doing to her.

three seconds passed.

then she rolled back and picked it up again.

fuck.

ellie: sorry. ignore me. that was so stupid.

sent.

and she immediately regretted that too. she had dropped the phone on her chest and covered her eyes with the crook of her arm, groaning into the fabric of her shirt.

she didn’t have any idea if you were awake. or if you’d even read it. or if you would read it in the morning and think she was a total loser.

she didn’t sleep that night.

august 13th

8:07 am

you woke up in too-hot of sheets, cheek stuck to the pillowcase and your phone was looking at you as if it was pissed. bleary-eyed, you rolled over, blinking at the light of the screen.

three texts from ellie.

ellie: hey.

ellie: i mean, not to be weird. i just wanted to say thanks for the drink. and the laugh. i guess.

ellie: sorry. ignore me. that was so stupid.

you sat up in bed, running a hand through your curls.

you read the texts over again. and again.

and then you smiled. it was wide and soft and maybe a little smug.

because it wasn’t stupid at all. and now you were thinking about her.

her.

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

guys this was so fun to write holy shit!!

any reblog, comments, likes, etc are so so so so appreciated !! thank you so much <3

series taglist: @angelaut0matec @iadorefineshyt @luvwithc4ro @whimsifreak @re1daway @angelofhorrors @sqandroct14 @hitmehardmommy @angelaut0matec

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tryonfemme · 2 months ago

Text

✮🕷✮⋆˙ not so funny

spider!ellie williams x neighbor!barista!reader

chapter 1 ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ crackers in bed

word count: 3.1k

a/n: woot woot!! so excited to get this first chapter out :) hope you guys love it :D

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

series m.list

previous / next

august 11th

god it was hot.

the type of hot that kept ellie awake, even in just a loose tank top and boxer shorts. she hated the feeling of her own sweat soaking into her cotton blue sheets, darkening them in patches –leaving a sort of sad, broken inkpen royal blue behind. each turn she took felt sticky and damp. she wished the perv she called her landlord would fix the damn ac unit.

she glanced over at her alarm clock.

11:07 PM.

not even that late yet. she let out a groan—it was sharp, tired, lingering in the grey area between annoyance and well, shit.

ellie could be out on a run. on patrol still. climbing up some city building looking as the street lights turned on, illuminating the world in a way that only the night could. she could be doing anything but laying here, trapped here with thoughts that she didn’t invite in. the screaming. the fall. the sound—the snap when her body hit the ground, bones shattering. her own scream, which had left her throat raw and voice hoarse for the week to follow.

six years.

six whole fucking years.

“go to sleep, just go to sleep,” she muttered to herself. presenting herself with hope. “be normal for once.”

and she let herself flutter shut, bringing herself closer to unconsciousness. and for once…it felt like it was going to happen. that soft feeling of sleep was tugging at her brain, body falling more limp with each passing minute. maybe tomorrow wouldn’t suck. maybe she would impress jameson so much that he would go a whole five minutes without going on about her laziness, even though she consistently brought the best photos in all of new york.

tomorrow would be amazing, because she was the amazing spider-person. gendered terms were overrated.

tomorrow would be amazing because she needed it to–

BANG!

ellie shot upright, her short hair sticking to the back of her neck like glue. her heart was like a jackhammer as she blinked at her poster-covered wall.

“jesus fucking christ,” she muttered, but it came out hissed. venomous.

another thud followed. and then what seemed to be the sound of furniture dragging against the rough floors that settled in each apartment. then the crinkle of what seemed to be a snack wrapper; crackers.

ellie’s jaw clenched so hard she thought she might crack a tooth. which she couldn’t afford to have fixed.

the apartment next to hers–512—had been vacant for months since ole’ man bill bit the dust finally. the building was an ugly six-story shithole with water stains in every ceiling and a roach problem that had been ignored, just adjust to showering with them. rats residing in the lobby had become the welcoming committee.

it wasn’t exactly prime real estate. But clearly someone had been desperate enough for the cheap rent to move in. someone either recently divorced, or a college kid pursuing theatre.

and for the past two weeks, ellie had found herself subjected to late-night furniture rearrangements, weird scratching at the walls from what sounded to be a senile cat, and the sound of chomping on crackers in bed. usually she would work endlessly to ignore it all.

but tonight, she couldn’t let it go.

today had been shit for ellie williams.

her bread had been moldy so no toast.

no hot water.

jameson’s voice echoing in her mind; how spider-person was a no good criminal.

the thought of crackers in bed.

it was all too much.

she yanked on the nearest zip-up and shoved her feet into slippers that joel had gifted her a few holidays back, each action coming with some sort of murmur of annoyance. before she even knew what she was doing, she was in the hallway, the hot air hitting her bare legs, calloused fist banging on the cheap wooden door of 512.

knock. knock. knock.

ellie knew she was an asshole. she knew it down to her core and she wasn’t exactly proud of it. but right now she didn’t even care.

footsteps shuffled on the other side of the door. quick and light.

ellie froze up, tilting her head.

then she heard a voice – it was quiet, female, and obviously surprised – “shit.”

silence for a few moments.

ellie rolled her eyes, tapping her fist once more, “dude, i can hear you by the open. just open up.”

silence again.

but she could still hear the soft breathing, and the way the air would shift when someone leans their body too close to cheap wood.

“i still hear you.”

finally; clink.

the sound of the chain sliding from the lock, the metal hitting the surface of the wood. the doorknob turning.

and the door opened.

ellie had been ready to completely go off– she had masterminded a speech on how normal people didn’t eat saltines in bed nevertheless at midnight or why would anyone move furniture around at an ungodly hour. she was going to let go of every single moment of gripe she had built in the past two weeks since the first bang on the wall.

but then she saw you, and suddenly her brain forgot how to be mad.

big, soft eyes blinked up at her. frizzy curls which had been crafted by the heat, haloed by a soft yellow light flickering in your apartment. skin was freckled on the cheeks, looking porcelain in a strange sense. and your lips – cracked, pink in color, plump, soft-looking – parted if you were preparing to say something but nothing would come out.

you were wearing satin pajamas – a soft yellow, little daisies embroidered on them —mismatched socks though. the neckline of your top fell low enough to hint at curves, fabric clinging yet falling gently to the skin of your waist. you looked like someone who stepped out of a dream and landed, very inconveniently, in a shit new york apartment with paper thin walls.

and ellie? shit she would let this woman eat crackers in her bed.

she stood there, pad thai stained zip-up hanging on her shoulders. her heart suddenly seemed to be louder than her neighbor’s chaos. right shit that is why she was over here.

you then blinked at ellie again.

“um,” your voice softly.

shit even your voice was like honey, ellie thought to herself.

ellie pointed her finger, clearing her throat, “you–you’re loud.”

and somehow, your already big eyes seemed to grow twice the size, those plump cheeks flushing with color.

shit. that wasn’t what she meant to say. well she did mean to say it. just not like that.

“i mean that, you have been loud these past two weeks. at night. a lot. just…like all the furniture and the loud laughing with other people, and,” ellie gestured towards the walls of the hallway, “crackers in bed at night.”

and your cheeks flushed a deeper color, “shit, i didn’t think anyone could hear—”

ellie cut you off, “you live in a building made out of paper thin walls—and probably rat shit,” ellie crossed her arms, voice still sharper than she meant it to be, “of course i can hear it.”

more silence followed, the two just looking at each other.

before, you just began smiling, the kind of smile that killed people. people being ellie. “you wanna come in?” you asked like it was the easiest thing in the world.

ellie blinked, “what?”

“i promise to stop making noise at night – it is just when i have freetime the most – but i swear i will. but…you’re already awake, right? and i just made a pot of tea.”

ellie didn’t move, and she swore her brain shut off.

but her mouth still worked, “sure. yeah. i guess.”

you stepped back and opened the door wider, just enough to reveal the soft glow of more yellow lights, a stack of books on the floor, and a tiny kitchen which smelled of honey and mint.

“shit. forgot to introduce myself, i’m y/n.”

fuck even your name was sweet, ellie thought while nodding her head.

“ellie.”

as she stepped inside, ellie noticed how the apartment's layout mirrored her own, but it was a whole different world. y/n had crafted something cozy. you had plants. like real ones. ones that had little vines that curled around the cracked window sills, and half-alive succulents grouping like gossiping old ladies in manhattan. those warm, almost buttery yellow lights soaked into everything, giving the walls a softness which contrasted with the usual roughness of everything.

ellie stood awkwardly at the front door, clinging onto the sides of her zip-up hoodie as if she was a child clinging to a comfort blanket.

but you were already on the move —your sock-covered feet, making a quiet advance to the tiny kitchen. “i made sleepytime, but i can make chamomile. or even hibiscus, if you are weird.”

ellie blinked like the curly headed woman was speaking another language, “sleepytime?” she repeated.

you looked over your shoulder, a crooked smile on display. “yeah. it is quite literally called that. but it is all some big corporate lie. just tastes like mint and probably broken dreams.”

ellie snorted —caught off guard by someone so comfortable with newness. “okay, that one.”

she watched as you poured the drink into two mismatched mugs—just like your socks—, watching as a soft steam arose from the cup as the liquid splashed in. but her gaze drifted around the space.

it was cluttered. but it felt like it was deliberately cluttered. books had been stacked like towers on the floor, a chipped mug held pencils, a cracked mirror hung on the wall above a record player. a small photo was tucked into the corner of the mirror; a picture of three–two girls, one boy—sat in the middle was you, obviously younger. your smile looked as if you hadn’t discovered what fear was yet.

“you aren’t like the people who usually live in this place,” ellie spoke up finally.

you looked up, “oh yeah?”

“yeah—usually broke college kids, or old people, or newly divorced men with no money, or me,” ellie shook her head, before continuing to talk, “we have a lady on floor six, believes she is a witch— or some shit like that —but she rearranges her fucking stuff whenever mercury is in retrograde.”

you laughed; it was soft and warm. “well it was in retrograde last week.”

“jesus christ.”

and then a pause settled. it wasn’t awkward. but it wasn’t comfortable. it was that middle ground.

and then you handed ellie her mug.

their fingertips brushed–and for the first time in a long time, ellie felt it. that feeling of something human, of spark, something fragile, something so annoying.

she held the cup with both hands, as if it was an anchor holding her there.

“thanks,” she muttered, lifting the cup to her lips. she felt the steam hit her face with a soft punch.

you plopped yourself down on a beanbag chair near the window, legs folding underneath yourself like you belonged there. Fuck you could belong anywhere.

ellie stopped by the front door just watching for a beat too long. she felt like a stalker, or maybe a coat rack. “can i sit?”

you looked up, surprised, “yeah! shit sorry, totally. i have the floor— or actually you probably want to sit on the couch!”

ellie again snorted softly, shaking her head at your way of expression. she dropped into the couch. the furniture creaked under her weight. she sipped her tea trying to not make a face. it tasted of mint and grass all at the same time. it was mildly sweet though. not entirely terrible.

“so, we are neighbors?” you spoke; that voice of honey.

“i was the one banging on the door with murder in my eyes—so yeah,”

you, and that crooked smile, “nice to meet you, neighbor.”

“hi,” ellie said, immediately hating everything about how she did. she was twenty-six years old and somehow her voice still cracked like a goddamn teenage boy.

another long sip of tea. she felt her tank top sticking to her back with each drop of sweat. looking at you—who looked to not be affected by the heat at all. she wondered if the other just ran on sunshine and chaos.

you tilted her head, speaking up, “so what do you do?”

“oh, i’m a photographer for the daily bugle.”

perking up, you spoke again, “really? like all the crime scene stuff? and the spider-person stuff?”

“yeah, sometimes. a lot of street stuff. crowds. accidents. candid stuff around the city.” plus all the spider stuff she did off the clock.

“that is badass,” you grinned, sipping on your tea. “i own a coffee shop, down on sixth, ‘take a bite’?”

“no shit? my friend dina loves that place,” ellie smiled—for what felt like the first time in awhile. “said you guys are killer.”

“i’m flattered.” you placed a hand on your heart, before giving ellie another one of those crooked smiles. “i try not to kill anyone, but a compliment is a compliment.”

ellie let out a laugh—an actual laugh. she felt it in her chest, how it echoed in apart of her chest she had forgotten about.

a moment passed between the two of them. the sound of thick city sounds from outside pouring in from the cracked windows.

you took a sip of your tea, before speaking up once more, “moved here two weeks ago, thought the independence would make it all easier.” your words had been sudden, deeper than intended. “turns out, just keeps me up rearranging at odd hours and snacking like i am preparing for the apocalypse.”

ellie observed you—taking in all your quiet features. even when speaking in a more deep tone, you were still sunshine. you were still soft, still a level of gentle that ellie had yet to observe in life.

“why’d you move?” ellie questioned before she could think to stop herself.

“wanted to stop leeching off my friends.”

that is all you said. all you needed to say, it was your truth.

ellie nodded—showing the other a sense of understanding.

the two drank in silence. ellie’s mug at this point was close to empty, her fingers warming around the ceramic. she didn’t know if the tea actually worked or if the placebo effect was real; but she felt a wave of sleep begin to hit her system.

“you know,” you said, your voice soft, “you don’t seem like the type of person who shows up to yell at someone and then accepts a tea ten seconds later.”

ellie gave you a half shrug, “yeah and you aren’t the type of person who should be living in this building.” her words came sharper than she intended. she was an asshole not even intentionally at times.

but it was like you didn’t care about her tone. they met eyes. and something passed between them. it wasn’t flirtatious. but it wasn't vulnerability. just…a recognition.

and then you smiled, “guess we both are a little out of place.”

ellie’s chest ached.

you have no idea, ellie thought.

but instead, she spoke, “yeah guess so.”

you stood up to get yourself more tea. your perfume—or maybe just your shampoo smelled of orange and sugar, it was so light, stupid, wonderful.

ellie allowed her eyes to drift again; taking in more details. the books stacked along the floor weren’t organized in any way and she could tell: poetry was with a cookbook, then some romance novel was placed with the bell jar. a sketchpad was sitting half under the coffee table, a page dog-eared and a pencil laying next to it.

“you draw?” she asked before allowing herself to think.

you followed her gaze, before scrunching up your nose, “sometimes. mostly doodles. i’m quite shit.”

ellie snorted, “bullshit.”

you bite your top lip, holding in a smile, “truthfully, just you need to see the evidence. i have flowers and butterflies that are lopsided. just all terrible stuff really.”

ellie let out the smallest laugh, “well now i have gotta see it.”

“you wanna see my sketchbook?”

ellie realized what she said in that moment. her heart did the thing again— it raced without asking permission. opening her mouth to talk back, to make a joke, to be an asshole, and then–

“okay,” you smiled, as if it was all no big deal, “next time.”

“yeah. next time.”

a peaceful quiet fell. a kind that didn’t ask to be filled.

and for a moment, ellie let herself feel it. the warmness of the tea she had just drunk, the soft yellow of the lamplight, the way that your presence didn’t make her panic. it felt like the first time in six years that she wasn’t surrounded by ghosts.

but she couldn’t ignore it for long. the air shifted in the way that memories and grief slowly slip themselves back in. it was inevitable for ellie. how she reminded herself of the promise she made six years ago.

setting her mug down, rubbing her palm across her thigh. god she was still so clammy. “I should get back. long day tomorrow— gotta rest.”

you nodded, not hurt, not surprised. “of course, hope you sleep okay.”

ellie gave you a crooked smile. “if your furniture stays in one place, i might.”

you grinned. “no promises.”

ellie stood and moved toward the door, brushing her hand along the frame as she passed. before she opened it, she turned back one last time.

“hey,” she said quietly, “thanks. for the tea.”

you leaned a shoulder against the counter. “anytime, neighbor.”

the hallway felt colder when ellie stepped into it.

her apartment was still just as dark, just as humid, just as miserable as before—but it felt different now. not better. not quite as empty.

she sank back onto her bed, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling, letting her body melt into the sweaty cotton sheets again.

she didn’t cry. she didn’t think about the fall. not yet.

but she did think about your cracked mirror, and the chipped mug of pencils, and the stupid, sweet smell of your shampoo.