put on your records (and regret me)
PART 1 | SERIES
Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol references, no use of y/n
Wordcount: 2.5k
Playlist
You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve 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 you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t 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 1
April 1994
“So, all votes are in?” Katie asked. Everyone in the room nodded, and you sat forward in your seat.
The current General Manager of the radio station, Katie, ran a tight ship. Still, nobody could deny that they were sad to see her leaving - graduation was claiming too many people this year. She glanced down at her clipboard, adjusting her glasses.
General Manager would be read first, you knew that - it was the closest position the station had to President, the person who ran the whole thing. And after the last three years, all signs pointed to Katie's successor being you. Most people didn’t want the job - it was pretty thankless, all on a volunteer basis, and the election is often more of a formality to the most obvious person. But, you were passionate about the radio station - you always had been. Running it wouldn’t be easy, but you knew you were the right person to do it.
You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your favorite place, your niche. There’s nothing you loved more than spinning some records on-the-air, hanging out in the station lounge, and being a part of something. It’s where you’ve made your friends, easily able to bond over your love of music, making it your safe space when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.
You could feel Steve Harrington’s eyes on you from where he sat across the room. You pointedly ignored him, your clasped fingers growing clammy with anticipation.
“Drumroll, everyone!” she said, resulting in a cacophony of pats against legs, tables, or any available surface. When Katie read your name, the room broke into a smattering of applause.
“Congratulations!” Nancy cried from where she sat next to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders.
“Thanks,” you laughed, giving your friend a tight squeeze.
Despite the fact that you had expected this, a wave of relief washed over you. There was no glamor in keeping this place running, you knew that. Still, you cared too much about it, and now it was in your hands… just as you had hoped.
Your joy could only last so long, though - you were almost too caught up in your personal celebration to notice. Almost.
“Okay, and for Program Director… Steve!”
This time, a few whoops and hollers were let out - probably from Steve’s buddies, large in number and often loudly enthusiastic. But, you were just frozen, feeling your fists clench.
The Program Director coordinates a lot of things - new DJ training, events, stocking the music library… and works most closely with the General Manager. Meaning...
“Looks like we’re gonna be spending a lot of time together, sweetheart,” he said later with a smirk.
The meeting was long over - positions had been announced, congratulations given, goodbyes for the semester bid on the way out. You had sat there for the last hour with a rage steadily bubbling under the surface. You had tried your best to listen, relieved to find out Nancy was working as the Media Director, and your friend Eddie working as the Training Director. That, at least, offered some comfort - if you’d be running your favorite place with your friends, how bad could it be?
The answer, apparently, is still pretty shitty.
You can’t put a finger on exactly why Steve Harrington bothered you so much. But, from the moment you had met, he had been a thorn in your side. He knew it, too - it seemed to be his life’s mission to get on your nerves, just to get a rise out of you.
But he was blocking the exit, arm leaning casually against the doorframe. So, you took the approach you usually tried to - not letting him see that he was getting to you.
“Looks like it,” you said, words measured and careful. “But until then… have a good summer, Harirngton.”
You tried to shoulder past him, but he wasn’t budging. You sighed, meeting his gaze again and straightening up a bit.
“Do you mind?”
“I just thought you were gonna try to stick around - let me guess, you already have a 20-step plan for what we should do next year? I mean, I’m surprised you didn’t just jump all the new E-Board members to tell them how you’re going to run things. You know, in your insane and anal-retentive way.”
You clenched your jaw, grimacing as the notebook that you knew was buried in your backpack, containing your ideas for next year’s agenda.
"That's a pretty big word for you, I'm impressed," you mocked. Before he could come up with a clever reply, you continued:
“You know, I was surprised you ran for a position,” you said sweetly. “I mean, last I checked, you haven’t shown up to a single volunteer event. Were you even at the Spring fundraiser?”
“I was busy.”
“Funny way of saying hungover,” you retorted.
You took a deep breath, taking a moment to regain your composure.
“Look, we’re going to have to work together, so - can we just start over? Bury the hatchet, or whatever?”
He just grinned.
“Yeah, sure thing, sweetheart,” he said, voice lower. “You’re the boss.”
You had given up on asking him to drop the sweetheart thing long ago. So instead, you gave him a sharp nod, muttering have a good summer, Harrington.
He stepped aside enough to let you through, but still crowded the doorway enough that you had to brush past him as you did.
You ignored the way his breath caught as you did.
Maybe you could both be mature adults about this… maybe.
*******
September
“Harrington?!” You cry, stomping into the booth. Steve sits in the chair, switchboard alight as Head Over Heels plays through the speakers. He barely hears you enter, thanks to the headphones he’s wearing. When you slam your hands down on the desk, he jumps in his seat.
“Jesus - the fuck are you doing here?” he cries, yanking the headphones off to let them fall around his neck.
“You booked studio space without going through me,” you say angrily.
His face shifted then, from confusion to smugness.
“Oh - well, you were unreachable, and I only needed two board members’ approval. And, I count as a board member.”
“Who the fuck was the second person who approved it?”
“Eddie.”
You groaned. Of course - Eddie probably didn’t even know -
“So your band just happened to book studio space to go on-air during my show’s time slot?”
“Oh… it’s during your show?” he asks, voice saccharine with feigned innocence.
You rolled your eyes.
“Cut the act, Harrington. There are a ton of empty time slots that your little band could play during, you know.”
He sighed, crossing his arms and spinning the chair around to fully face you.
“If you’re so hurt about it, why don’t you come by? We need an emcee, and if you’re already usually here…”
“As if I’d waste my time coming to listen to you guys. I don’t even listen to your show.”
“So you’ve said. I thought your boyfriend was in the band too, last time I checked.”
You scoffed. “Eddie is not my boyfriend. And, not that he’d ever tell you, but he’s filling in as a favor. He’s only playing with you guys because Corroded Coffin broke up.”
Something unreadable flickers across Steve’s face, then he shakes his head.
“Yeah, okay - keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But, we’ve got the time next Thursday - so, come by, don’t come by… I don’t give a shit. Just let me know by the weekend if you are - it’s only protocol, after all, and I know you’re a stickler for that.”
He pulls the headphones back over his ears, turning the volume of the music up a bit.
“Now, if you don’t mind - I’m about to go on-air, and I’d hate for everyone to hear your hissy-fit through the radio waves, you know?”
He returns his attention to the microphone, ready to turn down the music and start speaking - but you’re not giving him the satisfaction of sticking around to watch.
You just huff, crossing your arms and stomping out with even more fury than you came.
Your drive home is full of frustration that grows to rage. You grumble under your breath over the hum of the radio, cursing Steve Harrington’s name at every red light, every sharp turn. It’s only when you pull up to your apartment and park that you realize what’s even playing through the car’s speakers.
It’s WAMC - what else would you have on? You always have your radio tuned to 98.9, doing your best to listen to your friends and support the station you hold so dearly. But, of course, the person on the air right now is him.
You had taken a personal vow a while ago to not tune into Steve’s show. You know it’s stupid - one listener doesn’t make a difference, and you know Steve Harrington certainly doesn't have trouble sleeping at night knowing that you don’t listen to whatever crappy music he plays over the air. But, he’s driving you crazy - he’s so arrogant, so smug, and everyone else eats it up. Nobody dislikes Steve Harrington… it seems like everyone on campus who knows Steve either is in love with him, or wants to be him. You’ll never understand the hold he has over people.
But, maybe you should try to - it’s only fair to get a sense of what all the fuss is about, you reason. So, you turn up the volume dial, letting the music flow through the stereo and over the din of your still-running engine.
It’s about what you expect - mostly Top 40 hits, some classic rock sprinkled in. It’s not bad, necessarily - just, like nearly any other station you could tune your radio to. It’s not a hard and fast rule to play lesser-known music - it’s just encouraged. But, everyone tunes into Steve’s show, ask him for advice on how to plan a slot… it makes your blood boil.
You tell yourself that you’re only going to listen for a few minutes. When Steve’s voice comes on the air, you roll your eyes - he’s cracking jokes, giving anecdotes about the songs, and unfortunately, he’s nearly charming. You don’t realize a full hour has passed until he signs off. You quickly kill your engine and dart into your apartment, doing your best to try not to dwell on the slight disappointment in the show being over.
Double-booking your radio slot was only the most recent of a string of things Steve had been doing to piss you off - showing up late to meetings (if he even shows up at all), calling out of his radio show, making snide remarks under his breath at the meetings he does show up to… you’re basically doing two jobs at once. Any false promise of civility between you two is a thing of the past. He’s making your life a living Hell - but, you’re not one to back down. Two can play dirty, after all.
******
October
You and Steve spend the next few weeks doing a delicate dance, going back and forth not-so-subtly sabotaging one another. His band tried to book a gig at the local venue, which you conveniently “forgot” to sign off on. He tells incoming freshmen that they don’t need to go through you when applying to be a DJ, causing an enrollment nightmare. You pay Jonathan Byers $20 for the equipment to “break,” only for the two hours that Steve is scheduled to do his radio show. But, throughout it all, you barely actually see one another. It’s nearly a month later that you actually encounter him again.
The moment you set foot in the vinyl library, you groan. He looks up from where he’s perusing the records on the shelves, grinning as soon as he locks eyes with you.
“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart.”
Fuck off, you think.
“Hey, Harrington,” you say, exhibiting what you consider to be an exorbitant amount of restraint. After your blowup last time, the last thing you need is to continue to give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand.
You march straight ahead, going right to the shelf next to him. You pointedly stare forward, running your fingers along the spines of the albums, pulling out the ones you’re looking for as you find them.
You hear Steve scoff next to you, and you roll your eyes - practically an involuntary response with him at this point.
“Do you have a problem?” you asked, your tone biting.
He just shrugs. “No. You’re just… predictable.”
“How so?”
“If you asked me to come in here, and pick out the records for your radio show for you… it’d just be too easy. Let me guess… The Smiths… Talking Heads… R.E.M…Sonic Youth…and some European band whose name I can’t pronounce, probably. Am I close?”
You clutched the records close to your chest, arms crossing to obscure them.
Steve just grins smugly.
You hold your place, not breaking eye contact. He simply shrugs, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
Pleased with himself. Too cocky. A challenge.
“That’s what I thought.”
You straightened up, keeping eye contact.
“You act as if you’re any better, with your Worst 40 bullshit -”
“You only pretend to not like it to be different -”
“I don’t pretend to not like your music! I’m just trying to make us sound different from any other station people tune into -”
“So you do listen to my show?” he asks. He’s still wearing that shit-eating grin, but for just a moment, you swear he sounds surprised.
You open and close your mouth a few times, debating what to say. You’ve been caught. And he’s just staring at you, so blatantly self-satisfied, that you want to punch him.
“Shut up,” you say quietly.
“You gonna make me?” he asks.
You feel your face heat. The vinyl library is too cramped, its narrow walls making Steve stand just a bit too close to you. You swallow, straightening up a bit. He’s blocking the only exit, a habit he seems to reserve especially for you.
“Can you let me leave, Harrington? Or do I have to answer a riddle or something first?”
“I’m having a party on Friday,” he blurts out. “You should stop by. Everyone else from the station is coming.”
You shake your head.
“Um - I don’t think -”
“C’mon, sweetheart - show me that you know how to have a little fun!”
You shrug.
“Maybe. Whatever, I’ll see.”
He grins. “Okay - 36 Hamilton Street, by the way. Friday night, 10pm.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the darkness of the record library. You try to ignore how fast your heart is beating in his wake.
Fucking Steve Harrington.
author's note: Hi everyone! Here's the first part of a brand new fic - ta da! In general, I think the plan for this fic is to have shorter chapters, but more total chapters, so the word count will be... whatever it ends up being. Keep in mind that there will be smut down the line, so only engage is 18+, please. Likes, replies, and reblogs are always appreciated! Also, this was barely edited, so if you see a mistake... no you didn't.
