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strangersteddierthings · 6 months

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Childhood friends AU Idea

Steve and Eddie are best friends who make plans to learn the elvish alphabet from The Hobbit so that they can pass notes without worrying about other people reading them.

The end of the school year (Eddie in 6th, Steve in 5th) brings a sadness to the two. Eddie's going to middle school and Steve's not yet, but they can hang out on weekends, and they have all summer so no worries. (Also, it gives Steve a little more time to learn elvish, since it'll be a whole year until they're in the same school again.)

Except yes worries because two weeks into summer, Eddie vanishes. When Steve bikes to his house to investigate, the whole house is empty. Packed up and gone. Steve goes to Wayne for answer and all he gets is a smile that doesn't really reassure and words of "his dad got a job opportunity, had to move on short notice. But don't worry, kiddo. I'll get you the number to their new place so you can call."

He learns elvish anyway. It's harder without Eddie to help but he's determined. Eddie might return, or maybe he'll get an address one day. Send a letter to Eddie in full Elvish.

Steve never gets a number or address. Summer ends and sixth grade comes. He doesn't want to forget all the elvish he's learned, just in case. So, he decides to keep a journal. He can write all about everything that's happening and when he sees Eddie, he can give it to him. It's a double win. Eddie will know everything he's missed out on AND it'll help Steve practice elvish.

Sixth grade ends. Eddie doesn't return. Steve did make friends with Carol Perkins though, so he's not as lonely. He hopes Eddie made a new friend, too. But not a new best friend. That's Steve's position, always.

Seventh grade brings Tommy Hagan, but still no Eddie. It brings a growth spurt and sports. Steve likes the easy camaraderie that comes with sports teams. It's like having a lot of friends, which Steve will only admit to needing in his journal. Needing many little connections of friendship to hold together the big hole Eddie left behind.

The summer between seventh and eighth grade brings him a Bruce Springsteen concert. He'd never thought of a boy kissing another boy until he'd witnessed it on stage but he thinks about it a lot after. The end of that summer brings an awaken he refuses to shy away from even if he has to hide it

Eighth grade brings popularity. Steve's good looking, rich, and liked among his peers. It brings the first (and last) time his dad says he's proud of him.

(Steve will spend the rest of his high school career chasing his father's approval.)

Freshman year brings Eddie back, but he's different. His hair is longer and his clothes are darker and he's distant. Defiant and angry. Steve would recognize him anywhere, dressed in anyway.

Eddie doesn't want his friendship anymore. Avoids him in the halls and cafeteria, but Steve is nothing if not persistent. He writes a full letter in elvish to slip into Eddie's locker, but Eddie catches him. Shoves the letter back, unopened, unread, with a harsh whispered, "Don't you get it Harrington? I don't want to be your friend. Fuck off."

Steve doesn't understand why. Not until the table top rants start. Conformity and jocks and brain-dead rich kids who get by on favoritism.

It hurts. Steve feels his heart break the day he finally gets the not-so-subtle messages drilled into his mind. Eddie hates sports, and rich people, and stupid people. Eddie hates all the things that Steve is.

Eddie hates him.

Sophomore year brings Steve a lot of things. It brings the acknowledgment that he was probably in love with Eddie, the way his heart twists the day he sees Eddie flirting with a girl in the hallway, the way he wants the lights out when hooking up with someone so he can imagine a different person pressed against him, the way he gravitates towards brunettes with brown eyes and the flickering hope it might make Eddie jealous. (The way he'd said the wrong name when Brent went down on him, too absorbed in the fantasy of someone else to get it right. Brent hadn't been offended by it, he'd been thinking of someone else, too. Steve finds solidarity for a little bit, until the school year ends and Brent leaves Hawkins.)

Junior year turns Steve's life upside down (pun intended) with monster's coming out of walls. There's probably a lot more he should write about but his journal's pretty empty this year. Too traumatized to document. (Too afraid of what Eddie would say because Steve still writes in his journal like he plans on sending it to Eddie one day. Better to write nothing than sound crazy.)

And halfway through his senior year (don't think about how he's in it with Eddie, about the 4 classes they share, about how Eddie still won't meet his eye) he wants to fade into the background. Nancy and he break up. She's with Jonathan and he hears the whispers of how pathetic he is to be eating lunch with his ex and the guy that 'stole' her. Steve knows that's a lie, Nancy made her choice, and no one can say otherwise, but it hurts to hear. He can't be bothered to try and make new friends. How would he explain the nightmares? The skittishness. The fear of the dark, of pumpkin patches, of his own damn pool now that he's had time to process last year?

Then, the next year brings him Robin. Well. First it brings him an embarrassing uniform and then Russian torture (don't think about it. Don't think about how he'll shorthand the stock list by writing it in Elvish sometimes. Don't think about how the Russian's almost believe they just work for Scoops until they find the stock list in his pocket. Don't think about how they don't believe that the strange script they can't identify isn't proof he's a spy), but in the end he gets Robin. A Platonic Soulmate who understands the hidden side of him. She asked if he was ever in love, and he thinks of the Eddie he used to know, longs to know again, and describes her instead. She rejects him in the softest way possible and then confesses about Tammy, and he confesses about Eddie in turn.

1986 brings Eddie back into his life in the worst way possible. With a bottle to his neck and them both acting like they've never spoken before. It brings twisting guts as Steve lies awake thinking about Eddie alone in a boathouse instead of sharing a bed with him like they used to in elementary school. It brings Steve leading them to Skull Rock (popularized as a make out spot but started as a set of boys' favorite place to play pirates during the summer). Dustin and Eddie make references Steve pretends to not know, despite his own copies of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings and the numerous amounts of notebooks turned journals with elvish scrawled throughout.

There's a trek through the Upside Down. In another universe, Steve imagines he and Eddie talk. In this one, Robin sticks to his side like an extension of him (which she is), and glares at Eddie every time he looks in Steve's direction. Robin knows everything, knows it all, because there are no secrets between them.

They make plans to stop Vecna, once and for all, and Robin confesses she has a fear. That it won't turn out okay this time, but they have to try anyway. Steve clinks his bottle against hers and looks across the field to Eddie and Dustin. The stakes feel so much higher this time.

"I'm going to talk to Eddie if we survive. Make it right," he says.

"No. He's going to make it right because you didn't do anything wrong," Robin says, which is more support than he thought he'd get given the grudge she holds in his favor.

Eddie said make him pay and Steve does. Nancy advances, shotgun shot after shot and Steve's bounding down the stairs. Vecna beats him to the ground floor but not by much.

A hatchet's not the best tool to remove a head with but he manages. When he looks up, Nancy and Robin are looking down, both approving.

They find Dustin sobbing over Eddie and- and-

Steve's certain he's broken several of Eddie's ribs but he's breathing again, Nancy finds his pulse beneath all the blood, and Robin's retrieved the cut sheets to make bandages out of. Nothing is clean in this world, infection could kill him later, he might not save Eddie like he wants, but fucking Christ, at least if death claims him, it'll be on the right side of the world in a hospital.

Dustin, Robin, and Steve are at Eddie's side when Nancy leads Wayne into the room. They knew she went out looking for him (Steve was going to but Nancy had shoved him back in the chair with a look that left no room for argument) but even so they're startled by him.

Wayne has always been stoic and reserved, so it's no surprise to Steve when he just lets out a low whistle and says, "of all the people I might see here, you weren't one of 'em."

Steve swallows thickly and says, "well. I am. Here, I mean."

And Wayne gives him a watery smile and crosses the room. Pulls Steve into a hug that Steve thinks he probably wants to give to Eddie instead, but Eddie's not awake and standing and Steve is. But then Wayne says, "I told Eddie he couldn' chase ya away. That if he just talked to ya, you'd understand. He tried so hard to make ya hate him, and for what? For ya to be at his bedside anyway."

And Steve sobs. Loud and ugly and suddenly Dustin's there, and so are Robin and Nancy, and it's probably the most awkward hug for all the others but it's the best hug Steve's had in years. He doesn't even care that he's crying because how can he? Wayne's all but confirmed that Eddie doesn't hate him, maybe never hated him. That Eddie has an explanation, a reason for it all, and all he wants is Eddie to wake up and tell him.

Steve finally gets his apology two days after Eddie's release. It's the first time they've been alone together since- well, since elementary school. Wayne drove him here then lied about needing to check on something and said he'd be back in an hour or so before abandoned them to the awkward silence in Steve's living room.

"I'm sorry, Steve!" Eddie blurts out loudly, then looks startled by his own yelling.

"I know. I forgive you."

"You shouldn't."

"I know. Still do anyway. Would like to know what happened, though."

And Eddie tells him. How his father's debts came calling and they ran. How his mom got sick real fast, and his father's crime spree and prison sentence following her passing. How Eddie discovered the same thing about himself that Steve did but didn't have the same acceptance of himself. Hated that another thing marked him as Other. Freak.

He tells Steve how he couldn't let Steve back in because he was afraid of losing him again if he ever learned.

"I didn't think you'd be okay being friends with a faggot," Eddie spits the word out, dirty and mean and directed at himself.

Steve makes a decision then. "Follow me." And he helps Eddie up the stairs and into his room. Eddie sits on the bed and watches as Steve digs out notebook after notebook after notebook, until they're a tower on his bed. Then he topples them over in his search for the first.

Eddie takes the offered notebook with confusion on his face, looking from the cover, where 1978 is written on it. The summer Eddie vanished from Steve's life.

"Open it."

Eddie does and gasps. "Steve. Is this-"

"Every single one of these notebooks was written to you. For you. About you. I read The Hobbit for you. The Lord of the Rings. I learned elvish for you. I think I've been a little bit in love with you since the day we met on the playground on my second day of first grade."

"Steve," it comes out breathless and awed.

"Eddie," Steve repeats back to him, just as breathless as Eddie tosses the notebook aside and reaches for Steve instead. Hauls him in to kiss him senseless amongst the proof of Steve's devotion.

#steddie #fic #this was supposed to be a paragraph or two #why am i like this #steve has a complicated relationship with his parents #but they arent terrible #the picture descriptions have translation for the elvish if you wanna know what Steves been writing in his journals

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venus-haze · 2 years

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Fire (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: You’re a waitress at a popular restaurant in LA. Stressed from long days of working customer service, you sneak up to the worn-out Hollywood sign late at night to be alone. When it seems like someone else has discovered your sanctuary, you’re annoyed until to your relief, the two of you never acknowledge each other’s presence on the opposite ends of the sign. One night, you find that your companion has had much more of an interest in you than you have in him.

Note: This is based on a request by @gyomei-tiddies. Reader is a woman but no specific details about appearance are given. This is a little bit pre-’68 Comeback Special. Elvis isn’t with Priscilla in this, it just works better with the plot. PLEASE look at the warnings. I do not condone this type of behavior in real life. Inspired by the song Fire, which Bruce Springsteen wrote for Elvis to sing. Definitely give it a listen before reading. Requests are open🔮 Do not interact with my blog or posts if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: This is a yandere fic, so expect dark themes such as emotional blackmail and obsessive and manipulative behavior, which some people may find disturbing or triggering. Age gap (reader is in her twenties while Elvis is in his thirties). Period typical misogyny. Explicit sexual content which involves coercion. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2

You cursed to yourself as you climbed up the hill to the Hollywood sign in your worn-out work sneakers. The trek was worth it, since it was the one place in the city you could actually be alone and think. You hated Los Angeles, wanted to move out of the plastic city that you could feel destroying your soul. Drawn in by the glamour and promise of perpetual good weather, you decided to go to UCLA after high school. You lasted a semester before dropping out, but too proud to return home with your tail between your legs, you decided to see if you could make it on your own in the City of Angels.

You picked up a waitressing job at one of the busiest diners in LA, thinking it’d just be a temporary gig. That was years ago, and you were still working at Lloyd’s, your dissatisfaction with your life growing as you couldn’t figure a way out. You wanted to try to find a new job, but were always too mentally drained after work to look through the classifieds and didn’t have the time to go to places on your days off because you had so many errands or just wanted to rest. Your job just barely gave you enough to pay the bills, and all the money you’d save toward moving would end up being spent on one emergency or another. You had a roommate who was barely at your shared apartment, working odd hours on movie sets for horrible pay, but you needed a place where you could truly be alone after dealing with rude and entitled people all day.

No one went up to the Hollywood sign at night, not when there were more interesting things to do in Los Angeles. You could count on being alone here, when you weren’t working a night shift, anyway. Every night after work, as exhausted as you were, you’d go to the first ‘O’ of the Hollywood sign and spend an hour or so chain-smoking and ranting to yourself. You knew it wasn’t the most productive use of your time, but you couldn’t afford therapy, so it was the best you could do.

Suddenly, someone else began to appear at the sign, a few letters away from you, and you were pissed. What made their life so miserable that they had to take your place from you? To your relief, besides the first night they arrived, what you assumed was a man’s silhouette waving at you, you never acknowledged each other, and you didn’t always see him when you were there. As long as your silent companion kept his distance at one of the other ‘O’s in the sign, you supposed you wouldn’t mind.

You awoke to your alarm later in the morning, appreciating that you had your preferred shift, 11am to 7pm, which would ensure you got plenty of dinner rush tips and also time to go up to the Hollywood sign. As you got ready for work, you couldn’t shake the weird feeling that loomed over you, making your skin crawl. Attributing it to stress, you attempted to shake it off as you grabbed what you needed from your apartment to make sure you caught the bus on time. You did have a car at one point, but found all of the expenses associated with it ate into your limited budget, and sold it not long after you dropped out of college. While Los Angeles traffic was a nightmare, its public transportation wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as you would have liked it to be.

Zoning out during the 15 minute bus ride to work, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You knew you wouldn’t miss your stop, as your head bounced against the window when the bus drove over the large pothole that preceded it. Gathering your things, you got up from your seat and made your way to the bus doors.

It was only a two block walk to Lloyd’s Diner from the bus stop, so you couldn’t complain, even on the rare occasion of bad weather. As soon as you stepped off the bus, you could smell the scent of constantly running grill tops and fryers in the air, only growing stronger as you approached the building. Entering through the backdoor to the kitchen, you had to admit the food there was actually good, and being able to bring home orders that got sent back or meals the cooks ‘accidentally’ messed up helped you save money on groceries.

You greeted your coworkers as you clocked in, grabbing your apron off of one of the hooks on the wall and putting your purse in its place. The afternoon was kind of slow, but you didn’t mind, it gave you time to hang out in the kitchen, sitting on an upturned fruit crate to rest in preparation for the inevitable dinner rush.

Things started picking up around the time another waitress, Vivian, came in for her 4pm to midnight shift. You greeted her as you busied yourself with getting orders for your tables. About half an hour later, though, she burst through the kitchen doors, bringing the commotion in the main restaurant with her.

"Y/N! You’re never going to believe who’s here!" Vivian exclaimed, her eyes wide as she smiled brightly.

She’d only been working there a few weeks, and still got excited when celebrities would come in. You remembered being that way too when you first started, until you realized most of them were terrible tippers and really rude. They usually didn’t eat at the diner during the day, preferring to come in late at night and be mostly left alone.

"Who?" you asked in a weak attempt to humor her.

"Elvis Presley!"

"Cool."

"Cool? Just cool?"

"I was always more of a Buddy Holly girl growing up," you said with a shrug.

She curled her lip in a grimace of disbelief. "Buddy Holly?"

"He actually wrote his own songs."

"Well, Not Buddy Holly is in your section, so you better go out there and get the drink orders."

You cursed under your breath, grabbing your notepad and shooting a glare at Vivian’s amused expression. As soon as you walked through the kitchen door, you were "on" with a warm and welcoming smile that you’d perfected over the years. Skillfully, you hid the disdain you felt toward just about everyone who stepped into the place.

Looking at your section, you immediately knew which table was Elvis’ by the small crowd of people that had gathered around. The celebrities that invited attention to themselves were the bane of your existence, as you’d almost always end up getting something knocked out of your hands by one of their annoying fans without so much as an apology. You shoved through the dozen or so people looking to get autographs on their napkins.

"Hi, welcome to Lloyd’s Diner. My name’s Y/N, and I’ll be your waitress today," you said cheerfully. "Can I get you started with some drinks?"

You were determined to get them out of the restaurant as soon as you possibly could. You got their drink orders and booked it to the kitchen to get each of them. You hoped that they would know what they wanted by the time you got back, but usually people didn’t, and you had to awkwardly return a few minutes later just to find out everyone wanted cheeseburgers.

Thankfully, when you brought out the half-dozen drinks, everyone seemed to know their order, some more complicated than others, but on the more manageable side of things. You jotted everything down, sneaking glances at Elvis every now and then. He’s incredibly handsome in person. After you brought the orders to the kitchen, you checked on the other tables in your section and chatted with Vivian, who was trying to convince you to get an autograph for her.

“I’m not going to bother the man while he’s trying to have a meal,” you said, gathering the plates with Elvis’ table’s orders. “Go ask him yourself if you want one so bad.”

“Maybe I will,” Vivian said as she helped you with the plates.

To your surprise, she actually did it, slyly asking for an autograph as she set the dishes down on the table. Elvis seemed happy to oblige, signing a blank page in her notepad to her delight. He looked at you as if he expected you to ask too. Instead, you nudged Vivian with your elbow.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you said, walking away with her.

“Oh, I can’t believe I got Elvis’ autograph!” she exclaimed. “Can you believe he’s single? Y/N, if he were in my section, I’d try to snatch him right up.”

“Why would he want to date a waitress, Viv?”

“Well, maybe not date,” she giggled.

You laughed along with her. “You think he’s good in bed?”

“He has to be!”

The two of you gossiped in the kitchen for a few more minutes, before you realized how much time had passed and ran back out to check on the tables in your section. You went to the ones that were farther along in their meals, ringing up their tabs as needed. Glancing at Elvis’ table, you noticed everyone was mostly finished eating.

“How was everything?” you asked, gathering the empty plates from the table.

Elvis smiled. “Delicious, thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. I just brought it out from the kitchen,” you said with a smile to match his. “I’m so happy that you enjoyed your meals, though. I’ll be sure to let our cooks know.”

“Well ain’t you sweet as sugar? I wish I could take ya home,” a man jeered.

Elvis shot the man a glare, “Hey, cool it.”

“Well, if you’re in the mood for something sweet, we have a great dessert menu. The key lime pie is really popular right now,” you chirped, wishing you could explode the man with your mind. You weren’t about to thank Elvis for his half-assed chivalry either. You just wanted them out of there as soon as possible. “Dessert menu is right next to the napkins. I’ll be right back.”

You brought the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, putting them in the sink and washing your hands. Glancing at the clock, you noticed you only had two hours left of your shift. Your feet were killing you, but you’d be damned if you didn’t go up to the sign still. It was your sanctuary. Not wanting to drag things out longer than you needed to, you went back out to see if they were going to order anything else.

“So, have you decided on dessert?” you asked.

“I’ll take the key lime pie,” Elvis said. “Thank ya, darlin’.”

The rest of the guys at the table ordered other desserts or just coffee, and you quickly moved behind the display case of baked goods, putting the slices of cake and pie on plates, juggling those and the coffee as you returned to the table. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone crowded around the table, which made setting everything down a lot easier.

“If you need anything else, just let me know. I’ll be back with the check in a minute, but it’s really no rush,” you said.

You went up to the register to ring up everything from their orders. With such a large group, you knew it would end up being a $20 bill, and you’d be lucky if you got a $1 tip out of it. Shifting on your feet, you tried to ignore the aching you felt in your legs. It was your own fault for waiting so long to get new work sneakers, you knew that. You’d be lucky if you made it home that night without them falling apart.

“Thank you so much for coming in. I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said cheerfully as you put the check in the middle of the table.

You checked on the one other table in your section, which had left you a decent tip for their smaller check. Chatting with one of the busboys who had just come in for his shift, you noticed Elvis and the rest of his table leaving. Your eyes widened when you realized he left you a $10 tip. At least you didn’t have to worry about where the money for your new shoes would be coming from.

You walked into the kitchen, grabbing your purse from the hook you left it on. “Viv, I’m taking my twenty. If anyone tries to get me before it’s over–”

“Hit them with a frying pan,” she said.

“I was going to say tell them to wait, but I like that better,” you said.

Your twenty minute break went by far too quickly for your liking, but when you returned you only had a little over an hour left in your shift, which went uneventfully to your relief.

The night was clear and cool, perfect to walk up to the Hollywood sign despite the wear in your shoes. It was a decent trek from Lloyd’s to the sign, but it gave you extra time to think. You enjoyed not being in a rush to get up there. If anything, the hardest part was walking all the way up the hill, which still took the wind out of you sometimes.

To your surprise, when you got up to the sign that night, the man was already there. Usually he’d get up there later in the night, and you tended to take that as your cue to get going. The change in routine threw you off a bit, but nevertheless, you ignored him and made your way over to your ‘O’. Your rant to yourself was cut short when he began walking closer, and closer, until it was clear he was making a beeline for you.

Your silent companion would occasionally walk around to the different letters, but never too close to you, and never to your ‘O’.

“Go away!” you shouted.

“I wanted to thank you for recommending the key lime pie!” a familiar voice yelled back.

As your no-longer silent companion made his way over to you, your eyes widened. Elvis Presley? You felt like you were being pranked. Surely this couldn’t have been who was up here at the sign with you, but you recognized his silhouette, always the same whenever he was there.

“Are you the one who’s been coming up here all this time?” you asked.

“Yes.” he answered.

“What happened to ignoring each other?”

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“What are you talking about?”

"You’re a good liar," he said. "You come up here, cussin’ about how much you hate your job and LA, but goddamn if I didn’t know any better, when I went into Lloyd’s earlier, I’d have thought you were born to be a waitress."

"Oh my god, have you been eavesdropping on me?"

"You’ve never been interested in the other person who comes up here? Who thinks like you?"

"I mind my own business," you said, feeling weirded out that not only had he been listening to what you thought were private rants to yourself, but that he went to your job to see you. You know you said some variation of ‘Fuck Lloyd’s’ several times a night when you’d come up to the sign after work.

"How did you know I was working today?" you asked.

"You come up here every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday night, but only every other Sunday night. I’m guessin’ you work Saturday nights since you’re never here then, probably make the most tips that night, huh? It ain’t hard to figure out the rest from there.”

You looked at him in disbelief. He knew so much about you, and all you knew about him was that he was a famous musician who spent the past few years making mediocre movies. You couldn’t wrap your head around why anyone would take so much interest in the minute details of your life, let alone him.

"This is too fucked up for me to think about right now," you said, moving to walk past him and back down to the streets below. "I’m going home. Don’t come to my work again."

"Wait." He stepped in front of you, blocking your path. You kept trying to get around him, until he grabbed your shoulders, keeping you in place. "Come get a drink with me."

"No," you answered, pulling his hands off of you.

"One drink, and I’ll drive you home. I know you walked here."

"Alright,” you sighed.

He laughed softly, “Well don’t get too excited.”

“Why do you even care about me anyway?” you asked, as the two of you walked down the service road to where he had parked his car.

“Like I said, I figure we think alike if we both go up here.”

“Okay, well I go up here because I’m miserable. Is that the case for you?”

“Came out to Hollywood to follow my dream of bein’ a serious actor” he said. “Don’t think it worked out very well.”

“I fucking hate it here. Worst decision I ever made in my life,” you lamented.

“I know,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

Oh yeah. He’d probably heard you say it a hundred times already. You suddenly felt uncomfortable being in the car with him, and when he got into the driver’s seat, you changed your tune.

“Actually, I have to work early tomorrow. I’m picking up a shift for my coworker. So you can just drop me home,” you said.

"You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me, baby," he said.

“I’m not lying.”

He grinned. He didn’t believe you for a second, you could tell that much. “Alright, give me your address then. I’ll take ya home.”

You didn’t want him knowing where you lived, but at the same time you knew he’d find out one way or another. Vivian would probably give you up in a heartbeat. Reluctantly, you told him your address.

He didn’t bother making small talk with you on the drive to your place. What was there to say? He seemed to know more than enough about you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to him. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. He put his hand on your thigh, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. You tried to push his hand off of you, but his grip was strong. Sighing, you watched the city speed by you, the buildings getting progressively older, sidewalks more cracked, and roads less maintained as he neared your apartment.

His expression was unreadable as he pulled up to the run-down apartment complex where you lived, with its rust and crumbling bricks. You never had a reason to feel embarrassed about where you lived because you never had anyone over. Now, with a man whose tastes were undoubtedly expensive, you found yourself a bit self-conscious of your living situation.

“I’m in 327, so you’re gonna have to go down to the next building,” you said.

He drove down to your apartment, in a little better shape than the other two buildings, but not by much. As he pulled into the nearest parking spot, you gathered your things, double-checking you had all of your belongings. You didn’t want a reason to see him again.

“What are you doing?” you asked, when he got out of the car with you.

He smiled. “Gettin’ that drink you promised.”

“Seriously?”

“C’mon, I drove you home.”

You rolled your eyes as you dug your keys out of your purse. “Make it quick.”

Unlocking the door was kind of for show, since the lock hadn’t worked properly in a while. It wasn’t anything you had to worry about. You knew your neighbors, and everyone was as broke as you, so it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone breaking in to steal your nonexistent valuables. Kicking off your shoes, you threw your purse onto the worn-out couch in your shabby apartment.

“How old’s this place?” Elvis asked.

You shrugged. “Pre-war, probably.”

You went into the kitchen, searching the cabinets for booze. There were a few half drunk bottles of cheap wine from when you’d have a night in, but no real liquor, not until you spotted a bottle with amber liquid and a faded label. You had vague memories of you and your roommate getting drunk off of it when you first moved in together, it being the cheapest booze you could get your hands on. It wasn’t going to be very good, you knew that much, but if pouring him a glass would get him to leave, you didn’t care.

Grabbing the bottle and whatever glass was available, you poured the drink for him, setting it on the countertop.

“Thought we were gonna drink together,” he said.

“I have to work in the morning,” you reminded him.

He gave you an amused look, as if you’d just referenced an inside joke between the two of you. He threw back the drink, but his face scrunched up as he set the glass down. “Lord, what is this? Gasoline?”

“Alright, you had your drink. Bye,” you said.

“I got you all figured out, Y/N.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you scoffed.

“You’re afraid of things gettin’ better ‘cause this is what you know. It’s comfortable. You’re too proud to take initiative and ask for help, so ya scrape by and blame everyone else for your problems,” he said.

You were silent, trying to process how he could read you so well. Did you reveal that much in your nightly rants? You knew, ultimately, there was no one to blame but yourself. You could have gone back home at any time, moved back in with your parents and saved up to go somewhere else, somewhere you actually liked. Instead you toughed it out in Los Angeles to try to prove something to yourself, and your dissatisfaction with life became a part of you. Maybe you were scared of being happy after feeling anything but for so long.

“See, I told you, darlin’. I got you all figured out ‘cause you think like me. Probably came to Hollywood all scrappy and hopeful, thinkin’ it would give you everything you wanted and realized it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“Okay, you psychoanalyzed me. Congrats. Now get out.”

“You don’t want me to go. You want me to look after you,” he said. “You really expect me to believe you never noticed me standin’ one letter over, listenin’ to you?”

All the times you thought he wasn’t there, he was just hiding, by the ‘H’ or the ‘L’, listening to you feel sorry for yourself for hours on end. You felt embarrassed, humiliated; you went up there to be alone and have a place you could be vulnerable, and he took that from you.

“What do you want?” you whispered.

“Just you, Y/N,” he said softly, caressing your cheek. “Aren’t you tired of bein’ broke and angry all the time?”

“Who isn’t,” you scoffed. “Look, I don’t even know you–”

“But I know you.”

He was right, you were tired. Tired of working, of being in Los Angeles, of life itself at times. If he hadn’t been so thorough with his observations of you for the past few months, you’d have thought this was some weird attempt for him to get laid. He probably wanted that too, but after all of the time and effort and general sneaking around, no, he wanted more–to settle down, have someone to come home to, breakup the monotony of being unreasonably wealthy and famous. As you looked into his eyes, your feet still aching from the day, you figured whatever he wanted out of you couldn’t be much worse than your current situation. The rational part of you knew better than to trust a man who’d come out of nowhere and claim he was going to fix everything for you, but every other part of you was so tired, you nodded.

The kiss nearly knocked the wind out of you, forceful and passionate, as if he had all of this unexpended tension that had built up inside of him released when his lips made contact with yours. He held you close, practically pressing your body against his. Just as you were catching up with the kiss, he pulled his lips away, only to begin nipping and sucking at your neck. Part of you wondered if it was a dream, you had dreamt of customers before, but never this vividly. When he bit into a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you gasped, gripping his shoulders. It was definitely real.

“Heard you and your friend talkin’ ‘bout me,” he whispered, his voice deep and hoarse as he didn’t let up on your neck. “Wonderin’ whether or not I was any good in bed. You’re about to find out, darlin’.”

He tugged at the zipper of your uniform, pulling it down so that it pooled at your feet, leaving you only in your bra and panties. Part of you hoped your roommate would come in, interrupt things, and give you an out. You never knew when she’d be home with her erratic schedule. That moment never came, and instead you found yourself braless in your living room with Elvis wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you down the narrow hallway that led to the small bedrooms and bathroom.

Of the two bedrooms in the apartment, he found yours on the first try, dragging you inside with him, not even bothering to shut the door. You felt like a stranger in your own room, especially when he pushed you onto your own bed, a predatory look fixed in his eyes as he undressed. He crawled over you, pinning you to the bed with one hand and pulling down your panties with the other. He kissed you, gentler this time, but his hands were rough as they grabbed at your exposed breasts.

“When was the last time you had sex, darlin’?” he asked.

“I don’t remember,” you answered softly. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you had sex. It had to have been months at least, and whoever he was must not have been very good.

“Holdin’ out for me, huh?” he teased, his fingers brushing your clit, making you arch your back. “Don’t count on havin’ to wait that long again.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, his thumb playing with your clit. You were embarrassed at how wet you were, how quickly you could feel an orgasm coming on. Your breath caught in your throat. It was like he was dragging it out, wanted to see how desperate he could get you for it. Finally, you gave in, “Elvis, I’m close, please just–”

“Ask me real nice darlin’, and I’ll consider it.”

“Please, Elvis, I’ll do anything,” you begged.

His pretty lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Oh, I know you will.”

With that, you came, your orgasm seemed to go through your whole body as you clenched around his fingers. Your moans seemed to echo through the room, and surely through the cardboard-thin walls into the neighboring apartment. He kissed you again, and all you could do was let him take you how he wanted.

When he pulled his fingers from your pussy, you whined, first at the loss of contact and then at his wet fingers playing with your nipple. He sucked on your other breast, his tongue and teeth teasing that nipple to the point where you almost started crying.

“I told you I know you, baby. Know just what my girl needs,” he purred.

You nodded wildly, leaning into his touch when he brushed his fingers from your throat down to your abdomen. You couldn’t deny it, every time he touched you it was like fire. Without warning, he slid his cock into you, your pussy still sensitive from before, making you buck your hips as you clenched around him.

He wasn’t going to be gentle, you knew as much, but you weren’t expecting how aggressive he’d get, his pace unforgiving as he thrust inside you. He cursed under his breath, moaning your name. You knew his own orgasm was close as you could feel his cock throb, his movements becoming more erratic.

“None of them other guys ever made you feel this good, right, baby?” he asked, wrapping a hand around your throat.

“N-No,” you moaned.

“I ain’t gonna let another man so much as look at you again,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

You were lightheaded, unable to catch your breath when you came again, your back arching and putting more pressure on your throat. You clawed at his back, looking to get some kind of leverage, which sent him over the edge. The feeling of his hot cum inside you made your toes curl and your head spin. Just as you thought you were going to pass out, he released his grip on your throat, allowing you a moment to breathe before kissing you again.

He collapsed next to you, holding you against his chest to prevent you from getting up and leaving. There was no need, as you could hardly keep your eyes open after the fact, letting your exhaustion lull you to sleep.

When you woke up the next morning, you knew it was too late for you to have left for any supposed morning shift you were covering. Elvis knew right away you were lying, anyway. You didn’t expect to see him still next to you. He awoke a few moments later, a sleepy smile on his face as he kissed you.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked.

He laughed softly. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Elvis, I’m serious.”

“Gonna help you pack, bring your things over to my place.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I made it clear last night what I expect from you from now on.”

“I don’t–”

“Want to? I don’t give a damn what you want. You get left to yourself, doin’ what you want, and you end up in a place like this. I know what’s best for you, baby,” he said. “I already called your job and let ‘em know you quit. Real nice girl picked up and said ‘congratulations’.”

That was it. In a few hours he’d taken your whole life from you, and you still hardly knew anything about him.

“One day we’ll tell our kids how we fell in love at the Hollywood sign,” he said, smiling.

He thought you loved him. The talk about kids went straight to your stomach. Everything happened so suddenly last night, it didn’t even occur to you to use protection. He had the rest of your life planned out for you, as if you were merely a passenger along for the ride. You looked around your sparse bedroom, the last of the somewhat independent life you’d ever know.

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