Happy birthday Joe :)
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This is really just my brain while writing Steve fics if you think about itâŚ.
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think it would be really cool if you wrote a dirty dancing au with steve. however you would write it would be amazing <3
hope youâre doing well -đ¸ď¸
Hi love! This is definitely an intriguing idea! First, I think Iâm due a Dirty Dancing rewatch - itâs been years since Iâve seen it, so Iâm fuzzy on a lot of the plot details tbh. I also know @upsidedownwithsteve was talking about writing a Dirty Dancing AU a while ago - Iâm not sure if sheâs still planning on doing it, but if she is, I definitely wouldnât want to step on her toes! But Iâll definitely keep it in mind, and maybe Iâll use this as an excuse to revisit the movie and see what happens from there!
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Bestie, have you listened to TTPD??? Would you ever write any Steve fics based on any of the songs???
Oh⌠of COURSE Iâve listened to the album!!!! Iâm obsessed. Perhaps Iâll base a fic on the album/a song from it at some point, but I donât have any specific ideas at this time. Maybe if someone requests something Iâll do it, but I just worry that most songs would inspire a fic thatâs all hurt and no comfort, lol
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Trying to give Emmy some good recs but my mind is drawing a blank, I figured some of my lovely followers might have suggestions which Iâll definitely also bookmark for myself because Iâm always looking for new fics and authors
drop your ultimate fic recs in the comments, pretty please? tumblr or ao3, eddie, steve or even remus! i'm talking those multichap, slow burns, life changing fics. i'm in desperate need of some good reading but i wanna get sucked into a story, y'know? ur girl wants something lengthy
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put on your records (and regret me)
PART 3Â |Â SERIES
Pairing:Â Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings:Â asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks
Wordcount:Â 4.3k
Playlist
You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indianaâs top college radio station. Itâs your safe space, your niche. Itâs where youâve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.
Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks youâre a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, youâre both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why canât you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?
Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.
TRACK 3
You donât see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. Itâs not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? Heâs a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace.Â
No, itâs not actually at the station that you see him next - though, itâs tangentially related. Youâre at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection youâd seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the stationâs vinyl library. Itâs where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.
You donât see him, not at first. Heâs standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - heâs just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. Youâre truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.
âOh - uh, hey,â he says, quieter than you had expected.
âHey.â
You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:
âYour party was fun the other night -â
âAre you okay -â
You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.
âSorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,â you say quietly.
Steve shrugs.
âOh, yeah - glad you came. You⌠you seemed like you were having a good time.â
Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.
âOh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -â
âItâs fine, donât worry - weâve had worse,â Steve assures.
He hasnât said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didnât actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasnât for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you werenât crazy, you had reasoned.
But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than youâve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.
âSo, uh - thanks,â you say quickly, almost mumbling.
âFor what?â he asks, confused.
âFor, um, getting me home safe - I donât really remember it, but -â
He waves you off. âOh, that - donât worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,â he says, laughing. âYou were wasted.â
You groan. âThatâsâŚembarrassing.â
He smirks. âHonestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so⌠your secretâs safe with me.â
âWhy?â
âWhy what?â
âI mean - Iâm surprised you didnât tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -â
Why didnât he? Itâs leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.
âYou donât actually think that little of me, do you?â
You donât really know how to answer that.
He scoffs. âLook, itâs not my fault that you canât hold your alcohol for shit. But, Iâm not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -â
He trails off, shaking his head. âIt doesnât matter. Youâre welcome, though.â
You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.
âI was in a really bad way, wasnât I?â you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.
He nods. âHonestly? Yeah, it wasnât pretty. You really donât remember?â
You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.
âWhat do you remember?â
You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.
âUm - I remember playing Kings with everyone⌠and, uhâŚâ
I remember you coming in from the porch with whatâs-her-face on your arm -
â-and it gets fuzzy after that,â you say quickly.
âOh, okay - wow, thatâs pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony⌠and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.â
You freeze. âWait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -â
âNo way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.â
âOh,â you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out⌠dammit.
âIt was pretty gnarly, but⌠itâs fine. Really, itâs okay.â
For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then heâs clearing his throat again.
âSo⌠you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?â he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.
âUm - do you actually care?â
He shrugs. âSo what if I do?â
âWell - no, after last weekend Iâm not sure if I ever want to drink again -â
âThe most famous lie ever told,â he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.
â-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,â you say quietly.
âHot date?â
You scoff. âIâm going to Fuze Box. Nancyâs covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured Iâd check out who's playing tonight.â
WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you havenât made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancyâs article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.
âSo, you donât know any of the bands playing tonight?â he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.
You shake your head. âNope - just figured Iâd check it out, go in blind. Maybe Iâll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if theyâre selling CDs or something.â
Steve grins mischievously.
âRight - well, have fun, sweetheart.â
You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but heâs gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.
Youâre not sure what heâs up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - itâs such a Steve move.
As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, whatâs the worst that can happen?
*****
âThank you - weâve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!â the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.
âLime Of Decision is⌠a choice,â Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.
âYeah, thatâs because their name is literally meant to be a joke,â you say absentmindedly.
âWhat?â
âJason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so itâs likeâŚfunny. I think.â
Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.
âWhich band is better?â
âDefinitely hers,â you say immediately.
You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.
âIâm going to get another drink, you want anything?â she asks.
You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer youâre still nursing from the beginning of the last bandâs set.
She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you havenât spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasnât worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -
You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesnât seem to be here.Â
Thereâs two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.
Darius, the radio stationâs tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.
âAlright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands weâve heard so far tonight?â
You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.
Dariusâ eyes narrow.
âDammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -â
You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced⌠not likely.
Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.
âOkay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. Theyâre a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!
You canât help but laugh at the bandâs name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.
Itâs during those few seconds while youâre looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see whoâs standing front-and-center.
Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.
You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But youâre just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.
You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadnât heard a lick of music, didnât know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.
Nancyâs eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.
âDo you want to leave?â she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.
âGod, no! I - Iâm an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,â you say, laughing nervously. Youâre not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.
âHey guys - weâre Free Beer. Iâm Steve -â
A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that youâre worried youâll go blind.
âThanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - letâs just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?â
Thereâs an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.
âAlright - this one is called âCloser,â I hope you enjoy.â
From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words?Â
You want to hate it - you want the set to be something youâre tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, thatâs not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - itâs like he was born to do this.
Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, heâs actually a good frontman. Heâs charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid.Â
You want to scream - of course heâs good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - itâs a big enough crowd, and youâre far enough back that he probably canât see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.
Fuck.
*****
You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steveâs set - youâre looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steveâs band canât be good - that would be a problem. If you didnât know who was part of it, theyâre the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. ButâŚit's Steve.
You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?
Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, youâll ignore him - you wonât even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, youâll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You wonât give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.
You canât exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.
You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadnât.
Apparently, instead of the bathroom, youâve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. Itâs really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.
Itâs only once youâre inside, when itâs too late, that you realize youâve walked in on Steve.
His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. Heâs wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.
âHey, sweetheart - wasnât expecting to see you back here.â
You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldnât the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket âyou guys were greatâ statement. But now itâs just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?
âOh - sorry - Iâm in the wrong room,â you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.
âOkay - sure you are,â Steve says sarcastically.
âWhat does that mean?â you ask, stopping your retreat.
He shrugs. âDonât know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, donât you sweetheart?â
âStop calling me that.â
âTry to stop me.â
Thereâs a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.
âJesus, I - I donât know if itâs like, a weird sick game to you, or youâre just always trying to piss me off - or if you just canât help and flirt with everyone -â
âYou think Iâm flirting with you?â he asks, grinning mischievously.
You stop, folding your arms in indignation.
âNo - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what youâre up to, Harrington.â
âAnd what exactly am I up to?â
âThis bullshit you keep pulling,â you say, gesturing between you two. âThis - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when Iâm drunk and donât tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -â
He scoffs. âTrick you? Be serious -â
âYou knew Iâd be here tonight - you knew, and didnât say anything -â
âWell given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known Iâd be playing, Iâm sure you wouldâve been front row!â
You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.
Heâs smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, heâs too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. Heâs taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.
âI - thatâs not -â
Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. Youâre marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.
âI donât like you,â you say.Â
âYou donât say?â he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?
âStop doing that -â
âDoing what?â he asks, feigning innocence.
âStop distracting me -â
âI distract you?â
You want to kick yourself.
âI - well - only because youâre so -â
âDevilishly handsome?â
â-fucking annoying.â
He cocks his head, like youâve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.
You sigh. âWhat?â
âItâs just - you didnât seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.â
A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summerâs day.
âThatâs not funny,â you manage to say.
âDoes it look like Iâm laughing?â
Youâre suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way youâre close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.
âI didnât -â
âSweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Donât worry - I didnât let you. I really thought you wouldâve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didnât remember jack shit.â
You feel like youâre making this up. Heâs just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. Itâs the only explanation. Because youâd never -Â
âYouâre lying.â
But heâs just staring at you, and youâre starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isnât a joke.
âYouâre lying,â you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.
Heâs taking another step towards you, shaking his head.
âYou know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what theyâre really thinking when theyâre drunk -â
âVeritas.â
He stops, furrowing his brow.
âI - what?â
You canât help yourself - you just canât.
âThe phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, youâre missing the whole -â
âShut up,â he says. âYouâre always such a -â
You donât let him finish. Instead, youâre kissing him. You donât mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didnât need to hear another word out of his mouth.
You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like youâre trying to prove a point. And heâs kissing you back.
Steve kisses the same way he argues - heâs aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you.Â
The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steveâs labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.
The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, youâre losing. Because heâs guiding your body, and youâre responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.
No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. Itâs not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, Iâm trying so hard to hate you, why canât you let me -
One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips.Â
You know you should stop - but you canât. Itâs addicting, the way heâs still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this couldâve gone on for hours. That is, until -
The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where youâre still frozen against the wall.
âYeah?â Steve calls, voice rougher than before.
âAre you decent?â a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.
Steve looks like heâs fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.
âNope - youâre good,â he says, his eyes meeting yours again.
He doesnât need to say it - the look heâs shooting your way is enough.
Not a word.
Robin enters, grinning.
âHey, we were just going to - oh, hi.â
Sheâs spotted you, and you just know she has questions.
âHey, Robin,â you say quietly. âI, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.â
Robin beams. âThanks! Itâs fun to see that you came out - havenât seen you at a gig in a while!â
You nod. âOh, yeah - Iâve been trying to get myself out there more -â
Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesnât say anything.
â- but, um - I should go.â
Robin nods.Â
âYeah - I was just coming to find Steve, weâre all going to head to WTâs for a drink - uh, do you want to come?â
Sheâs probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.
âNo, Iâm good - sounds like itâs a band thing. I should get going anyway - Iâll catch the end of this set,â you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still havenât made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like youâre bolting.Â
Youâre screwed.
author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!
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Hi Ireland I am in you
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Love love Iove the college au! Steve is so cocky! Canât wait to read the rest!
Thank you love!!!!
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I happened to stumble upon the college station AU and I love it! Asshole Steve is my fav because we all know he really isnât đ¤ canât wait for the next part!
I'm so glad you're enjoying - thanks for the sweet message! Part 3 of the fic was just posted <3
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put on your records (and regret me)
PART 3Â |Â SERIES
Pairing:Â Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings:Â asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks
Wordcount:Â 4.3k
Playlist
You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indianaâs top college radio station. Itâs your safe space, your niche. Itâs where youâve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.
Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks youâre a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, youâre both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why canât you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?
Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.
TRACK 3
You donât see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. Itâs not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? Heâs a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace.Â
No, itâs not actually at the station that you see him next - though, itâs tangentially related. Youâre at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection youâd seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the stationâs vinyl library. Itâs where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.
You donât see him, not at first. Heâs standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - heâs just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. Youâre truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.
âOh - uh, hey,â he says, quieter than you had expected.
âHey.â
You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:
âYour party was fun the other night -â
âAre you okay -â
You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.
âSorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,â you say quietly.
Steve shrugs.
âOh, yeah - glad you came. You⌠you seemed like you were having a good time.â
Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.
âOh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -â
âItâs fine, donât worry - weâve had worse,â Steve assures.
He hasnât said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didnât actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasnât for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you werenât crazy, you had reasoned.
But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than youâve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.
âSo, uh - thanks,â you say quickly, almost mumbling.
âFor what?â he asks, confused.
âFor, um, getting me home safe - I donât really remember it, but -â
He waves you off. âOh, that - donât worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,â he says, laughing. âYou were wasted.â
You groan. âThatâsâŚembarrassing.â
He smirks. âHonestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so⌠your secretâs safe with me.â
âWhy?â
âWhy what?â
âI mean - Iâm surprised you didnât tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -â
Why didnât he? Itâs leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.
âYou donât actually think that little of me, do you?â
You donât really know how to answer that.
He scoffs. âLook, itâs not my fault that you canât hold your alcohol for shit. But, Iâm not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -â
He trails off, shaking his head. âIt doesnât matter. Youâre welcome, though.â
You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.
âI was in a really bad way, wasnât I?â you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.
He nods. âHonestly? Yeah, it wasnât pretty. You really donât remember?â
You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.
âWhat do you remember?â
You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.
âUm - I remember playing Kings with everyone⌠and, uhâŚâ
I remember you coming in from the porch with whatâs-her-face on your arm -
â-and it gets fuzzy after that,â you say quickly.
âOh, okay - wow, thatâs pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony⌠and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.â
You freeze. âWait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -â
âNo way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.â
âOh,â you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out⌠dammit.
âIt was pretty gnarly, but⌠itâs fine. Really, itâs okay.â
For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then heâs clearing his throat again.
âSo⌠you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?â he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.
âUm - do you actually care?â
He shrugs. âSo what if I do?â
âWell - no, after last weekend Iâm not sure if I ever want to drink again -â
âThe most famous lie ever told,â he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.
â-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,â you say quietly.
âHot date?â
You scoff. âIâm going to Fuze Box. Nancyâs covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured Iâd check out who's playing tonight.â
WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you havenât made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancyâs article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.
âSo, you donât know any of the bands playing tonight?â he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.
You shake your head. âNope - just figured Iâd check it out, go in blind. Maybe Iâll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if theyâre selling CDs or something.â
Steve grins mischievously.
âRight - well, have fun, sweetheart.â
You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but heâs gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.
Youâre not sure what heâs up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - itâs such a Steve move.
As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, whatâs the worst that can happen?
*****
âThank you - weâve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!â the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.
âLime Of Decision is⌠a choice,â Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.
âYeah, thatâs because their name is literally meant to be a joke,â you say absentmindedly.
âWhat?â
âJason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so itâs likeâŚfunny. I think.â
Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.
âWhich band is better?â
âDefinitely hers,â you say immediately.
You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.
âIâm going to get another drink, you want anything?â she asks.
You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer youâre still nursing from the beginning of the last bandâs set.
She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you havenât spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasnât worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -
You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesnât seem to be here.Â
Thereâs two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.
Darius, the radio stationâs tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.
âAlright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands weâve heard so far tonight?â
You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.
Dariusâ eyes narrow.
âDammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -â
You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced⌠not likely.
Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.
âOkay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. Theyâre a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!
You canât help but laugh at the bandâs name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.
Itâs during those few seconds while youâre looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see whoâs standing front-and-center.
Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.
You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But youâre just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.
You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadnât heard a lick of music, didnât know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.
Nancyâs eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.
âDo you want to leave?â she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.
âGod, no! I - Iâm an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,â you say, laughing nervously. Youâre not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.
âHey guys - weâre Free Beer. Iâm Steve -â
A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that youâre worried youâll go blind.
âThanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - letâs just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?â
Thereâs an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.
âAlright - this one is called âCloser,â I hope you enjoy.â
From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words?Â
You want to hate it - you want the set to be something youâre tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, thatâs not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - itâs like he was born to do this.
Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, heâs actually a good frontman. Heâs charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid.Â
You want to scream - of course heâs good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - itâs a big enough crowd, and youâre far enough back that he probably canât see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.
Fuck.
*****
You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steveâs set - youâre looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steveâs band canât be good - that would be a problem. If you didnât know who was part of it, theyâre the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. ButâŚit's Steve.
You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?
Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, youâll ignore him - you wonât even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, youâll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You wonât give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.
You canât exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.
You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadnât.
Apparently, instead of the bathroom, youâve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. Itâs really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.
Itâs only once youâre inside, when itâs too late, that you realize youâve walked in on Steve.
His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. Heâs wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.
âHey, sweetheart - wasnât expecting to see you back here.â
You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldnât the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket âyou guys were greatâ statement. But now itâs just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?
âOh - sorry - Iâm in the wrong room,â you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.
âOkay - sure you are,â Steve says sarcastically.
âWhat does that mean?â you ask, stopping your retreat.
He shrugs. âDonât know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, donât you sweetheart?â
âStop calling me that.â
âTry to stop me.â
Thereâs a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.
âJesus, I - I donât know if itâs like, a weird sick game to you, or youâre just always trying to piss me off - or if you just canât help and flirt with everyone -â
âYou think Iâm flirting with you?â he asks, grinning mischievously.
You stop, folding your arms in indignation.
âNo - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what youâre up to, Harrington.â
âAnd what exactly am I up to?â
âThis bullshit you keep pulling,â you say, gesturing between you two. âThis - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when Iâm drunk and donât tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -â
He scoffs. âTrick you? Be serious -â
âYou knew Iâd be here tonight - you knew, and didnât say anything -â
âWell given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known Iâd be playing, Iâm sure you wouldâve been front row!â
You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.
Heâs smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, heâs too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. Heâs taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.
âI - thatâs not -â
Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. Youâre marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.
âI donât like you,â you say.Â
âYou donât say?â he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?
âStop doing that -â
âDoing what?â he asks, feigning innocence.
âStop distracting me -â
âI distract you?â
You want to kick yourself.
âI - well - only because youâre so -â
âDevilishly handsome?â
â-fucking annoying.â
He cocks his head, like youâve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.
You sigh. âWhat?â
âItâs just - you didnât seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.â
A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summerâs day.
âThatâs not funny,â you manage to say.
âDoes it look like Iâm laughing?â
Youâre suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way youâre close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.
âI didnât -â
âSweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Donât worry - I didnât let you. I really thought you wouldâve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didnât remember jack shit.â
You feel like youâre making this up. Heâs just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. Itâs the only explanation. Because youâd never -Â
âYouâre lying.â
But heâs just staring at you, and youâre starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isnât a joke.
âYouâre lying,â you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.
Heâs taking another step towards you, shaking his head.
âYou know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what theyâre really thinking when theyâre drunk -â
âVeritas.â
He stops, furrowing his brow.
âI - what?â
You canât help yourself - you just canât.
âThe phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, youâre missing the whole -â
âShut up,â he says. âYouâre always such a -â
You donât let him finish. Instead, youâre kissing him. You donât mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didnât need to hear another word out of his mouth.
You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like youâre trying to prove a point. And heâs kissing you back.
Steve kisses the same way he argues - heâs aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you.Â
The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steveâs labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.
The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, youâre losing. Because heâs guiding your body, and youâre responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.
No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. Itâs not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, Iâm trying so hard to hate you, why canât you let me -
One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips.Â
You know you should stop - but you canât. Itâs addicting, the way heâs still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this couldâve gone on for hours. That is, until -
The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where youâre still frozen against the wall.
âYeah?â Steve calls, voice rougher than before.
âAre you decent?â a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.
Steve looks like heâs fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.
âNope - youâre good,â he says, his eyes meeting yours again.
He doesnât need to say it - the look heâs shooting your way is enough.
Not a word.
Robin enters, grinning.
âHey, we were just going to - oh, hi.â
Sheâs spotted you, and you just know she has questions.
âHey, Robin,â you say quietly. âI, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.â
Robin beams. âThanks! Itâs fun to see that you came out - havenât seen you at a gig in a while!â
You nod. âOh, yeah - Iâve been trying to get myself out there more -â
Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesnât say anything.
â- but, um - I should go.â
Robin nods.Â
âYeah - I was just coming to find Steve, weâre all going to head to WTâs for a drink - uh, do you want to come?â
Sheâs probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.
âNo, Iâm good - sounds like itâs a band thing. I should get going anyway - Iâll catch the end of this set,â you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still havenât made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like youâre bolting.Â
Youâre screwed.
author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!
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anything for âcaughtâ or âharringtonâ for the WIP game? I need time to speed up so badly so I can read this
the wip game: send me a word, and I'll post a corresponding snippet from the next chapter of put on your records (and regret me)
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For the WIP could I get âidiotâ?
the wip game: send me a word, and I'll post a corresponding snippet of the next chapter of put on your records (and regret me)
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Oo oo
Eyes for the WIP game
the wip game: send me a word, and I'll post a snippet from the upcoming chapter of put on your records (and regret me)
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loved part 2 of put your records onâ¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸ whens the next update? â¨đŤđĽâď¸
Part 3 will be posted here tomorrow!
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so so so so so SO excited for put on ur records ch3 ashebdhbgxbdhbrhrbhjdjfjfj
It's being posted tomorrow!!!
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Hello! super excited for the next chapter :) I was going to say ânoteâ for the WIP game
the wip game - send me a word, and I'll post a snippet from the upcoming chapter of put on your records (and regret me)
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It's time for the WIP game....
Send me a word/phrase, and I'll post a snippet from the upcoming chapter of put on your records (and regret me)
Part 3 tomorrow.
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