Text
put on your records (and regret me)
PART 5Â |Â SERIES
Pairing:Â Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings:Â asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, fingering, protected p-in-v, semi-public sex, no use of y/n
Wordcount:Â 3.6k
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 5
You donât see Steve for three days following the⌠incident. You had bolted as as soon as you were out of his sight, showering immediately when you got home. Maybe, just maybe, you could wash the self-disgust away. At least, thatâs what you told yourself. You let the hot water wash over your skin, trying to forget the way his fingers felt, how he sounded, how he tasted.Â
You donât tell anyone, not even Nancy when she comes home later that day. You keep to yourself, burying yourself in schoolwork. You avoid the station until your show on Thursday. You know that thereâs a chance you might see him - heâs often hanging around in the recording studio, working on music. If youâre lucky, heâll stay in there, and not wander into the lounge, or worse, the on-air studio while youâre mid-show.
Upon entering the station, you make a beeline for the radio booth, keeping your head down. You see a group hanging out in the lounge out of the corner of your eye, as always. And, as always, everyone is vying for your attention. Youâre barely in the booth before people are hounding you with questions, or complaints, or forms to sign.
As youâre finally alone, lining up your records and CDs, you hear a gentle knock on from behind you.
âYeah?âÂ
You turn to see Eddie, bracing himself on the doorframe as he leans in.
âHey - can I talk to you for a second?â
You gesture him in, half-occupied with setting up for your show.
âWhatâs up?â
He sighs, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.Â
âI need a favor.â
You stop, and turn to properly look at him, eyes narrowing. Eddie looksâŚapprehensive. Maybe even nervous - itâs not like him.
âWhat is it?â
He stares at you for a moment, hesitating.
âPlease, spit it out, donât leave me hanging -â
â- I need you to talk to Steve for me.â
You freeze, and turn back to organizing the pile of records on the desk.
âWhy?â you ask, feigning nonchalance.
âHeâs hogging the recording studio - heâs always in there, and we need it. Weâve got a bunch of new shit, and people have been asking if we have CDs at our shows.â
âRemember me when youâre famous,â you joke.
âIâm serious. How is he able to get away with booking it so often? I feel like heâs always in there -â
âI donât know, probably abusing his power,â you mumble - youâre mostly being sarcastic, but a small part of you thinks it may be true.
âWell, I need you to get him out.â
You sigh, meeting his eyes again. âWhy canât you just talk to him?â
âIâve tried - he just said to go to you and fill out the form to book it, or whatever.â
âWhy donât you just do that?â
âHave you looked at the schedule lately? Unless I want to bring the guys in and record at 3am -â
âLike you havenât done that before -â
âPlease?â he asks, his brown eyes doe-like, pleading in the way that never fails to work on, well, everybody.
You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. âFine! Fine - stop looking at me like that. Is he there now?â
âYeah, and the entire fuckinâ forseeable future, apparently.â
âAlright - Iâll do my show, and go find him after, alright?â
Eddie grins, and you know youâve lost.
âThanks - youâre the best -â
âYeah, yeah - you owe me one.â
âYou got it,â he calls over his shoulder, and then heâs gone.
You spend the next two hours trying to not stress about seeing Steve again. Youâre able to concentrate on your show, for the most part, despite uncharacteristically stumbling over some of your words as you read of the obligatory list of local concerts in the middle of your rotation.
Soon enough though, youâre ending the show and turning off the mic, the On-Air light dimming as you leave the room. Itâs late, the station basically empty now. Itâs usually around this time that people clear out, busy with club meetings, parties, homework, or whatever else. Itâs where you should be, too. But, you made Eddie a promise.
Itâs hard to know for sure if someone is in the recording studio until you get close to it - the soundproofing is decent enough that you canât hear any noise happening inside until youâre practically pressed against the door. The only giveaway that itâs occupied is the glow of the light right above the door, marked with âRecordingâ in neon red lettering. You pause outside of the door - you hear the faintest sound of a guitar, and a voice singing - definitely his. After a moment of debating what to do, you knock on the door. No response. You knock a little louder - still nothing.
You pull the ring of station keys out of your pocket, fiddling with them for a moment. Maybe now isnât a good time - you could always try and talk to him about this at the next meeting, or if you happen to run into him. The thought is only fleeting, though - he is acting entitled, like he owns the studio. You think about Eddieâs face when he asked you, and suddenly youâre pissed off - Steve Harrington doesnât get to take up more space than anyone else, not if you had anything to say about it. So, without any more thought, youâre unlocking the door, barging into the recording studio.
His back is turned to you, sitting on a stool with a guitar in his hand - he wears headphones, and it suddenly makes sense why he didnât open the door. He clearly still doesnât know youâre here, too lost in what heâs doing. Whatever heâs playing - it actually sounds nice. Itâs an acoustic guitar, and what heâs playing is a lot softer, gentler, than anything he played at his show. But you donât let yourself get distracted, you canât.Â
Instead, you take a deep breath, and tap him on the shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin, the guitar slipping in his hands as he whips around.
âWhat the fu-â
Then he registers exactly who is standing in front of him. For a moment, his eyes widen, and then they almost roll to the back of his head. He fumbles to pull the headphones off.
âReally, princess?â
You cross your arms. âI need you to stop hogging the studio,â you say bluntly.
âWhat about hi, how are you -â
You sigh. âI donât have time for bullshit, Harrington. People are compaining that youâre always in here.â
âAre people Eddie Munson.â
âI - it doesnât matter -â
âAh - so it is,â he says, pulling the headphones off from where they rest around his neck, hanging them on the mic stand, more gently than youâd expect.
âDoes it matter? Anyone in this station has as much of a right to this studio as you.â
âRight - Iâm sure. Let me guess, Eddie gave you his big olâ Bambi eyes, and you folded.â
âThatâs not -â
âI honestly think itâs pathetic that your little boyfriend sent you here to come talk to me -â
You scoff. âHeâs not my - Eddie and I have never -â
âNever what?â he asks, standing abruptly. âNever done what we did?â
You feel your face heat. âIâm not here to talk about that -â
âOh, you hoped Iâd just forget?â
âNo - of course not - I just -â
âJust what?â he asks, taking a step closer.
âIâm not here to talk about that.â
He just smirks, in his signature way that makes you want to slap him across the face.
âSure youâre not, sweetheart.â
âIâm only here because Eddie already came to you, and you sent him right to me -â
You stop, cutting yourself off. Suddenly, you feel idiotic for not making the connection sooner. You meet Steveâs eyes again, and he looks so smug that you swear youâre capable of killing him where he stands.
âOh my god - did you do that to make me come and talk to you?â
Steve clasps his hands over his chest, feigning offense, but the devilish glint in his eye gives him away.
âDoes that sound like something Iâd do, sweetheart?â
âDo you get off on pissing me off? Huh?â
He just chuckles, shaking his head. âYou donât get it, do you?â
âGet what?â
âI donât even have to try that hard, and you get riled up so easily.â
âSo? I - what even - it doesnât matter -â
He takes another step closer, the already-small room feeling suffocating.
âYouâre not mad at me, not really - I donât think you ever were -â
âI canât believe this -â
âI think youâre just pissed at yourself - youâre attracted to me, and donât know what to do with it.â
You feel your face burn, and shake your head.
âNever - Iâm not -â
âYou are, sweetheart - I havenât forgotten how you begged me to touch you -â
âThat was a mistake -â you insist, your back hitting the wall. He leans close, one hand coming up to press to the wall beside your head, caging you in.Â
âIf it was such a mistake, why havenât you stormed out of here yet? I know how much you love to do that.â
You try to muster up a response, something clever, or at least intelligible. But, no words come.
âI donât like you,â you insist.
âI know - I wasnât talking about liking me. Iâm talking about how I know turn you on.â
You canât ignore the way your heart races, or how thereâs a strange fluttering sensation in your stomach, threatening to move even lower.
Youâre not sure who moves first - maybe you both get the same idea at the same time. But his lips are crashing into yours, and you donât push him away.
He groans against your mouth, his tongue pressing against your lips. You oblige, giving him enough of an opening to slip his tongue in, and you moan, taking his face in your hands.
You hate to admit it, but youâre used to the way he kisses now, the way he tastes. You only reach up to run your fingers through his hair and tug because you know he likes it - the guttural groan that escapes him only confirms it. He tries to pull away, and you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. He gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you him go.
âCareful -â
You smirk. âOr what?â
His chest is heaving, and heâs not subtle about the way he looks you up and down.
âAnybody else in the station?â
You shake your head. âNobody could hear us in here, even if they were.â
Thatâs all he needs to hear, and heâs on you again, his thigh coming up between yours as he presses you against the wall. You whine, involuntarily grinding on it as his lips find your neck.
âSo fuckinâ needy -â he whispers, sucking the skin hard enough that you know it will probably bruise.
âDonât you dare mark me up -â
âToo late -â he says, and you can feel how he smiles against your neck.
You huff, and in retaliation, reach down to grasp at the noticeable bulge straining against his jeans. He groans, shuddering.
âYouâre evil -â
âI know,â you reply, unable to hide your smile as he meets your eyes again.
âI wanna touch you again -â he admits - his lips are swollen from yours, his breathing labored. You nod, not even bothering with even pretending you donât want it, not this time.
Then youâre in his arms, and heâs surprisingly strong as he lowers you onto the floor. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the stool, laying it down beneath you.
âReally?â you ask.
âYou want rugburn?â
You roll your eyes, letting him crawl above you, pressing you to the floor as he kisses you again. You donât even try to protest as he reached down to unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips to let him pull them down as you kick off your shoes.
His lips are still on your neck as his fingers slip beneath the cotton of your underwear, only ghosting along your slit, a sharp intake of breath as he feels how wet you already are.
âSo ready for me already, princess -â
âShut up -â
He pulls back to look at you, grinning. âMake me.â
Your answer is your hands reaching between you to fumble as his belt, and his eyes widen.
âWhoa - wait -â
âWhat?â
âYouâre sure?â
You honestly donât know how to answer that - part of your brain still knows that this is a mistake, But, youâre wrecked with lust, with how good he looks right now, and how badly youâre aching for release from whatâs building inside you.
âAsk me that tomorrow.â
Itâs perhaps not what he wanted to hear, as disappointment flickers across his face. But itâs fleeting, and he just nods.
âYouâre something else, you know that?â he says, his fingers rubbing along your folds more earnestly now. You moan, head falling back as his thumb finds your clit. Encouraged, he slips a finger inside, then two.
âSuddenly so quiet - usually I canât get you to shut up -â he murmurs.
âYouâre so fucking annoying - oh, fuck -â
âYeah, you liked that?â he asks, his fingers brushing along a spot deep inside you that makes your hips buck.
âYouâre so full of it -â
âRight now, sweetheart, youâre full of me -â
You want to slap him right across his handsome face, but instead you whine, feeling yourself clench around him.
He touches you just like he did in your office, remembering what you like, what makes your back arch and thighs shake. You grip his shoulders, searching for anything to cling to as he coaxes whines and gasps of pleasure out of you. You feel the familiar tug in your abdomen, clenching around his fingers, lazily pumping in and out of you. Itâs too much, youâre so close, ready to explode -
Then, it stops. He stops his ministrations suddenly, his fingers withdrawing. Your eyes fly open, and you look up at him, chest heaving.
âWhat the fuck -â
âProblem, sweetheart?â
âI was close -â
âI know - but I donât want this to be over, not yet.â
You canât help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.
âYouâre worried about coming in your pants again, arenât you?âÂ
Itâs his turn to be embarrassed, his face tinged with pink as he avoids your gaze.
âNo - I -â
âOh, Harrington -â
âShut the fuck up -â
You sigh, resting on your elbows as you sit up a bit.
âI mean - I can -â
âIâve got a condom in my wallet,â he says quickly. You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded.
âSorry - forget I said anything, I shouldnât have -â
âGo get it,â you say quickly. He freezes, eyes widening. His mouth hangs open a bit, seemingly like he didnât exactly hear you.
âTrying to catch flies, Harrington?â
He snaps out of it, shaking his head.Â
âJust shut up, Iâll get it -â
You watch as he spins around, still on his knees as he pulls the wallter out of his back pocket. His hands are noticeably shaking as he rifles through it, pulling out the foil packet. You realize - heâs nervous. You didnât even think he was capable of that.Â
His belt is already unbuckled thanks to you, and he hurriedly unzips his jeans. You lay back, watching with curiosity as he undresses, the tent in his boxers leaving little to the imagination.
He catches your gaze, and smirks. âSee something you like, sweetheart.â
âDonât let it go to your head, Harrington -â
He canât help but laugh, even as heâs removing the last piece of clothing from his lower half. Itâs your turn to be at a loss for words, your eyes widening. You canât even stop yourself, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
Heâs practically beaming now. âLike what you see?â
You meet his eyes again, regaining some composure.
âI can work with that.â
It all happens quickly after that - heâs rolling the latex over himself, and coming back over you again. He pushes your legs apart gently, both of you still half-dresses under the fluorescent lights of the studio - all logic is telling you this is wrong, that you could get caught, that youâll regret this tomorrow. But all of those thoughts dissipate as he pushes against your entrance, and oh.
He groans into your neck as he pushes inside. Itâs a stretch for you, the breath knocked out of you as you take him. You both donât bother with taking your time, not now. Youâre still so worked up from how he touched you earlier, and from the moment he starts to thrust, youâre done for.
Itâs all a mess of desperate moans and grunts, his hips slapping against yours. You canât help how you cry out, and he canât help how he groans your name as you envelop him. You fist your hands in his t-shirt, the soundproofed room absorbing any dirty things said as his cock slides between your walls.
His kisses you again, sloppily, and you graze your teeth along his lower lip again. His shuddering groan is enough to give him away, and you laugh.
âYou like that, donât you?â
âMaybe - donât bite too hard -â
You clench around him on purpose then, and his hips stutter.
âFuck - donât do that -â
âOr what?â
âOr Iâll be done in a second, and Iâm not gonna bother finishing you off -â
âFat chance, Harrington - oh, god - not letting you leave here until I cum -â
He chuckles against your neck.
âSo bossy, princess -â
But you can tell he loves it, especially as he picks up the pace, gripping your thighs. He looks down at where youâre joined, the way youâre sucking him in, and his eyes flutter shut - heâs so gone.Â
âFuck - takinâ me so well -â
âOh my god - shit - Steve -â
He groans, and nods.
âI know - I know - you close, sweetheart? Please -â
âYeah - almost - harder -â
He obeys, thrusting into you more roughly, and you cry out in pleasure.
âGood girl - touch yourself -â he demands, his hips losing their rhythm a bit. âShow your clit some love for me - câmon -â
You can tell from his labored breathing, by the way his fingers are gripping the soft skin of your thighs enough to bruise - heâs close. So, you do as he says, your hand snaking down between the two of you, biting your lip as you find your bundle of nerves. You hate how easily youâre doing what he asks, but itâs like a jolt of electricity is sent through you. Youâre pulsing as his hard length slides in and out, coated in your slick, and itâs too much for you to take.
âMâgonna cum,â you breathe, legs shaking. âSteve -â
âI know - want you to let go - princess -â
You shatter, a scream erupting from you as your orgasm washes over you. Your body stiffens, back arching in pleasure as you flutter around him. You canât think straight, not as heâs groaning like that, your name on his lips like a prayer as his hips stutter, then still.
He almost collapse on top of you, bracing himself with his forearm so he doesnât crush you. For a moment, the only sound is your heavy breathing, his heart pounding against yours. He pulls back after a moment, meeting your eyes. Heâs a wreck, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his face flushed and eyelids heavy. Itâs like reality hits you both at the same time, and heâs slipping out of you. You sit up quickly, avoiding his gaze as you pull your panties back on.
Itâs quiet for another moment, then heâs clearing his throat.
âI wonât tell anyone,â he says, addressing your fears before you can even voice them.
You nod curtly, suddenly much shyer than just a few minutes ago.
âYeah - good idea.â
You feel him staring at you, and you just grab your jeans, standing to pull them back on.
âGive Eddie some studio space - youâre not allowed to use it more than 6 hours a week.â
He scoffs, and just stares at the floor as he nods.
âFine - fine. Anything for Eddie, right?â he says bitterly. You look down at him, and sigh.
âIâm not fucking Eddie - and itâs none of your business if I am. Surrender the studio space - please.â
âI will, okay?â
You nod, jaw set tightly. âThanks, Harrington.â
He meets your eyes for a moment, and shakes his head.
âWhat now?â you ask, crossing your arms.
âBack to Harrington, huh?â
âWhat do you mean?â
He stares at you for a moment, and he almost looks truly angry.
âYou called me Steve - while we were - donât think youâve ever done that before.â
You think for a moment, and remember, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
âRight - I was just - heat of the moment -â
âYeah, I get it,â he says dismissively.
âWhatâs your problem?â
âNothing,â he says, standing abruptly as he pulls his own pants back on. âSee you around, princess.â
Thatâs as close as he can get to saying get out, and you just nod, heading to the door. You pause, clutching onto the doorframe.
âHey, Harrington?â you ask, glancing over your shoulder.
âYeah?â
âWanna meet here, same time, tomorrow?â
His face curls into a smile, a real one, before he catches himself and smooths out his expression.
âMaybe, princess,â he says, shrugging.
You hold his gaze for a moment, and nod before slamming the door behind you - you donât allow yourself to smile in return, not until youâre out of his sight, turning the corner and leaving him behind. You ignore the fact that, for once, the idea of seeing him again wasnât awful.
You definitely donât confront the fact that maybe, just maybe, you donât hate him. Not completely, at least.
author's note: hi everyone! I know it's been a while - enjoy this chapter! Full transparency, I am moving at the end of the month, so life has been pretty crazy. Once that's over, I'll be able to hopefully write/post more consistently! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated - writers like me really appreciate those things, they go a long way! This story has been bouncing around in my head ever since I saw Djo last month, so I'm excited for what's coming in the next few chapters!
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âWanna meet here, same time, tomorrow?â
His face curls into a smile, a real one, before he catches himself and smooths out his expression.
âMaybe, princess,â he says, shrugging.

FUCK YEEEEEESSSSS
Glad you enjoyed the chapter! I figured Iâd make it extra spicy since everyone had to wait a while for it!
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put on your records (and regret me)
PART 5Â |Â SERIES
Pairing:Â Steve Harrington/fem!reader
Warnings:Â asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, fingering, protected p-in-v, semi-public sex, no use of y/n
Wordcount:Â 3.6k
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 5
You donât see Steve for three days following the⌠incident. You had bolted as as soon as you were out of his sight, showering immediately when you got home. Maybe, just maybe, you could wash the self-disgust away. At least, thatâs what you told yourself. You let the hot water wash over your skin, trying to forget the way his fingers felt, how he sounded, how he tasted.Â
You donât tell anyone, not even Nancy when she comes home later that day. You keep to yourself, burying yourself in schoolwork. You avoid the station until your show on Thursday. You know that thereâs a chance you might see him - heâs often hanging around in the recording studio, working on music. If youâre lucky, heâll stay in there, and not wander into the lounge, or worse, the on-air studio while youâre mid-show.
Upon entering the station, you make a beeline for the radio booth, keeping your head down. You see a group hanging out in the lounge out of the corner of your eye, as always. And, as always, everyone is vying for your attention. Youâre barely in the booth before people are hounding you with questions, or complaints, or forms to sign.
As youâre finally alone, lining up your records and CDs, you hear a gentle knock on from behind you.
âYeah?âÂ
You turn to see Eddie, bracing himself on the doorframe as he leans in.
âHey - can I talk to you for a second?â
You gesture him in, half-occupied with setting up for your show.
âWhatâs up?â
He sighs, crossing his arms and leaning back against the desk.Â
âI need a favor.â
You stop, and turn to properly look at him, eyes narrowing. Eddie looksâŚapprehensive. Maybe even nervous - itâs not like him.
âWhat is it?â
He stares at you for a moment, hesitating.
âPlease, spit it out, donât leave me hanging -â
â- I need you to talk to Steve for me.â
You freeze, and turn back to organizing the pile of records on the desk.
âWhy?â you ask, feigning nonchalance.
âHeâs hogging the recording studio - heâs always in there, and we need it. Weâve got a bunch of new shit, and people have been asking if we have CDs at our shows.â
âRemember me when youâre famous,â you joke.
âIâm serious. How is he able to get away with booking it so often? I feel like heâs always in there -â
âI donât know, probably abusing his power,â you mumble - youâre mostly being sarcastic, but a small part of you thinks it may be true.
âWell, I need you to get him out.â
You sigh, meeting his eyes again. âWhy canât you just talk to him?â
âIâve tried - he just said to go to you and fill out the form to book it, or whatever.â
âWhy donât you just do that?â
âHave you looked at the schedule lately? Unless I want to bring the guys in and record at 3am -â
âLike you havenât done that before -â
âPlease?â he asks, his brown eyes doe-like, pleading in the way that never fails to work on, well, everybody.
You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. âFine! Fine - stop looking at me like that. Is he there now?â
âYeah, and the entire fuckinâ forseeable future, apparently.â
âAlright - Iâll do my show, and go find him after, alright?â
Eddie grins, and you know youâve lost.
âThanks - youâre the best -â
âYeah, yeah - you owe me one.â
âYou got it,â he calls over his shoulder, and then heâs gone.
You spend the next two hours trying to not stress about seeing Steve again. Youâre able to concentrate on your show, for the most part, despite uncharacteristically stumbling over some of your words as you read of the obligatory list of local concerts in the middle of your rotation.
Soon enough though, youâre ending the show and turning off the mic, the On-Air light dimming as you leave the room. Itâs late, the station basically empty now. Itâs usually around this time that people clear out, busy with club meetings, parties, homework, or whatever else. Itâs where you should be, too. But, you made Eddie a promise.
Itâs hard to know for sure if someone is in the recording studio until you get close to it - the soundproofing is decent enough that you canât hear any noise happening inside until youâre practically pressed against the door. The only giveaway that itâs occupied is the glow of the light right above the door, marked with âRecordingâ in neon red lettering. You pause outside of the door - you hear the faintest sound of a guitar, and a voice singing - definitely his. After a moment of debating what to do, you knock on the door. No response. You knock a little louder - still nothing.
You pull the ring of station keys out of your pocket, fiddling with them for a moment. Maybe now isnât a good time - you could always try and talk to him about this at the next meeting, or if you happen to run into him. The thought is only fleeting, though - he is acting entitled, like he owns the studio. You think about Eddieâs face when he asked you, and suddenly youâre pissed off - Steve Harrington doesnât get to take up more space than anyone else, not if you had anything to say about it. So, without any more thought, youâre unlocking the door, barging into the recording studio.
His back is turned to you, sitting on a stool with a guitar in his hand - he wears headphones, and it suddenly makes sense why he didnât open the door. He clearly still doesnât know youâre here, too lost in what heâs doing. Whatever heâs playing - it actually sounds nice. Itâs an acoustic guitar, and what heâs playing is a lot softer, gentler, than anything he played at his show. But you donât let yourself get distracted, you canât.Â
Instead, you take a deep breath, and tap him on the shoulder. He almost jumps out of his skin, the guitar slipping in his hands as he whips around.
âWhat the fu-â
Then he registers exactly who is standing in front of him. For a moment, his eyes widen, and then they almost roll to the back of his head. He fumbles to pull the headphones off.
âReally, princess?â
You cross your arms. âI need you to stop hogging the studio,â you say bluntly.
âWhat about hi, how are you -â
You sigh. âI donât have time for bullshit, Harrington. People are compaining that youâre always in here.â
âAre people Eddie Munson.â
âI - it doesnât matter -â
âAh - so it is,â he says, pulling the headphones off from where they rest around his neck, hanging them on the mic stand, more gently than youâd expect.
âDoes it matter? Anyone in this station has as much of a right to this studio as you.â
âRight - Iâm sure. Let me guess, Eddie gave you his big olâ Bambi eyes, and you folded.â
âThatâs not -â
âI honestly think itâs pathetic that your little boyfriend sent you here to come talk to me -â
You scoff. âHeâs not my - Eddie and I have never -â
âNever what?â he asks, standing abruptly. âNever done what we did?â
You feel your face heat. âIâm not here to talk about that -â
âOh, you hoped Iâd just forget?â
âNo - of course not - I just -â
âJust what?â he asks, taking a step closer.
âIâm not here to talk about that.â
He just smirks, in his signature way that makes you want to slap him across the face.
âSure youâre not, sweetheart.â
âIâm only here because Eddie already came to you, and you sent him right to me -â
You stop, cutting yourself off. Suddenly, you feel idiotic for not making the connection sooner. You meet Steveâs eyes again, and he looks so smug that you swear youâre capable of killing him where he stands.
âOh my god - did you do that to make me come and talk to you?â
Steve clasps his hands over his chest, feigning offense, but the devilish glint in his eye gives him away.
âDoes that sound like something Iâd do, sweetheart?â
âDo you get off on pissing me off? Huh?â
He just chuckles, shaking his head. âYou donât get it, do you?â
âGet what?â
âI donât even have to try that hard, and you get riled up so easily.â
âSo? I - what even - it doesnât matter -â
He takes another step closer, the already-small room feeling suffocating.
âYouâre not mad at me, not really - I donât think you ever were -â
âI canât believe this -â
âI think youâre just pissed at yourself - youâre attracted to me, and donât know what to do with it.â
You feel your face burn, and shake your head.
âNever - Iâm not -â
âYou are, sweetheart - I havenât forgotten how you begged me to touch you -â
âThat was a mistake -â you insist, your back hitting the wall. He leans close, one hand coming up to press to the wall beside your head, caging you in.Â
âIf it was such a mistake, why havenât you stormed out of here yet? I know how much you love to do that.â
You try to muster up a response, something clever, or at least intelligible. But, no words come.
âI donât like you,â you insist.
âI know - I wasnât talking about liking me. Iâm talking about how I know turn you on.â
You canât ignore the way your heart races, or how thereâs a strange fluttering sensation in your stomach, threatening to move even lower.
Youâre not sure who moves first - maybe you both get the same idea at the same time. But his lips are crashing into yours, and you donât push him away.
He groans against your mouth, his tongue pressing against your lips. You oblige, giving him enough of an opening to slip his tongue in, and you moan, taking his face in your hands.
You hate to admit it, but youâre used to the way he kisses now, the way he tastes. You only reach up to run your fingers through his hair and tug because you know he likes it - the guttural groan that escapes him only confirms it. He tries to pull away, and you catch his bottom lip between your teeth. He gasp, eyes fluttering closed as you him go.
âCareful -â
You smirk. âOr what?â
His chest is heaving, and heâs not subtle about the way he looks you up and down.
âAnybody else in the station?â
You shake your head. âNobody could hear us in here, even if they were.â
Thatâs all he needs to hear, and heâs on you again, his thigh coming up between yours as he presses you against the wall. You whine, involuntarily grinding on it as his lips find your neck.
âSo fuckinâ needy -â he whispers, sucking the skin hard enough that you know it will probably bruise.
âDonât you dare mark me up -â
âToo late -â he says, and you can feel how he smiles against your neck.
You huff, and in retaliation, reach down to grasp at the noticeable bulge straining against his jeans. He groans, shuddering.
âYouâre evil -â
âI know,â you reply, unable to hide your smile as he meets your eyes again.
âI wanna touch you again -â he admits - his lips are swollen from yours, his breathing labored. You nod, not even bothering with even pretending you donât want it, not this time.
Then youâre in his arms, and heâs surprisingly strong as he lowers you onto the floor. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the stool, laying it down beneath you.
âReally?â you ask.
âYou want rugburn?â
You roll your eyes, letting him crawl above you, pressing you to the floor as he kisses you again. You donât even try to protest as he reached down to unbutton your jeans, lifting your hips to let him pull them down as you kick off your shoes.
His lips are still on your neck as his fingers slip beneath the cotton of your underwear, only ghosting along your slit, a sharp intake of breath as he feels how wet you already are.
âSo ready for me already, princess -â
âShut up -â
He pulls back to look at you, grinning. âMake me.â
Your answer is your hands reaching between you to fumble as his belt, and his eyes widen.
âWhoa - wait -â
âWhat?â
âYouâre sure?â
You honestly donât know how to answer that - part of your brain still knows that this is a mistake, But, youâre wrecked with lust, with how good he looks right now, and how badly youâre aching for release from whatâs building inside you.
âAsk me that tomorrow.â
Itâs perhaps not what he wanted to hear, as disappointment flickers across his face. But itâs fleeting, and he just nods.
âYouâre something else, you know that?â he says, his fingers rubbing along your folds more earnestly now. You moan, head falling back as his thumb finds your clit. Encouraged, he slips a finger inside, then two.
âSuddenly so quiet - usually I canât get you to shut up -â he murmurs.
âYouâre so fucking annoying - oh, fuck -â
âYeah, you liked that?â he asks, his fingers brushing along a spot deep inside you that makes your hips buck.
âYouâre so full of it -â
âRight now, sweetheart, youâre full of me -â
You want to slap him right across his handsome face, but instead you whine, feeling yourself clench around him.
He touches you just like he did in your office, remembering what you like, what makes your back arch and thighs shake. You grip his shoulders, searching for anything to cling to as he coaxes whines and gasps of pleasure out of you. You feel the familiar tug in your abdomen, clenching around his fingers, lazily pumping in and out of you. Itâs too much, youâre so close, ready to explode -
Then, it stops. He stops his ministrations suddenly, his fingers withdrawing. Your eyes fly open, and you look up at him, chest heaving.
âWhat the fuck -â
âProblem, sweetheart?â
âI was close -â
âI know - but I donât want this to be over, not yet.â
You canât help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.
âYouâre worried about coming in your pants again, arenât you?âÂ
Itâs his turn to be embarrassed, his face tinged with pink as he avoids your gaze.
âNo - I -â
âOh, Harrington -â
âShut the fuck up -â
You sigh, resting on your elbows as you sit up a bit.
âI mean - I can -â
âIâve got a condom in my wallet,â he says quickly. You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded.
âSorry - forget I said anything, I shouldnât have -â
âGo get it,â you say quickly. He freezes, eyes widening. His mouth hangs open a bit, seemingly like he didnât exactly hear you.
âTrying to catch flies, Harrington?â
He snaps out of it, shaking his head.Â
âJust shut up, Iâll get it -â
You watch as he spins around, still on his knees as he pulls the wallter out of his back pocket. His hands are noticeably shaking as he rifles through it, pulling out the foil packet. You realize - heâs nervous. You didnât even think he was capable of that.Â
His belt is already unbuckled thanks to you, and he hurriedly unzips his jeans. You lay back, watching with curiosity as he undresses, the tent in his boxers leaving little to the imagination.
He catches your gaze, and smirks. âSee something you like, sweetheart.â
âDonât let it go to your head, Harrington -â
He canât help but laugh, even as heâs removing the last piece of clothing from his lower half. Itâs your turn to be at a loss for words, your eyes widening. You canât even stop yourself, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
Heâs practically beaming now. âLike what you see?â
You meet his eyes again, regaining some composure.
âI can work with that.â
It all happens quickly after that - heâs rolling the latex over himself, and coming back over you again. He pushes your legs apart gently, both of you still half-dresses under the fluorescent lights of the studio - all logic is telling you this is wrong, that you could get caught, that youâll regret this tomorrow. But all of those thoughts dissipate as he pushes against your entrance, and oh.
He groans into your neck as he pushes inside. Itâs a stretch for you, the breath knocked out of you as you take him. You both donât bother with taking your time, not now. Youâre still so worked up from how he touched you earlier, and from the moment he starts to thrust, youâre done for.
Itâs all a mess of desperate moans and grunts, his hips slapping against yours. You canât help how you cry out, and he canât help how he groans your name as you envelop him. You fist your hands in his t-shirt, the soundproofed room absorbing any dirty things said as his cock slides between your walls.
His kisses you again, sloppily, and you graze your teeth along his lower lip again. His shuddering groan is enough to give him away, and you laugh.
âYou like that, donât you?â
âMaybe - donât bite too hard -â
You clench around him on purpose then, and his hips stutter.
âFuck - donât do that -â
âOr what?â
âOr Iâll be done in a second, and Iâm not gonna bother finishing you off -â
âFat chance, Harrington - oh, god - not letting you leave here until I cum -â
He chuckles against your neck.
âSo bossy, princess -â
But you can tell he loves it, especially as he picks up the pace, gripping your thighs. He looks down at where youâre joined, the way youâre sucking him in, and his eyes flutter shut - heâs so gone.Â
âFuck - takinâ me so well -â
âOh my god - shit - Steve -â
He groans, and nods.
âI know - I know - you close, sweetheart? Please -â
âYeah - almost - harder -â
He obeys, thrusting into you more roughly, and you cry out in pleasure.
âGood girl - touch yourself -â he demands, his hips losing their rhythm a bit. âShow your clit some love for me - câmon -â
You can tell from his labored breathing, by the way his fingers are gripping the soft skin of your thighs enough to bruise - heâs close. So, you do as he says, your hand snaking down between the two of you, biting your lip as you find your bundle of nerves. You hate how easily youâre doing what he asks, but it���s like a jolt of electricity is sent through you. Youâre pulsing as his hard length slides in and out, coated in your slick, and itâs too much for you to take.
âMâgonna cum,â you breathe, legs shaking. âSteve -â
âI know - want you to let go - princess -â
You shatter, a scream erupting from you as your orgasm washes over you. Your body stiffens, back arching in pleasure as you flutter around him. You canât think straight, not as heâs groaning like that, your name on his lips like a prayer as his hips stutter, then still.
He almost collapse on top of you, bracing himself with his forearm so he doesnât crush you. For a moment, the only sound is your heavy breathing, his heart pounding against yours. He pulls back after a moment, meeting your eyes. Heâs a wreck, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his face flushed and eyelids heavy. Itâs like reality hits you both at the same time, and heâs slipping out of you. You sit up quickly, avoiding his gaze as you pull your panties back on.
Itâs quiet for another moment, then heâs clearing his throat.
âI wonât tell anyone,â he says, addressing your fears before you can even voice them.
You nod curtly, suddenly much shyer than just a few minutes ago.
âYeah - good idea.â
You feel him staring at you, and you just grab your jeans, standing to pull them back on.
âGive Eddie some studio space - youâre not allowed to use it more than 6 hours a week.â
He scoffs, and just stares at the floor as he nods.
âFine - fine. Anything for Eddie, right?â he says bitterly. You look down at him, and sigh.
âIâm not fucking Eddie - and itâs none of your business if I am. Surrender the studio space - please.â
âI will, okay?â
You nod, jaw set tightly. âThanks, Harrington.â
He meets your eyes for a moment, and shakes his head.
âWhat now?â you ask, crossing your arms.
âBack to Harrington, huh?â
âWhat do you mean?â
He stares at you for a moment, and he almost looks truly angry.
âYou called me Steve - while we were - donât think youâve ever done that before.â
You think for a moment, and remember, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
âRight - I was just - heat of the moment -â
âYeah, I get it,â he says dismissively.
âWhatâs your problem?â
âNothing,â he says, standing abruptly as he pulls his own pants back on. âSee you around, princess.â
Thatâs as close as he can get to saying get out, and you just nod, heading to the door. You pause, clutching onto the doorframe.
âHey, Harrington?â you ask, glancing over your shoulder.
âYeah?â
âWanna meet here, same time, tomorrow?â
His face curls into a smile, a real one, before he catches himself and smooths out his expression.
âMaybe, princess,â he says, shrugging.
You hold his gaze for a moment, and nod before slamming the door behind you - you donât allow yourself to smile in return, not until youâre out of his sight, turning the corner and leaving him behind. You ignore the fact that, for once, the idea of seeing him again wasnât awful.
You definitely donât confront the fact that maybe, just maybe, you donât hate him. Not completely, at least.
author's note: hi everyone! I know it's been a while - enjoy this chapter! Full transparency, I am moving at the end of the month, so life has been pretty crazy. Once that's over, I'll be able to hopefully write/post more consistently! As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated - writers like me really appreciate those things, they go a long way! This story has been bouncing around in my head ever since I saw Djo last month, so I'm excited for what's coming in the next few chapters!
#steve harrington/reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington/reader smut#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington/you#steve harrington#steve harrington fic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x reader smut#stranger things fanfic#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fluff#put on your records (and regret me)#put on your records fic
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This will be the first chapter of put on your records (and regret me) that Iâve written since seeing Djo live⌠do with that what you will
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Part 5 coming tomorrow...
put on your records (and regret me)



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 AU.



PART 1
PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
PART 6
PART 7
FIC PLAYLIST
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hi I just wanted to say I found part 2 of TLCBTM last night (after finding part 1 like a week ago?) and have continued to fall in love with your writing! I sped through POYR(ARM) and stayed up WAY past my (self-imposed) bedtime, and am now on a mission to read everything else you've posted! you've hooked me with the way you write Steve and the gorgeous Taylor-themed titles! I will be waiting patiently for the next parts to your wips!!
Thank you so much, love! Genuinely messages like this are so sweet... and I appreciate your patience, but there's going to be some updates this coming week!
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https://x.com/freckledjoes/status/1910065025928077778?s=46&t=DBV_a59-XeyJX4DVNj8IJA
put on your records inspo
... yeah đŹ
#joe keery the man that you are#it's even worse in-person y'all#put on your records (and regret me)#put on your records fic#katy answers
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Needless to say⌠my second night of Djour was a success đŹ
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UMMMM hi story time please !!! Is he just as sexy in person
Okay quick story - so I was VIP for n2 in Brooklyn, so we had to report back to the venue around 5:30pm (doors were at 6 for us). Anyways, I got there a bit earlier because my friend was bringing a pizza for us to eat outside of the venue. We could hear Djo and the guys doing soundcheck inside, so we knew they were there, but it honestly didnât occur to me that they would leave between that and the show. So I took our pizza box and went across the street to throw it out, and when I walked back over, I was a bit distracted looking at my phone. I walked onto the street corner right outside the venue, where a van had been parked that whole time, but honestly I hadnât made the connection that it was waiting there for the band. I heard a few gasps, and I looked up, and he was RIGHT there getting into the van? I froze, and waved, and he smiled and waved back. I was wayyy closer to the van than I shouldâve been since I was apparently unaware of my surroundings, so I was face-to-face with him through the window. I realized I was wayyy too close and took a few steps back, but he just waved again as the rest of the band piled on. Then he stuck on his headphones, and the van drove off! Nothing really of note, like we didnât talk or anything, but genuinely I was starstruck just because I really wasnât expecting him to just be right there!
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Needless to say, motivation for writing put on your records has never been higher
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Just ran into Joe Keery đ§đťââď¸
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part 4 of put on your records was amazing đŤ absolutely love the tension!!!!
Thank you so much! The next part is coming soon!
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GIRL I USED TO READ U BACK DURING STRANGER THINGS S4 AND THEN I FORGOTS AND NOW UR BACK W POYR AND UR MASTERLIST IS JUST MWAH SMOOCH ITALIAN CHEF FINGER PINCH RAWWWRRR
Oh my goodness, thank you so much! Itâs so nice to have you back!
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hey katy! iâm not sure if you still care but in case you do, i noticed eva popped up with another djo account and once again has no name attached to it. i saw your account was in their followers so thought iâd give you the heads up. their @ is girlisconfusing
Hi! Sorry for the late reply on this, I havenât been checking my tumblr inbox - I unfollowed, thank you!
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Iâm seeing Djo for the first time tonight đ
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! YOU ARE THE BEST WRITER IâVE EVER SEEN!!! sending you a big hug đđđ
Thank you, love!!!!
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So they just played my voice memo for Djo on BBC Radio 1 and then cut right to his live interview đ§đťââď¸
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