#iris writes

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“What’s the occasion?” He does like getting you little gifts for no reason, but with it being the middle of the post-season you hadn’t thought that would be on his mind. Not that you were expecting him to ignore you, but you’ve been noticing that he seems distant lately and you hear him staying up pacing rather than sleeping. 

He slides his food onto a plate and comes to sit next to you. “Nothing. It’s really just a thank you for all the support this season. You were holding it down here every time I was gone. And I know you’re lonely sometimes. We get all the credit for making the playoffs but no one ever acknowledges all the work our partners do. So I figured I’d do something special for you.” 

You smile and the little part of you that says you don’t deserve nice things wants to protest. But if you’re being honest, dating someone who travels so much has been hard. You had thought yourself to be a pretty independent person, but that was before you had to deal with hearing a weird noise in the house at night and being terrified you were about to be robbed or having no one to come get you when you got a flat tire while he was in Winnipeg. Not to mention the charity projects, wedding and baby showers, and watch parties that the WAGs have every year, most of which you’ve been the one to organize (perks of being the captain’s girlfriend). He’s heard you talk about all of that enough, and because he actually listens to you he knows how hard it is. “That’s really sweet of you. Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me until you open everything,” He points toward the boxes with his fork. 

You go for the smaller one first. Wrapped in pristine silver paper and tied neatly with a white ribbon. It was definitely not his doing, he probably paid extra for it at the store. You rip the paper off and find a jewelry box. Not a ring, you’re not to the point of marriage yet (and he’d never tell you, but he already has something more elaborate planned for a proposal) but about the right size for a necklace.

You pry it open to find a necklace with the number 9 on it, studded with little gems. You don’t know enough about jewelry to tell for sure, but you’re almost positive it’s made from real diamonds and platinum. Clayton’s a guy who likes luxury, from his designer clothes to his Porsche to his rolex. He does not do cubic zirconia and sterling silver. “Is this real?”

“If it’ll make you feel better to imagine that it’s not, then yes.” He smirks at you. 

You know better than to ask how much it costs. He wouldn’t tell you. He never does when he buys you gifts. “This is too much,” You say instead. 

He shakes his head. “How many times have we had this conversation, sweetheart? I like to spoil you. And I just told you this is a gift for everything you put up with this season.”

“Well, I love it. Will you put it on for me?” 

He nods. With a practiced hand, no doubt used to fine jewelry from handling his own chains, he removes the necklace from the box. He gently sweeps your hair out of the way, then lays the necklace around your neck and expertly closes the clasp. His fingers are warm and gentle against the back of your neck. He kisses the nape of your neck, just below your hairline. His new stubble scrapes against the sensitive skin and sends a pleasant shiver up your spine. You’ve been telling him every day how much you love him with facial hair and fully plan on trying to convince him to keep it after playoffs end. 

“How’s it look?” You ask as he sits down across from you. 

“Good,” He says, his eyes fixed on the 9 charm. He reaches out to touch it, ghosting his finger tips across your collarbones in the process. “Really good.” It occurs to you that this is almost a gift for him too. He loves seeing you wear his T-shirts, his jersey, anything that reminds him that you’re his girl. Knowing that you’re wearing his number all the time now is just the next level of that. 

He finally tears his gaze away from you. “Open the shoes now,” 

“Shoes?” 

Realizing that he slipped, he nudges the bigger box toward you. You rip off the paper (also definitely not his wrapping job) and find a showbox. It’s white, made from thick cardboard, and says Christian Louboutin on the front in fancy font. 

“Clay,” You say, a warning tone in your voice. You’re not sure why when he’s already gone and spent the money. You definitely don’t own any shoes as nice as this currently. 

“Just open it.” 

You open it to see the shoes you’ve seen girls on Instagram wearing hundreds of times: plain black stiletto heels with red bottoms. 

“I know you guys will probably take pictures tonight and I knew you’d want  to look nice,” He explains. 

You know exactly the pictures he’s referencing. The wives and girlfriends in their playoff jackets, taken from the back so you can see the name and intricate details on the back of the jacket. And, if you’re the type of person who cares about such things, you can also see which girl belongs with each player.The red bottoms will pop and everyone will see his last name across your shoulders. Everyone who sees the picture will know exactly who you belong to and how well he provides for you, spoils you. The thought has you a little bit turned on and from the way that he’s looking at you, you can tell he’s feeling the same way. 

You slide them on your feet and take a few steps. They’re probably the most comfortable heels you’ve ever worn. “I have to practice walking in them.” You’re not a stranger to heels, but going up and down the stairs in the arena will be a bit of a workout for your skills. “But I love them. And I love you for thinking about how I’d want to look in pictures.” 

“I love you too. This is only a fraction of what you deserve.” 

“I don’t know how to thank you.” 

All week, Dustin wouldn’t shut up about his sister's return. He said he’d told her about the Upside Down, saying she was a “certified genius” and could help them with planning. Dustin talked Steve’s ear off about it. Steve practically knew everything about Serena, from her appearance to her personality, though he had never met her. 

When Steve ran into a girl who met Dustin’s exact description of his sister, Steve, being Steve, didn’t connect the dots. He ended up accidentally bumping into her, and her Diet Coke spilled down his shirt and onto his shoes. Serena, having been driving for over four hours, was exhausted and snappy.

“Watch where you’re going.” She snapped. 

“Jeez. I barely touched you.” Steve replied. 

“Oh yeah? Then why is my Coke all over you?” She said while gesturing to his soaked shirt. 

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Steve said under his breath.

That sparked an argument that lasted for at least 10 minutes. People walking through the store stared, some even whispered, as Steve and Serena yelled at each other. Eventually, a store employee came over and told them to either leave or stop yelling. To which they both left.

The next day, when Steve picked up Dustin to drop him off at school, Dustin was practically beaming.

“Shes back! My sister moved back in last night!” He exclaimed excitedly. “I’m bringing her to the meeting tonight. She’s going to make all of this planning so much easier.”

“Totally. She'd better leave up to your word, Henderson.” Steve said while he pulled up to the school.

Later that night, when the meeting finally rolled around, everyone was gathered at the Byers' house. Everyone but Dustin and his sister, that was. Minutes after the meeting had started, Dustin barged through the door, Serena trailing behind him. 

“Everyone, this is Serena, my absolutely amazing sister!” Dustin practically shouted.

All eyes shifted to Dustin, then to Serena. Serena’s eyes scanned the room until they caught on Steve’s eyes. She immediately recognised him as the guy she had a screaming match with last night in the middle of the store. They held eye contact for a couple of seconds before they broke it when Dustin started introducing everyone. Dustin saved Steve for last. Completely oblivious that she was the ‘bitchy girl from the store’, he listened to Steve complain about.

“Last but not least, this is Steve Harrington, my best friend!” Dustin said excitedly, hoping Serena and Steve would get along. 

Serena groaned internally. Of course. Out of everyone who could be Dustin’s best friend, it was Steve. The guy she caused a public scene with. She just nodded in acknowledgement while looking everywhere but in Steve’s eyes.

“She’s a genius! Like Albert Einstein level smart!” Dustin bragged.

The meeting went on, and to everyone’s surprise, Serena was actually really smart, and Dustin wasn’t just talking her up. They came up with a plan and said they’d divide up into teams before they carried the plan out.