How these NHL players react to there S/O being hit on
Quinn Hughes, Jack Hughes, Luke Hughes, Clayton Keller, Will Smith, Macklin Celebrini, Sidney Crosby, William Eklund, Juraj Slafkovský, Cole Caufield, Connor bedard, Trevor Zegras, Adam Fantilli, Kent Johnson x F!Reader
Warnings - Jealousy / possessiveness, Mild emotional tension, Brief mentions of flirting, Light physical touch (hand on back, arm around shoulders, etc.), Soft angst but overall fluff
A/N - first reaction fic in a hot minute and of the new year so apologies if it’s not amazing but I hope you all enjoy 💕💕
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Quinn Hughes
Quinn notices before you do. He’s leaning against the counter, half-listening, when someone steps a little too close to you. Too familiar. His jaw tightens—not angry, just… aware. He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t glare. He waits. And when you finally turn back toward him, he steps closer, shoulder brushing yours like it’s accidental. His hand rests at the small of your back, grounding. “You ready?” he asks calmly. But his thumb presses in, just enough to say mine without ever saying it out loud.
Jack Hughes
Jack clocks it instantly and hates how casual the flirting feels. The laugh. The lean-in. He slides in beside you like it’s nothing, arm draped loosely over your shoulders. “What’re we talking about?” he asks, grin sharp but playful. The other guy backs off immediately. Jack looks down at you, smirking. “You okay?” It’s teasing, but his fingers tap against your arm like he’s checking you’re still there. Later, quieter, he admits he didn’t love seeing someone else make you smile like that.
Luke Hughes
Luke freezes a little when he sees it. He’s not great at jealousy yet—it hits him all at once. He watches you laugh at something someone else says, and his chest tightens. He doesn’t interrupt right away, just waits, fidgeting. When you come back to him, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “Were they bothering you?” he asks softly. When you say no, just flirting, he nods… then reaches for your hand anyway, like reassurance for both of you.
Clayton Keller
Clayton stays polite. Too polite. He smiles, chats with someone else nearby, but his eyes keep drifting back to you. When the flirting gets obvious, he finally steps in, wrapping an arm around your waist with practiced ease. “There you are,” he says warmly. His grip tightens just slightly. Later, when you tease him about it, he admits it bothered him more than he expected. “I trust you,” he says. “I just don’t love sharing your attention.”
Will Smith
Will’s reaction is quiet but intense. He watches from across the room, unreadable, jaw set. He doesn’t rush in. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally meet his eyes, there’s something heavy there—hurt mixed with restraint. He pulls you aside gently. “Were you okay?” When you say yes, he nods, but his voice drops. “I don’t get jealous easily,” he admits. “But seeing someone else look at you like that? Yeah. Didn’t love that.” His hand lingers in yours longer than usual.
Macklin Celebrini
Macklin tries to be mature about it. He tells himself it’s nothing. Still, he drifts closer, listening in, inserting himself into the conversation just enough to shift the dynamic. When the flirting fades, he relaxes. Later, he laughs it off—until he doesn’t. “I didn’t think it’d bug me,” he admits, quieter now. “But I didn’t like feeling like I could lose you.” He looks embarrassed, honest. “Guess that means I care more than I thought.”
Sidney Crosby
Sidney notices instantly—and handles it smoothly. He joins the conversation with calm confidence, redirecting without confrontation. The flirting stops almost immediately. He keeps things light, respectful. Later, when it’s just the two of you, he admits it did register. “I don’t mind people noticing you,” he says evenly. “I just like being the one you come back to.” His hand squeezes yours, steady and sure, like he never doubted it—but still wanted to say it out loud.
William Eklund
William’s reaction is more emotional than he expects. He tries to joke about it, but there’s a flicker of insecurity he can’t hide. When you rejoin him, he leans into you, resting his forehead briefly against yours. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong,” he says softly. “I just…” He shrugs. “Didn’t like how easy it was for someone else to imagine themselves with you.” His smile returns after—but it’s gentler now, more protective.
Juraj Slafkovský
Juraj’s jealousy shows in his body language. He straightens, crosses the room in a few long steps, and stands beside you—tall, solid, unmistakable. He doesn’t say much, just places a hand on your lower back and meets the other person’s eyes calmly. The message lands. Later, he grins when you tease him about it. “What?” he says. “I wasn’t mad.” He leans closer. “Just reminding them you’re not available.”
Cole Caufield
Cole’s reaction is half teasing, half sulky. He pouts exaggeratedly when you come back, earning a laugh from you. “Oh, so that’s your type now?” he jokes. But later, when it’s quiet, he admits it bothered him. “I know it’s dumb,” he says. “I just don’t like feeling like I have competition.” He relaxes when you kiss his cheek. “Okay,” he smiles. “Worth it.”
Connor Bedard
Connor doesn’t know what to do at first. He watches, heart racing, feeling something sharp and unfamiliar. When you return, he’s quieter than usual. You notice immediately. When you ask, he hesitates, then admits, “I didn’t like that.” It’s simple. Honest. He looks almost embarrassed. “Not because of you. Just… because I care.” He relaxes when you reassure him, shoulders finally dropping like he’d been holding tension the whole time.
Trevor Zegras
Trevor reacts instantly—dramatically. He slides in with a grin, arm around you, charisma turned all the way up. “Sorry,” he says to the other person, smiling sweetly. “They’re taken.” Later, he laughs it off, but there’s an edge beneath the humor. “I trust you,” he says. “I just don’t trust anyone who looks at you like they’re already planning a future.” He kisses your temple, playful but sincere.
Adam Fantilli
Adam’s reaction is subtle but heavy. He watches the interaction, jaw clenched, hands shoved into his pockets. When it ends, he exhales slowly. “That guy was flirting with you,” he says, not accusing—just stating a fact. When you agree, he nods. “Yeah. Didn’t love that.” He steps closer, voice quieter. “Not because I don’t trust you. Just because I don’t like the idea of someone else wanting what I have.”
Kent Johnson
Kent tries to pretend he doesn’t notice—but he does. He makes a joke when you come back, something light, but his eyes search your face. Later, when it’s just you two, he admits it caught him off guard. “I didn’t think I’d care,” he says softly. “Turns out, I do.” He smiles sheepishly. “A lot.” He reaches for your hand, fingers lacing together like a quiet promise.
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omg did they actually go to engagement parties together!?
they sure did haha! it’s where we got this gem of a photo + bonus bedsy greeting aiden because bedsy is the boy aiden WISHES his baby brother would wanna date instead of (blech) a goddamn boston college guy
SUMMARY: After winning a luxurious couples-only vacation she entered months ago with her now ex-boyfriend, Y/N is faced with an unexpected problem: she has to show up with a romantic partner to claim the prize. Her best friend, Kent Johnson, volunteers to play the role. What starts as a simple fake-dating scheme quickly becomes far more complicated as the two commit to their roles a little too well.
WARNINGS: Fake dating, best friends to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining. mdni, +18
Requested: Kent Johnson + you pretend to be a couple to qualify for a vacation giveaway
When you entered the vacation giveaway, you had been convinced your relationship was going to last forever.
It had been one of those social media contests that appeared far too good to be real: seven nights at an all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean, flights included, a private oceanfront suite, couples’ activities, and enough complimentary food and drinks to make leaving the property completely unnecessary.
The only requirement was that it was specifically a romantic couples’ getaway.
At the time, that hadn’t been a problem.
You had uploaded a picture with your boyfriend, written an embarrassingly sentimental paragraph about why the two of you deserved a vacation together, followed the resort’s account, tagged three friends, and then forgotten about it entirely.
By the time the email announcing that you had won arrived four months later, the relationship was over.
Very over.
Your ex had already collected the last box of his belongings from your apartment, unfollowed you on Instagram, and apparently started seeing the same girl he had repeatedly insisted was “just a friend.”
So when you opened the email and read the words Congratulations! You and your partner have been selected, your first reaction wasn’t excitement it was disbelief, your second reaction was to call Kent.
He answered on the fourth ring “Are you dying?”
You frowned“Why would that be your first question?”
“Because you never call me, you just send me twelve messages in a row and then get annoyed when I answer them individually.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You sent me sixteen TikToks yesterday.”
“And you watched every single one.”
“Because I’m a supportive friend.”
You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see you. “I won a vacation.” There was a pause, then Kent said, “You sound upset about that.”
“It’s a couples’ vacation.”
Another pause “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
He knew about the giveaway. He had been sitting beside you when you entered it, stealing fries from your plate while your ex complained that you had chosen a picture where he didn’t look good.
Kent had leaned over your shoulder, studied the photo, and said, completely seriously, “I don’t think there are any pictures where he looks good.”
Your ex hadn’t appreciated it. You had laughed so hard you nearly dropped your phone.
“So take someone else,” Kent suggested.
“I can’t take just anyone. The paperwork says I have to bring my romantic partner.”
“They aren’t going to ask for a marriage certificate.”
“They’re probably going to post us on their social media. It’s part of the promotion.”
Kent was quiet for a second “So?”
“So they’ll know.”
“How?” you opened your mouth, nothing came out. Kent continued before you could find an answer “Do you think the resort has a relationship detective? Someone watching through binoculars to make sure you kiss enough?”
“That sounds horrifying.”
“I’d be good at it.”
“At spying on couples?”
“At pretending to be your boyfriend.” The words came out so casually that you almost missed them, you sat straighter on your couch. “What?”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Kent.”
“I’m serious.”
“You hate the beach.”
“I don’t hate the beach.”
“You complain about sand every time we go near it.”
“Sand is objectively terrible, it doesn’t mean I’m going to turn down a free vacation.”
“You’d have to pretend to date me.”
“I think I can manage.”
“You’d have to be convincing.”
Kent scoffed. “Please. I’m an excellent actor.”
“You laughed during your one line in a middle school play.”
“That was intentional. It was a creative choice.” You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh.
Taking Kent made sense, he was your best friend. You trusted him more than almost anyone, and spending a week with him wouldn’t be awkward.
At least, it shouldn’t have been awkward “You really want to do this?” you asked.
“I really want to spend a week eating free food while pretending to be madly in love with you.”
“That sounded alarmingly easy for you.”
“Maybe you’re just extremely lovable.” Your stomach did something strange, before you could examine the feeling, Kent ruined the moment “Or maybe I’ve always wanted to lie to a luxury resort.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“And yet I’m apparently your boyfriend now.”
Kent approached fake dating with the same intensity he brought to hockey.
You discovered that when he arrived at your apartment three days before the trip with a notebook. An actual notebook.
You stared at it. “What is that?”
“Our relationship history.”
“Our what?”
“We need to make sure our stories match.” He walked past you and dropped onto your couch as though he lived there. “How long have we been dating?”
“We haven’t.”
“Wrong attitude.”
“Kent.”
“One year?”
“We’ve known each other for years. People might think it’s weird that we suddenly started dating.”
“So we say we were friends first.”
“That part is true.”
“And then you realized you were desperately in love with me.” You threw a cushion at his head, he caught it without looking “Fine,” he said. “I realized I was desperately in love with you.”
“That is somehow worse.”
Kent scribbled something in the notebook.
“What are you writing?”
“Relationship dynamic: she’s mean to me.”
“You deserved that.”
“See? Very convincing.”
For almost an hour, you constructed the fictional history of your relationship.
You had supposedly started dating eight months earlier after Kent confessed his feelings during a late-night drive. Your first official date had been at a small Italian restaurant. He had kissed you outside your apartment afterward. You had become exclusive almost immediately because neither of you wanted to date anyone else.
Kent even insisted that you decide on an anniversary.
“This is unnecessary,” you told him.
“What happens when someone at the resort asks?”
“No one is going to ask.”
“What happens if they do?”
“We make something up.”
“And then we forget what we made up. No. We need consistency.”
You stared at him suspiciously. “Why are you enjoying this so much?”
He smiled. “I like being prepared.”
“You have never prepared for anything in your life.”
“I prepare for hockey.”
“You forgot your passport before an international flight.”
“One time.”
“Twice.”
“The second time, I remembered before we left the building.”
You laughed, shaking your head, Kent looked down at the notebook again “Physical boundaries,” he said.
The laughter disappeared from your throat “What about them?”
“We’ll probably have to hold hands. Hug. Sit close together.”
“That’s fine.”
“And kiss.”
Your heart stumbled.
You and Kent were affectionate. You hugged all the time. You rested your legs across his lap during movies. He occasionally kissed your forehead when you were upset, although neither of you ever acknowledged it afterward.
But kissing him properly was different, Kent watched you carefully. “We don’t have to.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“It would look suspicious if we avoided it completely.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest second “We should probably practice,” he said.
You blinked. “Practice?”
“So it doesn’t look awkward.”
“You think kissing me is going to be awkward?”
“I think the first time kissing anyone can be awkward.”
“It isn’t my first kiss.”
“I know that.”
“Then why—”
“You know what I mean.” You did.
The room suddenly felt warmer, Kent set the notebook aside and shifted closer. His knee brushed yours “You can tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
The joking tone was gone.
You nodded.
His hand settled against the side of your neck, his thumb resting beneath your ear. It felt far too natural, as though he had touched you that way hundreds of times before.
He leaned in slowly, you had enough time to change your mind but you didn’t.
Kent’s lips met yours softly, it was supposed to be practice, a quick, harmless kiss between two best friends preparing to fool a vacation company.
Instead, Kent stayed close.
His lips moved against yours with careful pressure, his fingers sliding slightly into your hair. You instinctively reached for his shirt, curling your hand into the fabric near his waist.
The kiss deepened for one dangerous second, then Kent pulled away. Neither of you spoke, his forehead remained against yours, his breathing slightly uneven.
“Well,” he murmured.
You swallowed. “Well.”
“That should be convincing.”
You forced yourself to release his shirt. “Definitely.”
Kent sat back, but his eyes remained fixed on your face, he picked up the notebook again “Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “Anniversary date.”
You both pretended your hands weren’t trembling.
_________
The resort representative met you at the airport holding a sign with your names printed beneath a cartoon heart.
Kent immediately slipped his fingers through yours, you looked down at your joined hands, he squeezed gently “Boyfriend,” he reminded you beneath his breath.
You nodded and tried to ignore how easily his hand fit around yours.
The representative introduced herself as Mila and explained that she would be capturing small pieces of content throughout the week for the resort’s social media pages. Nothing invasive, she promised. A few photographs, a couples’ dinner, possibly a short interview about your experience.
Kent looked entirely unbothered.
You, meanwhile, became painfully aware that you had to convincingly date your best friend in front of someone whose job involved observing couples.
When Mila asked how long you had been together, Kent answered immediately “Eight months officially,” he said. “But I’ve been obsessed with her for years.”
You turned toward him, that hadn’t been in the notebook, Mila smiled. “Friends to lovers?”
“Exactly.”
Kent lifted your joined hands and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, your heart began beating much too quickly “You’re laying it on a little thick,” you whispered once Mila walked ahead.
“You told me to be convincing.”
“Not nauseating.”
He grinned. “You love it.”
“That wasn’t part of our backstory.”
“It can be.”
The suite waiting for you at the resort was beautiful.
It had enormous glass doors overlooking the ocean, a private balcony, a small plunge pool, and a king-sized bed decorated with rose petals.
One bed, You and Kent stood at the foot of it in silence “I can sleep on the couch,” he offered.
You glanced at the small loveseat pressed against the wall. Kent’s legs would hang over the end by nearly two feet “You’ll destroy your back.”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Kent, we’ve fallen asleep in the same bed before.”
That was true. During college trips, crowded cabins, and nights when one of you was too tired to drive home, sharing a bed had never been a significant event.
But those nights hadn’t happened directly after you kissed him and neither of you had been pretending to be in love “We can share,” you said. “Just stay on your side.”
“My side is whichever side has the better pillows.”
“You’re already becoming a terrible boyfriend.”
“Eight months and you’re only realizing that now?”
The first official activity was a sunset dinner on the beach.
You wore a dress that Kent had seen before, yet the moment you stepped out of the bathroom, he stared at you as though it was the first time.
“What?” you asked self-consciously.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m playing my role.”
“Mila isn’t here.”
“I’m staying in character.”
You rolled your eyes, but warmth spread across your cheeks, Kent walked toward you and adjusted the thin strap of your dress where it had twisted near your shoulder.
His fingers brushed your skin “You look beautiful,” he said.
There was no teasing in his voice, your breath caught “You don’t have to pretend when no one’s watching.”
“Who said I was pretending?” Before you could respond, he took your hand and led you out of the suite.
The dinner had been arranged beneath a small canopy covered in lights. A photographer took several pictures before leaving you alone.
At first, you expected the evening to feel staged.
It didn’t.
Kent made you laugh until your stomach hurt. He stole food from your plate even though he had ordered the exact same meal. You kicked his ankle beneath the table when he told the server that your favorite thing about him was his humility.
After dessert, music began playing softly from the restaurant farther up the beach.
Kent stood and held out his hand “Dance with me.”
“You don’t dance.”
“I’m an exceptional dancer.”
“You nearly knocked over a table at Owen's wedding.”
“The table was in my way.”
You let him pull you to your feet, Kent’s hand settled at your waist. Yours rested on his shoulder. There were no cameras nearby, no resort staff watching, and no reason to maintain the performance.
Still, neither of you moved away.
You swayed slowly beneath the lights, bare feet sinking into the cool sand “Your ex was an idiot,” Kent said suddenly.
You looked up at him. “Where did that come from?”
“I was thinking about how he was supposed to be here.”
“Kent—”
“And how glad I am that he isn’t.” his hand tightened slightly against your waist “You deserve someone who actually wants to be around you,” he continued. “Not someone who makes you feel difficult for wanting basic things.”
The ocean filled the silence between you “You never liked him,” you said.
“No.”
“You didn’t like any of my boyfriends.”
“They were all bad.”
“All of them?”
“Terrible judgment on your part.”
You narrowed your eyes. “And who would meet your impossibly high standards?”
Kent’s gaze dropped to your mouth “Someone who knows you,” he said. “Someone who makes you laugh. Someone who would never make you question whether he chose you.”
Your pulse thudded beneath your skin “That sounds very specific.”
“Maybe it is.”
For one suspended moment, you thought he might kiss you but instead, Kent leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead.
The gesture somehow felt more intimate.
By the third day, the pretending had become almost impossible to separate from reality.
Kent held your hand everywhere.
He kept one palm resting against your lower back while you walked through crowded areas. He brought you drinks without asking what you wanted because he already knew.
He applied sunscreen to the places you couldn’t reach and complained when you tried to rush him “You missed a spot,” he said.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
His fingers dragged slowly over your shoulder blade, spreading the sunscreen across your skin.
You sat between his knees on the edge of a lounge chair, trying desperately to act normal “You’re enjoying this too much,” you muttered.
“I take sun protection seriously.”
“You once got sunburned because you said clouds blocked UV rays.”
“That was misinformation.”
“That was stupidity.”
Kent leaned down until his mouth was beside your ear “Be nice to your boyfriend.” a shiver moved down your spine “Fake boyfriend,” you corrected.
He was silent for a moment “Right.”
Later that afternoon, the two of you stretched out on a large cushioned lounger near the beach.
You had originally claimed one side while Kent took the other, but sometime between finishing your drink and closing your eyes, you shifted closer.
Your head ended up resting on his chest, Kent’s arm curved around you automatically.
The steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek and the slow movement of his fingers through your hair made it impossible to stay awake “You comfortable?” he murmured.
“Mhm.”
“You’re crushing me.”
You lifted your head slightly. “I can move.” his arm tightened instantly “I was kidding.”
You relaxed against him again.
There was nobody around you except a couple reading beneath an umbrella several yards away. No camera. No Mila. No reason for Kent to keep holding you.
But he did.
When you woke nearly an hour later, Kent was still there. His chin rested against the top of your head, one arm around your waist and the other draped protectively across your back.
You shifted, Kent’s eyes opened “Hi,” he mumbled sleepily.
“Hi.”
Neither of you moved, his gaze wandered over your face, softened by sleep. Then he kissed you, there was no warning and no audience.
His lips brushed yours once, gentle and warm, you froze, Kent seemed to realize what he had done at the exact same time “Sorry,” he whispered.
Your heart ached at how quickly uncertainty replaced the softness in his expression “For what?”
“Kissing you.”
“You’ve kissed me before.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
His thumb brushed your waist through the fabric of your swimsuit cover-up “Nobody was watching.”
The truth settled heavily between you. You could have reminded him of the rules. You could have laughed, moved away, and pretended it hadn’t affected you.
Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him again, Kent reacted instantly.
His hand slid up your back as his lips moved against yours, the kiss deeper than the one on your couch and far less cautious. You gripped his shoulder, your body still half-sprawled across his chest.
When you finally pulled back, Kent looked dazed “Nobody was watching that either,” he said.
“I know.”
His eyes searched yours. “What are we doing?”
You didn’t have an answer, do you lowered your head onto his chest again. After a moment, Kent wrapped both arms around you. Neither of you mentioned the kiss but he didn’t stop pressing small kisses into your hair for the rest of the afternoon.
That night, Kent climbed into bed beside you and immediately opened his arms, you stared at him.
“What?”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.”
“You don’t normally sleep like that.”
“We slept like this on the beach.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
Because every time he touched you, the line between real and fake disappeared a little more. Because you no longer knew whether he was holding you as part of the performance or because he wanted to. Because you were beginning to hope it was the second one.
You switched off the lamp and slid beneath the blankets, Kent waited. After several seconds, you moved closer and rested your head against his chest.
His arms closed around you immediately “Goodnight, girlfriend,” he murmured. You curled your fingers into his shirt “Goodnight, boyfriend.” Kent pressed a kiss to your forehead.
The next morning, you woke with your leg tangled between his and his face buried against your neck. You stayed like that long after you were fully awake.
The resort had planned a couples’ game on the fifth evening.
You and Kent sat back-to-back while Mila asked questions to determine how well you knew one another.
“What is your partner’s comfort food?” You both answered correctly.
“What habit does your partner find most annoying?” You wrote that Kent left wet towels on the floor and Kent wrote that you refused to replace the toilet paper roll properly.
You turned around indignantly. “That isn’t true.”
“You put the new roll on top of the empty one.”
“I’m going to use it again anyway.”
“That is chaos.”
Mila laughed before moving to the next question “What is your partner most afraid of?”
You hesitated, Kent knew the obvious answers. Heights made you nervous. You hated spiders. You refused to watch horror movies alone but when you held up your board, Kent had written something else.
Being easy to leave.
Your smile faded, you looked over your shoulder at him. Kent was already watching you, the answer on your board for him read:
Not being enough when it matters.
The playful atmosphere shifted, Mila seemed to notice and gently moved on, but neither you nor Kent fully recovered.
When the game ended, you walked back toward your suite in silence “How did you know?” you finally asked.
Kent glanced at you. “Know what?”
“My answer.”
“I know you.”
“You know I’m afraid of spiders.”
“I know the things you don’t tell people too.”
The path was illuminated by small lights, the ocean barely visible beyond the palm trees.
Kent stopped walking “You act like you don’t care when people leave,” he said. “You joke about it. Pretend you expected it. But every time someone does, you wonder what you did wrong.”
Your throat tightened.
“And you didn’t do anything wrong,” he continued. “They were just too stupid to understand what they had.”
“Kent…”
“I’m serious.”
“You don’t have to keep saying boyfriend things.”
His expression changed “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
You immediately wished you could take the words back “I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m not pretending every second of the day.”
“How am I supposed to know which parts are real?”
“All of them.”
Your breath caught, Kent stepped closer “The hand-holding. Sleeping beside you. Kissing you when nobody’s around. None of that is because of the giveaway.”
“Then why are you doing it?”
He stared at you as though the answer was obvious “Because I want to.”
Your heart pounded “What happens when we go home?”
Kent’s jaw tightened “I don’t know.”
“That’s the problem.” You hated how vulnerable your voice sounded “We’re living in a suite with one bed, going on romantic dates, and acting like we’re in love. Then we go home and what? We go back to being best friends and pretend this week didn’t happen?”
“I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“But you don’t know what you want to happen.”
“I know exactly what I want.”
“Then say it.”
Kent went quiet, for once, he had no teasing response. No sarcastic remark to protect himself.
You waited.
When he still didn’t speak, the fragile hope inside you began to crack “I’m going to bed,” you whispered.
You walked away before he could see how much his silence hurt.
Kent returned to the suite almost an hour later, you were lying on your side, facing away from the door, although you hadn’t been able to sleep.
The mattress dipped behind you, he didn’t touch you and the distance between your bodies felt enormous “I was scared,” he said into the darkness.
You kept your eyes closed.
“That’s why I didn’t answer.”
You swallowed.
Kent shifted closer, but stopped before making contact “You’re my best friend,” he continued. “You’re the person I call when something good happens. You’re the person I look for when I walk into a room. And if I say what I want and you don’t want the same thing, I could lose you.”
You turned slowly, moonlight slipped through the curtains, illuminating part of his face “You won’t lose me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Kent looked down at the space between you “I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend,” he said.
Your chest tightened.
He lifted his eyes to yours “I want to take you on real dates. I want to kiss you without wondering whether you think it’s for a camera. I want you to fall asleep on me at home, not just because we’re sharing a bed on vacation.”
Your eyes stung, Kent reached for your hand beneath the covers “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should probably admit.”
“How long?”
He released a quiet, embarrassed laugh “Do you remember when you started dating your ex?”
You nodded.
“I got into an argument with him because he didn’t bring you anything on your birthday.”
“He said he didn’t believe in material gifts.”
“He bought himself a new watch the week before.”
“I remember.”
“I wanted to tell you then.”
“That was almost two years ago.”
“I know.”
“Kent.”
“I told you I was scared.”
You stared at him, overwhelmed by the realization that all the moments you had dismissed—his dislike of your ex, his protectiveness, the way he always made himself available when you needed him—had meant more than you understood.
“You should’ve told me.”
“You were in a relationship.”
“And after?”
“You were heartbroken. I didn’t want you to think I was waiting for an opportunity.”
You moved closer until only a few inches separated you “So you waited until we were on a fake romantic vacation?”
“That wasn’t exactly the plan.”
“You had a notebook.”
“The notebook was for preparation.”
“You wrote an entire relationship history.”
“I’m thorough.”
You laughed, the sound breaking through the tension, Kent smiled hesitantly. You reached up and touched his cheek “I don’t want you to be my fake boyfriend either.”
His expression softened “No?”
“No.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
The word had barely left your mouth before Kent kissed you.
His hand curved around your waist and pulled you against him, erasing the remaining distance between you. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you slowly, deeply, without cameras or rules or any need to pretend.
When he finally pulled away, his lips remained close to yours “So we’re dating?” he whispered.
“We’re dating.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
Kent smiled against your mouth “Good.”
He kissed you again, but this time there was nothing hesitant about it.
The kiss grew deeper as he rolled closer, one hand sliding along your waist while the other settled against your cheek. Every touch carried all the things he had been too afraid to say before, and every kiss felt like another piece of the friendship between you shifting into something new.
Something neither of you wanted to stop.
Kent’s hand stayed gentle at first, thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric of your shirt as if he were still giving you every chance to pull away. When he drew back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them, but the nervousness was still there—soft, careful, almost shy.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “None of this is for the cameras, not for the story and not for anyone else. I want you. Just you. For real. Okay?”
You nodded, the words catching a little in your throat. “Okay.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, and the last of the hesitation between you began to melt. Clothes disappeared in unhurried stages under the soft glow of the single lamp beside the bed, the only light in the room.
Your shirt and bra came off first; his followed. The first press of bare skin against bare skin drew a quiet sound from both of you. Your perky tits pressed warm and soft against Kent’s chest as he pulled you closer, the hard planes of him a stark contrast to the way your nipples tightened against his skin.
He guided you onto his lap so he was resting back against the headboard, pillows supporting him. You straddled him, thighs bracketing his hips, and felt the thick heat of his cock slide between your folds as you settled.
Kent’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you while you took him in, slow, careful, sinking down inch by inch until he was buried deep inside you. A soft, shaky moan left you.
“Kent…”
His breath hitched hard at the sound of your moan “Fuck… still good?”
“Yes.” You rolled your hips experimentally, feeling him stretch you open. “You?”
“Yeah.” A rough, almost disbelieving laugh. “More than good.”
You started moving slow, deliberate rises and falls that made every ridge of his cock drag against your walls. The lamp cast warm shadows across the bed, highlighting the way your bodies met.
Kent’s gaze dropped between you, watching the place where he disappeared into you, then lower still to the soft swell of your lower tummy. His cock was thick enough that the outline of it pressed visibly against the skin there with every downward roll of your hips, a clear bulge shifting under your flesh.
“Look at that,” he murmured, voice wrecked, one hand sliding from your waist to rest gently over the spot. His thumb stroked the faint shape of himself inside you. “You can see me. Fuck, Y/N… you’re taking me so deep.”
He leaned in and closed his mouth around one of your perky tits, sucking the nipple between his lips, tongue flicking and circling while his free hand cupped the other breast, thumb brushing the tight peak. You moaned again, louder this time, the sound breaking on his name.
“Kent—ah—”
Your pace stayed slow, almost lazy, savoring the stretch and the wet slide. Every time you sank down fully the bulge in your lower tummy became more pronounced, and Kent’s eyes kept flicking between your face, your tits, and that visible proof of how completely he filled you.
He sucked harder, teeth grazing lightly, then switched to the other breast, leaving both nipples wet and flushed under the lamp light.
“You’re so tight around me,” he groaned against your skin. “Moving like that… goddamn. I want you. Only you.”
You kept riding him in those slow, deep strokes, hands braced on his shoulders, your perky tits bouncing gently against his chest every time you rose and fell. The wet sound of your pussy taking his cock filled the quiet room.
Kent’s hands never stopped moving, one still tracing the bulge in your tummy, the other roaming from your waist to your ass, guiding your rhythm without rushing it.
When the heat between you finally peaked, you clenched hard around him and came with a broken “Kent—” spilling from your lips. He followed soon after, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.
For a while afterward you stayed like that, still joined, his cock softening slowly inside you while he pressed soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the edge of your mouth.
you lay tangled together beneath the sheets, your head resting over Kent’s heart while his fingers traced slow patterns across your bare back.
For several minutes, neither of you spoke.
Kent was the first to break the silence.
“So,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into your hair, “we’re definitely dating now, right?”
You lifted your head and stared at him. “You confessed your feelings, I told you I wanted you, and then we—”
“I know what happened.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“I want to hear you say it again.”
You tried to roll your eyes, but the softness in his expression ruined your attempt at annoyance. As you spoke, you shifted against him, the soft folds of your pussy rubbing slowly, deliberately along the length of his half-hard cock, smearing the mess of your combined release between you.
“Yes, Kent. We’re dating.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
His smile widened “Good.”
The second the last word left your mouth, Kent’s hands tightened on your hips. In one smooth motion he pushed his cock back inside you, thick, hard again, sliding deep through the slick heat until he was fully sheathed. A soft gasp left you; he groaned low in answer, rolling his hips once to settle even deeper.
He pulled you closer and kissed you again, slower this time, tasting the residual heat between you while he stayed buried to the hilt.
When you settled back against his chest, Kent tucked the blankets around both of you as though he had been doing it for years, still buried inside you, still moving in the smallest, laziest thrusts.
“You know,” he said, voice rough with renewed want, “technically, our fake anniversary could still work.”
“We are not keeping the fake anniversary.”
“We already memorized it.”
“We’ll have a real one.”
“Today?”
“Today.”
Kent considered it, rolling his hips a little deeper, the bulge of him once again pressing faintly against the soft skin of your lower tummy “I like the fake story about confessing during a late-night drive.”
“You confessed in a resort bed.”
“Less romantic.”
“I thought it was romantic.”
He smiled and kissed your forehead, then lower, lingering at the corner of your mouth while he stayed buried inside you “Then this story is better.”
For the remainder of the trip, nothing changed and at the same time everything did.
Kent still held your hand everywhere, except now his thumb traced absentminded circles across your skin because he was allowed to mean it.
You still fell asleep on his chest beneath the sun, except now you woke to him kissing your temple and calling you his girlfriend with unmistakable satisfaction.
He kissed you in elevators, on the balcony, beneath the water in the pool, and every morning before either of you properly opened your eyes.
At dinner, he rested his hand on your thigh beneath the table.
During a boat excursion, he wrapped both arms around you from behind while you watched the horizon.
When Mila asked to film a final testimonial about the vacation, Kent sat beside you with his arm around your shoulders “What was the best part of the experience?” she asked.
You glanced at Kent and he was already looking at you “Her,” he answered.
Mila smiled. “That’s very sweet.”
You laughed softly. “He practiced that answer.”
“I did not.”
“He had a notebook.”
“That was confidential relationship material.”
Mila lowered the camera slightly. “You two seem even closer than when you arrived.”
Kent pressed a kiss to your cheek “We had a good week.” You looked at him, unable to stop smiling.
Neither of you explained just how good it had been.
On the flight home, you ended up curled against Kent in your seat, using his shoulder as a pillow.
He kissed the top of your head “You realize this is going to be difficult to explain,” you murmured.
“What is?”
“Everyone thinks we came here pretending.”
“We did.”
“And now we’re going home together.”
“We were always going home together.”
“You know what I mean.”
Kent laced his fingers through yours beneath the small airline blanket “We tell them the truth.”
“That we took fake dating too seriously?”
“That you were so overwhelmed by my incredible boyfriend skills that you fell in love with me.”
You lifted your head. “That is not what happened.”
“It’s close.”
“You kissed me first.”
“You kissed me back.”
“You kept kissing me when nobody was watching.”
“I told you. Method acting.” You tried to glare at him, but your smile ruined it, Kent leaned down and kissed you softly “I love you,” he said.
The words were quiet, almost concealed beneath the sound of the plane, your expression softened “You love me?”
“I told you I’ve wanted this for two years.”
“That isn’t the same as saying it.”
“I love you,” he repeated, more confidently this time. “For real. No cameras. No giveaway. No pretending.”
You squeezed his hand “I love you too.”
Kent smiled with such open happiness that you couldn’t resist kissing him again.
When you eventually rested your head back on his shoulder, he pulled the blanket higher around you and wrapped his arm securely around your body.
Winning the vacation had once felt like a cruel joke—a romantic prize delivered months after the relationship it was meant to celebrate had ended.
But as Kent kissed your hair and held you against his chest, you realized you hadn’t won the trip too late.
You had simply entered it with the wrong boyfriend.
🏒: Connor Bedard, Macklin Celebrini, Fraser Minten, Ben Kindel, Kent Johnson (?) and Angus Crookshank seen during a 3 on 3 practice in Vancouver, BC, 6/30/26 ⋆˚꩜｡
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