synopsis: when Steve wakes up with a concussion in a hospital bed after a crawl gone wrong, he can’t help but fall for you—the pretty girl sitting by his bedside—completely unaware that you’re already his girlfriend.
word count: 1.8k
tags: tooth-rotting fluff, temporary amnesia, mild head injury, dizziness, flirting, concussion, hospital setting, romantic and flirty situations, protective behavior, playful teasing, steve hopelessly in love with you
Steve can feel a lot of things when he opens his eyes.
The first is pain. A dull, throbbing pressure pulsing behind his forehead, like someone is rhythmically knocking on the inside of his skull.
The second is light. Bright and white and unforgiving, stabbing straight through his eyelids until he squints and groans before he even realizes he’s awake.
The third thing is… beeping.
There’s a plastic tube taped to his arm, connected to an IV machine humming quietly beside the bed. His body feels heavy, sluggish, like he’s been dropped back into himself without instructions.
And then there are two figures hovering over him, silhouettes at first. One of them lets out a sharp, breathless laugh. “Holy shit—he’s awake. Oh my god, Harrington, you scared the living—”
“Robin,” another voice cuts in quickly, firm but gentle. “Would you quiet down your voice? He’s probably still processing the situation.”
Steve would love to process the situation. He just… doesn’t know what the situation is.
His vision sharpens bit by bit, the haze clearing enough for faces to come into focus. On one side of the bed is a girl with short hair and an expression that’s equal parts relief and barely-contained excitement. She’s smiling way too hard, like she’s waiting for him to say something
On the other side—
Steve’s breath stutters, completely against his will.
She’s closer, standing just within his line of sight, her hands clasped together like she’s been holding herself back from touching him.
Her eyes are glassy, rimmed with exhaustion and something else he can’t name yet, and she’s looking at him with so much worry and love. Like he scared her. Like she’s been here a while.
Steve isn’t one to discriminate. He appreciates beauty in all forms. But holy shit—his chest tightens in a way that feels familiar and frightening all at once.
He doesn’t know you. He’s almost sure of that, and yet the pull is immediate, instinctive, like his body recognizes you before his mind can catch up.
“Uh,” he croaks, except pain shoots through his body as he tries to speak.
“Easy, easy.” you say right away. Your voice is calm, but your eyes are worried, scanning his face like you are checking for cracks. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”
Steve frowns, trying to piece things together. “Why am I in a hospital,” he asks, then winces when the movement makes his head pound harder. “And who are you people?”
Robin lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “We, buddy, are your friends.”
"And how did I end up here?"
“You got hurt on a crawl,” you say gently, keeping your voice calm as your thumb traces small circles on the back of his hand. “You crashed your car into a pole on the way back. The doctors said it’s a concussion, and your memory might be temporarily affected.”
“I… don’t remember any of that,” he admits slowly, panic threading through his voice.
“Steve, it’s okay,” you say softly, keeping your tone steady even though worry is slipping through. “Temporary memory loss is part of the recovery.”
“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he’s not sure why. “I just—”
And then, because apparently whatever they’ve got pumping into his veins has removed his filter entirely, he blurts, “You’re just really pretty.”
Heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks, as you huff out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and shake your head once, eyes dropping to his chest like you might find something steadier there.
Robin snorts loud enough to break the moment. “Okay, wow. Guess the concussion knocked his filter clean out.
She steps back toward the door, already reaching for the handle. “I’m gonna go tell the others he’s awake before Dustin gets more worried.” She pauses, smirks at Steve. “Don’t flirt yourself into another head injury.”
And then she’s gone, leaving the room quieter than before.
The room settles into something quieter after that. The machines hum as Steve shifts slightly, then freezes when he realizes how close you still are.
Your hand is still on his.
He blinks at you, then grins slowly, a little mischievous despite the wires attached. “Soooo… are you gonna tell me who you are so I can figure out a way to take you out on a proper date once I’m out of this bed?” His eyes flicker with a mix of earnestness and teasing, and you can’t help but grin at how genuinely sweet he sounds.
You raise an eyebrow, smirking. “A proper date, huh? You’re already in a hospital bed and thinking about that?”
Steve leans back slightly, still staring at you with a goofy, love-struck grin. “Hey, priorities, okay? First I survive this concussion, then I take you out somewhere nice. Gotta make it worth your while.”
Your chest warms at the sincerity, and you reach out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Well, Mr. Harrington, you better survive then, or you’re never getting that date.”
“Oh, I’m determined, baby. It’s not every day a man wakes up in a hospital bed and finds a pretty girl at his bedside. Can’t let that chance slip away.”
You laugh loudly, shaking your head. “You’re gonna have to stop saying stuff like that or I’ll start thinking you’re hitting on me.”
He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “And what if I am?”
Your brows lift, amused. “Is that so?”
“Well,” he says, warming to it now, “would that be such a bad thing?”
You laugh again, cheeks pink. “No, I guess not.”
He opens his mouth, clearly about to say more—then cuts himself off. “—Unless you don’t think I’m awesome. Which, not to brag, but I am. I mean, I’m just… not at my best right now. My hair’s usually fixed and I'd be in way better shape.”
“I know that, Steve,” you say, fond and familiar in a way that makes his stomach flip.
“Then what’s the problem?” he asks, squinting at you like he’s solving a puzzle. “You got a boyfriend or something?”
You hesitate for half a second. Then nod. “I do."
“Oh.”
The warmth in his chest caves in on itself, replaced by1 something hollow and sharp. His head throbs suddenly, a spike of pain behind his eyes, and images he doesn’t understand flash through his mind; your laugh, your hands laced with someone else’s, your mouth pressed to another person’s cheek.
Someone who isn’t him.
He swallows, forcing a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah. Figured so.” A quiet breath out. “Guess it would’ve been kinda insane if a girl like you didn’t already have someone.”
You reach up without thinking, fingers sliding into his hair, smoothing it back. The touch resets something in him instantly. Whatever ache was there dulls under your hand.
“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m really flattered.”
He looks at you for a long moment, then nods. “Well,” he says, trying to sound casual and failing just a little, “your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”
You hum, noncommittal, then sigh and slump forward, burying your face into the sheets.
Steve watches you, heart doing something stupid again. You look… comfortable and so soft. Like a cat curling up somewhere it feels safe.
“As I said, you’re really pretty,” he murmurs, voice rough and nasal from the concussion. “But… you must hear that all the time, don’t you?”
You shrug, brushing a strand of hair from your face, lips barely parting. “Not really,” you admit quietly, almost inaudible.
Steve blinks, then slowly pushes himself up in the hospital bed, propping on one elbow. “Really? Your boyfriend doesn’t… call you that?”
You place a hand lightly on your chin, lips pouting just slightly, hair falling across your face. The soft tilt makes your eyes shine in the bright hospital light, and Steve swallows, heart thudding in a way that’s equal parts awe and helplessness. He wants to lean forward, brush his thumb across that pout, kiss it gently, but he doesn’t.
You shake your head slightly, still face-down. “Not really.”
“God,” he murmurs, sincerity slipping through before he can stop it, “your boyfriend sucks.”
You glance up at him, surprised.
“If I were him,” Steve continues, voice quiet but sure, “I’d tell you you’re pretty every single day.”
And while Steve wants to tell you to dump that clueless idiot of a boyfriend already, he bites his tongue. He’s not here to be a homewrecker, he just wants you to realize your worth before that poor sap completely wastes it. Besides, it’s painful watching someone else fumble what should be his.
You groan. “My boyfriend’s a total jerk sometimes. He doesn’t notice half the things I do, and he spends all his time driving around with a bunch of kids, getting into trouble”
Steve’s grin is lazy but affectionate, eyes crinkling despite the fever. “That bastard’s missing out! How can he hang out with kids when he’s got a pretty girl like you waiting for him? What a schmuck.”
You snort. “That’s exactly what I keep telling him.”
He smiles lazily, the corners of his mouth tugging upward despite how tired he clearly is. “Yeah,” he says, words starting to blur together now.
“Y’know what I think.” He pauses, fighting sleep. “I think you should tell that boyfriend of yours he’s gotta do better.”
“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, amused.
Steve’s eyes flutter, but he manages a crooked smirk. “Then,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna come and sweep you from right under his nose.”
You laugh, warm and fond, and reach out to tuck the blanket more securely around him. “Big talk for someone who can barely keep his eyes open.”
He hums softly, already drifting to sleep. “M’just sayin’,” he mumbles. “Pretty girl like you deserves better.”
****
Two weeks later, Steve is supposed to still be taking it easy.
Keyword: supposed to.
He’s on the edge of the bed, wrestling with his shoes, one hand rubbing at his temple like that might fix the very real concussion he’s ignoring. You’re in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with the look that says your patience ran out five minutes ago.
“Steve! You’re being unbelievable,” you say. “The doctor said to rest and not to stupid shit.”
Steve scoffs. “I wasn’t trying to be stupid.”
“You went into a tunnel full of demobat slime!”
“—to save you and Dustin,” he shoots back, turning to look at you. “Which, by the way, I did. So maybe a thank-you instead of whatever this is?”
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re so annoying lately.”
He laughs once, sharp. “Oh, I’m annoying? Sorry my brain injury is inconvenient for you.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You’re such a shitty, horrible boyfriend.”
Steve blinks. “Wow. Okay. And you’re an inconsiderate girlfriend who apparently doesn’t care that I almost cracked my skull because you and Dustin are absolute idiots.”
You huff, turn on your heel, and start pulling the blanket off the bed. “Fine. I’m not sharing a bed with you tonight.”
He frowns immediately. “—Wait, what? Where the hell are you going?”
“Anywhere that’s not next to an ass,” you snap, grabbing a pillow.
Steve watches you for half a second, then stands. A little wobbly, but determined. “Okay, yeah, no. I’m following you.”
You glare. “If you don’t quit it, I’m gonna find someone else who treats me right.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes,” you say, annoyed and dramatic on purpose now. “At least they won’t be reckless and stupid.”
Steve steps closer, incredulous. “Is that so? And where exactly are you gonna find someone who can tolerate your annoying ass? Because I bet there isn’t a single soul in Hawkins who can handle—”
You whip the pillow at his chest.
“I actually know someone,” you say smugly, pointing a sharp finger at him. “Who said he’d sweep me right out from under your nose, Steve Harrington!”
The color drains from Steve’s face.
“—Wait, what?” he blurts, eyes wide. “Who?”
What a dumbass, you think, smirking as you turn away.
based on this request: right here!!
a/n: this was so lovely to write! i hope it meats your expectations nonnie, and thank you for all the detailed ideas <33 much love xx
im just a girl who loves frat rafe, nerd rafe, soft rafe, baby daddy rafe, husband rafe, toxic rafe, ex rafe, druggie rafe, needs a hug rafe, imprisoned rafe, season one rafe, season two rafe, season three rafe, season four rafe, i will love season five rafe, rafe, rafe cameron, kelce and toppers bestfriend rafe, golfer rafe, abusive rafe, sweetheart rafe, college rafe, ghostface rafe, serial killer rafe, rafe in season two with that sexy ass hat on when hiding from the police in the boat with barry, rafe in a grey north face jacket, enemy rafe, wards least favourite child, sarah and wheezies older brother, kook king rafe, highschool lovers rafe, rafe…. did i mention rafe cameron from obx?
a/n: inspired by the joker and harley in suicide squad but a little less toxic (lowkey obsessed with it)
the dim light of the club bathed the room in a murky haze of reds and blues, the air electric with pounding bass and the clink of glasses. but none of that mattered to him. not the noise, not the bodies moving around the room, not even the wad of cash burning a hole in his pocket.
the joker’s bright blue eyes were locked on her.
she moved in the center of the floor like she owned it, and maybe she did. every sway of her hips, every arch of her back was deliberate, intoxicating. the way she laughed, sharp and wild, sent a jolt straight through his chest. his queen. his chaos.
sitting in his booth, a drink untouched in his strong hand, he leaned back, draping one arm over the edge of the velvet seat. his signature smirk curled across his face, beautiful yet dangerous, but his gaze softened in a way it only ever did for her.
she twirled, hair whipping around her face, and when her eyes caught his for just a second, he felt it like a punch. he gripped the edge of his glass, the tension in his chest mounting. how did she do that to him? bring him to his knees with just one look?
“boss, you good?” one of his henchmen muttered from nearby, his voice tentative.
rafe didn’t even bother looking at him. his focus was all hers. “good?” he echoed, his voice low and dripping with that dangerous charm. “oh, i’m more than good, barry. that—” he gestured lazily toward her, his rings catching the dim light. “that right there is a masterpiece.”
she laughed at something or someone too close to her, and his smirk twitched. one thing about him was that he didn’t share well, and she knew it. he could see the game she was playing, feel the tug of her invisible strings pulling him in. it wasn’t fair, but he loved it.
toxic? sure. obsessive? definitely. but he didn’t care.
when she finally found her way back to him, her breathless smile daring him to say something, she slid onto his lap as if she belonged there. cause she did.
“enjoying the show, rafey?” she teased, her voice dripping with mischief, knowing she’s the only person he’d ever let call him that.
his tatted hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer, his grin sharp as ever. “you know i can’t look away, doll. you’re the fire, the spark and i’m just the poor fool who keeps getting burned.”
she laughed, throwing her head back, and he watched her like a man possessed. feeling a sense of pride as he watched her necklace with his initial glittering in the light. “is that what i am to you?” she asked, brushing a hand along his sharp jawline.
“you,” he murmured, his voice a low growl now, “are everything. and you’re mine. don’t you ever forget it.
and she wouldn’t, because even as twisted as they were, the joker’s love for her was the one thing that was undeniably real.
Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.
"wow, you're such a dirty girl, you actually like this shit?" as he scrolls through my tumblr likes with one hand and rubbing circles on my swollen clit with the other.
harrington’s girl @topsecretacc - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
ellievsbear
prguitarman
dededos
discoholicmusic
baratheonpilled
romaincrisis
