Hi! Could you do a fic of Robin Buckley ร Steve sister's!reader (or a sister!reader of one of the main cast). Idm what tropes/season/etc, whatever you feel inspired to write. Thank you๐ซถ
Moon River | robin buckley
summary: 1,3k. in the aftermath of hawkinsโ chaos, steve harringtonโs sister finds quiet safety in robin buckleyโs arms.
cw: the build up of a relationship, mutual pining, harrington!reader, gentle romance, hurt/comfort, english is not my first language xx.
currently playing: moon river
Being Steve Harringtonโs sister meant you learned early how to exist beside intensity.
He loved loudly, worried loudly, lived loudly, and the world seemed to respond to him in kind. Doors slammed, phones rang, danger followed him home like a stray dog that refused to leave. You learned how to make yourself steady in the middle of that, how to be the quiet constant that didnโt demand attention but held things together anyway.
Robin Buckley slipped into your life the same way you had learned to move through Steveโs orbit, gently, observant, careful not to disturb what was already in motion.
She didnโt announce herself. She appeared, always exactly where she needed to be, like she understood the shape of the spaces people left behind.
You noticed her before you understood what it meant to notice someone. The way she perched instead of sat, one leg hooked over a counter or a chair, like she was ready to bolt if she needed to. The way her words tumbled out fast and then stopped abruptly, leaving silence behind that she didnโt rush to fix.
The first night you really looked at her, she was in your kitchen well past midnight, cereal untouched, talking about a band you didnโt know and the way Hawkins felt like a place people got stuck in. When she stopped mid-thought and glanced at you like she expected you to be bored, you asked a question instead.
Her surprise was immediate, almost startling, like she hadnโt expected to be met with interest. Something settled between you then, quiet and warm and unfamiliar.
After that, it was proximity that did the work.
Long shifts at Family Video where Steve disappeared into the back room and left you and Robin alone under humming lights, leaning against the counter, sharing stories that felt too personal for a place that smelled like carpet cleaner and plastic cases. Late-night drives where the radio stayed low and Robin tapped her fingers against the dashboard, stealing glances at you when you sang along without embarrassment. Night watches where fear sat heavy in your chest and Robin chose the floor beside you instead of the chair near Steve, her knee pressing against yours like a reminder that you werenโt alone.
She spoke to you in a way that felt intentional, asking questions instead of filling silence, listening like the answers mattered.
When she asked what it was like growing up with Steve and you admitted it was exhausting, she smiled softly and told you that you grounded him, that he was calmer when you were near. You carried those words with you long after she said them.
The space between you disappeared so slowly it felt inevitable. Touch became normal, expected, something you noticed only when it wasnโt there. Shoulders brushing during conversations, hands finding each other in crowded rooms, Robin leaning into you when she laughed too hard.
One night when the power flickered and Hawkins went quiet in that way that made your skin prickle, you found her sitting on the roof outside your bedroom window joking about terrible decision-making and dramatic timing. You let her in without hesitation. She stayed until morning crept in through the curtains, talking about music and fear and how tiring it was to always be the funny one, to hide behind words because silence felt too vulnerable.
She told you sheโd known who she was for a long time and that saying it out loud still felt like risking everything. You didnโt push for more. You stayed, close enough that your arms touched, offering comfort without asking her to explain herself.
Steve noticed before you said anything out loud. He watched the way Robin gravitated toward you, the way your attention followed her without effort. One afternoon he asked if something was different, his voice careful, protective. You shrugged and said you were fine and he studied you for a moment before nodding and letting it go. Steve had always known when something was fragile enough to deserve gentleness.
The night everything became real wasnโt dramatic in the way Hawkins chaos usually was.
It came after the danger had passed, after the adrenaline burned out and left you shaking and hollow. You stood at the bathroom sink staring at your reflection, hands trembling, when Robin slipped in behind you and sat on the tile floor without a word. Steve paced the hallway, giving you space without being asked. Robin told you that you didnโt have to be okay and when your knees gave out she slid down with you, her shoulder pressing firmly into yours.
Her presence was solid, grounding in a way nothing else felt.
When she said you could lean, you did, your head resting against her shoulder like it had always belonged there. Her hand found yours slowly, deliberately, fingers tentative, asking permission without words. You answered by lacing them together. Her breath caught, a soft sound that felt more intimate than a confession.
She whispered that she needed to know you werenโt misreading this, that she needed to know this meant something to you too. You told her it did, quietly but without hesitation, and the silence that followed was full, heavy with understanding instead of fear.
After that night, the world didnโt change, but you did.
You moved through Hawkins differently, more aware of where Robin was, of how her presence steadied you.
You sat closer, reached for each other without thinking, shared looks that said more than words ever could. Sometimes she rested her head on your shoulder while you watched the ceiling, sometimes you caught her staring at you like she was trying to memorize every detail.
The first kiss happened late at night in the kitchen, the house quiet and still, her laughter fading as she realized how close you were. She hesitated just long enough to make sure you were still with her, then kissed you gently, carefully, like she was learning something new. You kissed her back the same way, slow and sure, like there was nowhere else you needed to be.
Being together became a series of small moments rather than grand declarations.
Robin stealing your hoodies and pretending it was accidental. You sitting on the floor while she worked through a tape, listening to her hum under her breath. Her reaching for your hand when things got too loud, too overwhelming. You learning the way her anxiety spiked without warning and how to ground her with quiet reassurance.
Love didnโt arrive all at once.
It built itself out of trust and shared space and the knowledge that you could exist beside each other without performing.
Steve found out one morning when he walked into the living room and found you and Robin asleep on opposite ends of the couch, hands tangled together between the cushions. He stared, blinked, and then smiled in that soft, knowing way that meant he was happy for you. He told Robin she was family now whether she liked it or not and she laughed, bright and unguarded, and squeezed your hand like she couldnโt quite believe it.
Hawkins stayed dangerous. The world stayed uncertain. But standing beside Robin Buckley, fingers interlaced, sharing quiet mornings and late-night conversations, it felt survivable. It felt like choosing each other again and again in a place that tried to take everything away. It felt like home.
