Clayton Keller's Mouthguard💙

With the main lights off, his place was lit with the warm glow of the traffic cone with fairy lights wrapped around it, propped up on a make-shift side table made from suitcases - the solid exterior kind and small-ish. The flip-flop fairy lights hung from under the large window, illuminating y/n’s face softly while she cuddled his cat, Angel, and a beer can open on the coffee table. Benji’s decor choices were supposed to be temporary but as time moved on he thought they added personality, and y/n didn’t seem to mind either, never mentioning it and at the end of the day, she had known him long enough to know that no matter what excuse he gave, it was his personal style and cosy spaces were his ideal place to be. It was probably why he hated the size of his apartment so much, it felt too big but all the other options were too far from the rink so having her fill the space ever so slightly never bothered him.

“Hello stranger.” Benji said, his voice deep and gravelly, dragging his feet along the floor until he flopped onto the sofa next to her, sinking down into the cushions, “I gave you a key for emergencies, not to drink my beer and suck up to my cat.”

She knew he wasn’t irked one bit, not with the way his lips were slightly upturned in the corner, or how a sliver of a chuckle breathed through his nose to see Angel stretch and fall back asleep. Sitting up straighter, she crossed one leg underneath her, facing him with an elbow resting on the back of the sofa, jaw resting in her palm as her eyes panned over him. It wasn’t the first time she’d done that and every time he felt her doing it, like he could feel her presence in whatever room they were in and feel her eyes laying upon him - not in that unsettling way that made his stomach drop, but a way that made his heart race slightly, a good kind of thumping in his chest, she was paying attention to him and him alone. She liked the way his damp hair flopping over his face, the layers forming small waves and always flicked outwards from the wind. The way his expression always fell stern and slightly annoyed and anyone who didn’t know Benji presumed he was irritated but only the ones closest to him knew he just looked like that. To piss Benji off would be an unclassy achievement.

“Well hello to you, Tetsurō. Not my fault my family has people over.” She purred the name, the smirk on her face loud enough that he didn’t need to look at her to know it existed. “How’s it going? Y’know, with the playoffs approaching.”

“Oh God.” He groaned hearing the name. He never heard anyone outside Japan and his family use his middle name. He never told anyone his middle name, or maybe he did mention it thinking she’d forget, or maybe she’d read the postcards from his grandparents on his fridge but it was something he’d get to another time.

He adjusted his seating, sitting up and turning to face her back, arm slung over the top of the sofa while words bundled in his throat, thinking carefully on what to say, or how much to let out, “I didn’t think it’d be easy…but I also didn’t think it’d be this hard. I don’t know what I expected. Well, I knew the game would be different, but all the media is exhausting.”

He loved the sport, he really did, but he was not one to find fondness being in front of the camera often. Sure, he didn’t mind a video or two for the socials page but almost a full day of interviews plus media content sucked the energy out of him faster than the sport itself. However, he found it flattering that Hawks fans enjoyed the videos with him in.

“How do you cope with it?” She asked, reaching out to tuck his hair from his face, heat rising to her neck as his gaze locked onto hers, eyes searching hers for anything.

Benji didn’t cope, not that he was aware of. He couldn’t think of any kind of way he did, he went through his days on some sort of autopilot.

She knew he was deep in thought, she knew he was trying to come up with something, it was written over the way his tongue ran over his top row of teeth. Her hand cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing his cheekbone, feeling how he melted into her touch and listening to how he exhaled like he’d given up on trying to battle himself.

In a low, gravelly tone, sincere words dripped like honey from his tongue and he spoke, “You make it easier.”

It began to occur to both of them right there that the relationship between them was more than they thought. More than simple friends or something along the lines. There was a found comfort in each other, they didn’t have to talk to be happy, they could simply sit in silence and the world would feel right. But Benji didn’t just open up to anybody, there was a wall one had to pass and he was damn good at keeping people on the other side but her? Somehow she’d wiggled her way through the crevices and he’d let her stay.

“You’re cute.” She cooed, pouting teasingly.

“Only when I want to be.”

He cracked a smile, a faint one but she noticed his lips curling up in the corners, felt his face heat up too. His stomach flipped and flopped, a giddiness blooming in his chest and he knew exactly what that feeling meant. Her hand soft and kind against his cheek and he nuzzled into her palm, his eyes fluttering close as he lay a delicate yet risky kiss to her palm.

“Oh, so you try with me?” y/n could only tease him when he looked so sound, like his mind was at peace, only if temporarily but it was like her soul sensed his. “Big bad Benji has a soft spot for me?”

Groaning, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her body across the sofa and closer to him, looping his arms around her waist with a touch secure enough to flush her face hot and sliding her body onto his lap. He couldn’t say that he’d thought about the action, it came more instinctively, from a place of yearning but having her straddled over his lap with her hands pressed on his shoulders, kneading at the muscles unsubtly with noses almost brushing and breaths tangling lit a fire under his arse. The push that they’ve perhaps needed.

Suddenly the whole mood switched from something sweet to insatiable. As if the red string of fate was tugging them together, two magnets attracting because no matter how much they thought about their friendship, neither made any effort to move.

His eyes searched hers before he spoke deeply, the TV nothing but a background noise to fill the air, the breeze from the window gentle but refreshing, acting as a coolant in the atmosphere between them as Benji’s hands settled on her waist. Fizzling in her stomach rose through her chest as his fingers drew small circles over her top.

“Stop calling me that,” he half-joked, his smile still prominent and the words just fell from his mouth, “but maybe.”

He said it so genuinely with his hands running along her waist, sinking back into the sofa cushions, his tongue wetting his lips while her eyes watched, flickering between them and his eyes. So close she felt his breath fanning over her, her heart hammering in her chest as the words became lost in her throat, a thick lump in the base as she restrained the urge clawing away inside of her. But it was him who took the risk. It was Benji who leaned in slowly, lips ghosting hers, one hand jolting her nerves awake as it glided up her spine to lay his palm flat between her shoulder blades, holding her close to his chest until the gap closed entirely. He pressed his lips to hers with hesitation, caution, but gentle and they moved with hers languidly. Shivers ran down his spine as she threaded her fingers through his hair, her nails scratching his scalp pulling the deepest of hums from his throat while her hips began, little by little, to grind on his lap. A kiss had never felt so good before, never ignited such a hunger in him, or such a consuming warmth in his chest that felt so right and oddly relaxing before, like his mind was just melting the longer they remained connected.

When they pulled away with small pants, her heart almost dropped to her stomach at the sombre gaze in his eye. Not the kind of glossy eyes that screamed regret, but the kind where his eyes seemed to sink into themselves, retreat back into some sort of shell he’d restricted himself to…like he didn’t think he deserved what she gave him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered, leaning back in but hungrier, connecting her lips to his again where Benji didn’t push her away. “You have no idea how loved you are.”

She ran her tongue across his lip, feeling his jaw open, his hand pushing her further into his chest and hips adjusting upwards into her, his moan rattling in his throat as she lapped her tongue against his with ease. Soft hums coaxed from their chests as their heads nodded in a rhythm, indulging in the taste of beer on her tongue and how Benji’s body melted like putty the more his mind emptied of thoughts that once continuously tormented him, telling him he didn’t deserve to be shown such an affection. The noise outside became nothing but a buzz, saliva building in the corner of their mouths but the way he kissed her with such hunger made everything else seem irrelevant. Her stomach whirred, fluttered through her core and legs, restlessness sparking as her hands sliding from his hair and along his jaw, down his shoulders and chest until just her fingertips teased at his stomach, feeling the ridges of his abs as a groan vibrated from his throat.

He loved that. Loved being touched like that, perhaps a little too much.

Y/n’s hands abruptly wound around his torso, fingers gripping the back of his t-shirt and Benji - gracelessly, taking his time to get the position comfortable - flipped their bodies over, her back hitting the cushions beneath him, one of his elbows perched beside her head while his other hand slipped beneath her top. Heat flushed to her face but she never parted with him, rolling her hips up to meet his, anticipation destroying any ounce of rationality left in her. She was running on pure adrenaline, pure ecstasy from how he’d changed the situation entirely. Benji, sweet, quiet Benji was pressing her into the sofa cushions and kissing her like she'd never been kissed before.

But he didn't take it any further. In fact, his chest bubbled too much to and when he pulled away slowly, her eyes fluttering open, he planted a small kiss to her cheek before burying his face into her shoulder. Her grip loosened on his t-shirt, her hands changing to lay flat against his back and soothing along his spine, letting their drive fade away without disappointment because sometimes intimacy came in just a closeness between bodies - a comfort even after getting heated. Sometimes sex wasn't always needed to feel close to someone. Sometimes all someone needed was the reassurance that someone was in their corner, loving them unconditionally.

[Masterlist] [Requests CLOSED]

2026 © STAR2FISHMEG All rights reserved - do not plagiarise/copy, claim, translate, repost, or put any of my work into AI. Please let me know if you notice that any of these have been done.

It shouldn't happen. It's casual, this thing you have with Elijah. Whenever he's back from a roadie he rocks up at your door, hand against the door frame, leaning in, that stupid cowboy hat low over his eyes. Like he's still in Texas. He'll drawl at you and call you darlin' and you'll fold each time, let him into your apartment and into your bed.

It's casual. No strings attached fun. No emotions (or so you try to tell yourself).

But then he does shit like this.

You're just trying to catch your breath, body heaving, skin damp with sweat, legs shaky because for all his cockiness he really does know a thing or two about rocking your entire world until you can't remember what day it is. Practices what he preaches in that regard.

Elijah swings his legs out of the bed, your eyes track him as he pads around to your side, his lips twitching, moustache shifting at the sight of you fucked out and exhausted.

"Gonna get you some water, darlin', alrigh'?" He's not really asking, he always makes sure you drink and eat, every time. It's what makes doing this with him so safe, easy.

It's the way he leans down, unexpected, lips brushing your forehead, pressing the sweetest kiss to the centre, that blindsides you. His moustache tickles, his lips are soft, and it...it makes your chest ache, the gentle intimacy that he does so casually and so thoughtlessly. Pulling away before you really have time to process it, your eyes following his bare back, the peachy tan skin of his bare ass as he strolls out of the room in search of a glass of water...and you find yourself staring at that one spot, wondering when 'casual' became something else entirely.

Maybe you'd been naïve to think you could do casual with someone like Elijah. Someone who kissed your forehead and called you sweet names. Someone who ruined you in bed and then carried you into the bath. Who brought you back trinkets from stops on the road. Someone who came running when you complained of feeling ill, who said that's what friends did. Who smiles wryly at you when you asked if that's what you were. Who joked that he went down on all his best friends while quietly admitting on late nights that he hadn't really been seeing anyone since you started hooking up. Someone so good to you. So cocky yet sweet.

He stops in the threshold when he comes back, cold glass of water in hand, eyebrows raised, mismatched eyes taking you in. You look shellshocked, stunned, and not in the way you usually do after he's fucked you.

"Ya alrigh', baby?" He swaggers. Elijah doesn't walk. He swaggers, he struts, hips almost rolling with each step closer, glass perched on your bedside table and hand reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear.

He does it again, oh so casual, unthinking, leaning down to press his lips to your forehead, to your temple before pulling back and it wrecks you worse than any orgasm he's ever pulled from you.

"Don't..." It rocks you so hard that your lip quivers, eyes watering as Elijah pulls back, looking like a confused puppy dog, scrunching his brows together in the middle, nostrils flaring.

"Don't what?"

"Don't kiss me like that if you don't mean it." He pulls back further like you've burnt him and you're certain for a minute that Elijah's going to tug his jeans back on, throw his hoodie over his head and walk out. That this is more than he bargained for with your arrangement.

"Who said I didn't mean it, darlin'?" You're forced to tuck your legs to the side of you as he sits, weight pressing the mattress down until you slide closer.

"This is supposed to be casual..." Your voice is weak, pathetic as you tug blankets around you like a shield...because you don't want casual anymore and it's stupid that you pretended you did for so long.

His hand, bear paw of a palm, wraps gently around your ankle, eyes soft on you as his palm slides over your calf like you're fragile, like you might break.

"It's not been casual for a long goddamn time, darlin' and you know tha'...heck, probably wasn't ever casual for me," He huffs at himself, moustache twitching, chains swinging, like he's laughing at himself, making fun of himself.

"But-"

"What do you want? Do you want casual? I can stop. I can do that. I can...I can stop..." He says it like he's trying to convince himself, hand twitching like he can't quite bring himself to pull it away from your skin, "Or do you want what I want? Do you want more? Cause I'm all in, baby...flowers for the sake of it, Christmas with the grandparents, banana bread and all that shit."

Elijah finally works up the nerve to tug his hand back, fingertips barely leaving your skin before your grasping at his wrist, drawing him back closer, pressing his palm to your knee.

"...I like banana bread." Your stomach feels like it's filled with butterflies, lip bitten within an inch of its life as you look up at him, at the soft smile that starts to form on his lips. At the way his eyes crinkle, at the way his dark strands fall into his eyes when he dips his head like that, a little bashful, a little boyish, some of that arrogant, cocky mask dropping for you. Only for you.

"I'll make you mine sometime?" His grandma's recipe, tried and true, and perfected over years of helping her, little Elijah stood on a step stool, face covered in batter and cinnamon in his hair. It's a double entendre though...he'll make you banana bread and make you his in one fell swoop.

"I'd like that." And you might just let him.

Clayton's bag drops in the hallway, door slamming shut behind him. The confusion is startling in its clarity across his features; eyebrows raised, mouth dropped, nostrils flared. You'd think you'd been standing in the hallway naked and covered in peanut butter, not holding a flag.

"My new flag," You beam at him, arms straining wide to try to show off the entire expanse of the cheaply printed flag you're holding by the two furthest corners. It's pretty much as big as you are, making your arms ache to hold it out, yet you still do, beaming the entire time.

"Your new flag..." His voice is slow, a rumble with confusion riding each syllable, "...it has your face on it." Your name across the top and a photo of you printed in the middle, the date on the whiteboard behind you giving away the day the photo was taken. It's ugly but also not. Clayton couldn't call it ugly when you were on it, beautiful as he thought you were, but it was still ramshackle, poorly printed, a bad design effort.

"Yup."

"How did you get a flag with your face on?" Confusion has melted into amusement, hand reaching out to poke your printed face. Clayton's dimple starting to make an appearance as always, smiling from one side of his mouth. Familiar, warm.

"The kids made it for Sports Day."

"...Why?" Blue eyes shift from the flag to your face, intense, warm, enough to make your stomach get butterflies even after all this time. To distract yourself you begin to fold the flag, almost too carefully as you try to align each corner perfectly.

"House pride? Because they think I'm an amazing form tutor?" because they thought it would be hilarious, which is was...you think.

"Okay...kind of sweet...still creepy but...okay...what exactly are we going to do with a giant flag with your face on it, baby?" Fingers curl into the belt loops on your jeans, a gentle tug at first before Clay pulls more firmly, your feet shifting, jumping forward until you're closer. Where he wants you. His hand settles on your hip, curling around the fat of it with a familiarity that no one else has the benefit of having.

"Put it on the wall, duh." You roll your eyes playfully, laugh under your breath as you're tugged ever closer. Clay's smile has turned playful, eyes growing half lidded, head tilting forward, hair curling around his cheeks.

"On the wall. Which wall?" His teeth peek out from behind his lips, dimple deep, eyes crinkling. Clayton doesn't need to tug you another step closer you go willingly. Arms sliding over his shoulders, folded flag still in on hand, almost forgotten.

"The dining room."

"The dining room..." To watch you while you eat, he thinks. To be a constant overlording presence...still, better than above the bed, staring down at him while he tries to sleep. He loves you, but that might have been a step too far, even for him.

"Yeah, the dining room." You lean your chin on his chest, eyes peering up at him and he can't say no. You know he can't say no when you look at him like that, all sweet and soft, and his. He'd say yes to pretty much anything, a sucker for spoiling you and letting you get your way.

"...okay, baby, okay." Anything for you. Even if it a monstrosity of a giant flag with your face in blurry resolution on it.

Even if it's going to be staring at him at 5am while he eats his breakfast and jump scaring him late at night when he trails in from a game in need of a snack.

Clayton's bag drops in the hallway, door slamming shut behind him. The confusion is startling in its clarity across his features; eyebrows raised, mouth dropped, nostrils flared. You'd think you'd been standing in the hallway naked and covered in peanut butter, not holding a flag.

"My new flag," You beam at him, arms straining wide to try to show off the entire expanse of the cheaply printed flag you're holding by the two furthest corners. It's pretty much as big as you are, making your arms ache to hold it out, yet you still do, beaming the entire time.

"Your new flag..." His voice is slow, a rumble with confusion riding each syllable, "...it has your face on it." Your name across the top and a photo of you printed in the middle, the date on the whiteboard behind you giving away the day the photo was taken. It's ugly but also not. Clayton couldn't call it ugly when you were on it, beautiful as he thought you were, but it was still ramshackle, poorly printed, a bad design effort.

"Yup."

"How did you get a flag with your face on?" Confusion has melted into amusement, hand reaching out to poke your printed face. Clayton's dimple starting to make an appearance as always, smiling from one side of his mouth. Familiar, warm.

"The kids made it for Sports Day."

"...Why?" Blue eyes shift from the flag to your face, intense, warm, enough to make your stomach get butterflies even after all this time. To distract yourself you begin to fold the flag, almost too carefully as you try to align each corner perfectly.

"House pride? Because they think I'm an amazing form tutor?" because they thought it would be hilarious, which is was...you think.

"Okay...kind of sweet...still creepy but...okay...what exactly are we going to do with a giant flag with your face on it, baby?" Fingers curl into the belt loops on your jeans, a gentle tug at first before Clay pulls more firmly, your feet shifting, jumping forward until you're closer. Where he wants you. His hand settles on your hip, curling around the fat of it with a familiarity that no one else has the benefit of having.

"Put it on the wall, duh." You roll your eyes playfully, laugh under your breath as you're tugged ever closer. Clay's smile has turned playful, eyes growing half lidded, head tilting forward, hair curling around his cheeks.

"On the wall. Which wall?" His teeth peek out from behind his lips, dimple deep, eyes crinkling. Clayton doesn't need to tug you another step closer you go willingly. Arms sliding over his shoulders, folded flag still in on hand, almost forgotten.

"The dining room."

"The dining room..." To watch you while you eat, he thinks. To be a constant overlording presence...still, better than above the bed, staring down at him while he tries to sleep. He loves you, but that might have been a step too far, even for him.

"Yeah, the dining room." You lean your chin on his chest, eyes peering up at him and he can't say no. You know he can't say no when you look at him like that, all sweet and soft, and his. He'd say yes to pretty much anything, a sucker for spoiling you and letting you get your way.

"...okay, baby, okay." Anything for you. Even if it a monstrosity of a giant flag with your face in blurry resolution on it.

Even if it's going to be staring at him at 5am while he eats his breakfast and jump scaring him late at night when he trails in from a game in need of a snack.