hughes your daddy

“Macklin? Do you wish you were more athletic?” You don’t look up from your phone as you ask the question, acting nonchalant so you don’t tip off Macklin that you're messing with him, rather making it seem like a genuine question. Macklin doesn’t even bat an eye, “No. I’m pretty athletic. Y’know you’re dating a mutli-sport athletic, right? Hockey, soccer, basketball, golf, need me to go on?” This causes you to glance over at him, absolutely dumbfounded by his statement.

“Mack…” you trail off, trying to find the words, “you’re total shit at all of those except hockey!” He scoffs in response, mumbling “Okay” under his breath in a sarcastic way. His reaction to this conversation just aggravates you. You thought this would ignite a spark in Mack or at least get a funny response or comment out of him but instead he just turned into his usual overconfident self.

You and Macklin go back to your respective scrolling, you on Tik Tok and him on Instagram, comfortable silence overtaking the living room. As you scroll you come across one video of a girl repeatedly wiping off her boyfriend's kisses to see what he’d do in response. An idea forms in your head, maybe it’s a tad mean but after his bratty attitude earlier, he totally deserves this.

You wait until Macklin gets up to get ready for practice before you start your prank. Macklin always gives you a kiss before he leaves or whenever he just gets up and leaves the room, so you wait. “Hey baby, Will is gonna be here in 15 minutes so we can go to practice. I’m gonna go get ready.” He rises off the couch, leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead. You wipe it off.

Macklin pauses, his eyebrows scrunch up in confusion before he shrugs it off, just assuming the kiss was a little too wet or you had an itch. You watch as he walks out of the room, mostly unbothered by you wiping off his kiss. You wait for another 10 minutes before he comes back into the room, his eyes glued to his phone as he types out a text, presumably to Will. He walks back over to the couch, taking a seat next to you while simultaneously throwing an arm over your shoulders, dragging you over so your head is resting on his chest.

You and Macklin make small conversation about how the team is doing and about his upcoming practice today, every sentence he speaks he scoots you closer to him, holding you close to his heart. A car horn sounds from outside, one, two, three beeps which alerts you of Will’s presence outside. “Hey baby I gotta go, Will’s waiting for me.” He unwraps himself from around you and gets up from the couch, grabbing his bag from the floor at the foot of the couch before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You wipe it off. Macklin notices. He stands still on his feet, staring down at you with a confused look, once again. He tries again. He leans down and presses a kiss to your other cheek, watching as you wipe his kiss off, your face void of any emotion. No smile or withheld giggle that lets him know about your prank. You’re stone.

“Bye Mackie, have fun at practice. Tell Will I said ‘hi’.” He nods, muttering something under his breath, most likely a goodbye of sorts before he walks out the front door.

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“I’m tellin’ ya man! Something's off today! She wiped off three of my kisses!” Macklin exclaims as he sits on the bench in between Will and Tyler. They give each other a look before Tyler sarcastically says “Three?!” The sarcasm goes completely over Mack’s head as he dives into his dilemma. He rants about the exact way you wiped his kisses off, about how you didn’t even seem bothered, about how your face was solid with no hint of joking behind your eye.

“Macklin!” Warsofsky shouts, bringing Macklin’s attention away from his rant and instead towards the current practice that is taking place on the ice right now. Macklin gulps as he fastens the strap on his helmet and jumps over the boards and into the current scrimmage. “Get your head outta your ass, Celebrini. Pay the fuck attention to practice and not on your current relationship problems.

Macklin only mutters a “Yes sir.” as he skates away.

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Macklin arrives home a few hours later, tired and sore from practice. His hair is darkened and wet from his post-practice shower, the ends of his hair are dripping water onto his shoulders. He drops his bag by the front door, kicks off his shoes, and walks into the living room smiling when he sees you curled up on the couch watching a movie.

“Hey Mack.” You say softly. You peer over the back of the couch, a smile spreads across your face when you spot him. You tilt your head backwards on the arm of the couch as Macklin practically skips over to you, stopping right next to the arm of the couch before kneeling down and bringing his lips to yours.

His kiss is slow and tender, all the love he has for you pours out of him with this kiss. You get lost in him, momentarily forgetting about your prank that you were playing on him. Those plans flew right out the window. You break the kiss and push Mack away, just barely, but enough that it has his face pulling into a deep frown. Then you wipe his kiss off.

“Okay what the hell?”

You sit up straight as you look at Macklin with a confused expression. “What?” He scoffs but a small smile sits on his face. “You know what baby. Why are you wiping my kisses off?” He slowly walks over to you, like a predator stalking its prey (though since it’s Macklin it’s more like a puppy pouncing on a toy).

He slowly kneels on the couch, straddling your hips and pining your wrists above your head with one hand. He uses the other hand to tickle your stomach, managing to get out “Why are you wiping my kisses off?” between his laughs and your joy-filled shrieks. He lowers his head to your neck, kissing and playfully biting at the skin there before kissing up your jaw. “Mack! Stop it tickles!” You laugh. He stops tickling you and he releases your wrists from his tight but gentle grip before leaning down, once again, and pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

- 5 years before the events of The Score -

There is tension in the room, tension so thick it feels like you're being suffocated which is something that you and Dean have never experienced in your 4 years of knowing one another. Dean sits next to you on the couch, his head resting in his hands, obvious tension on his face completely overtaking his features.

His blond hair is messy from the amount of times he has run his hands through it, causing it to stick up in odd directions. You sit still, tears that are fresh and dry rest on your face, a few drops fall into your lap and it takes everything in Dean to stop himself from reaching over and wiping them away. “I’m sorry Dean. I'm so sorry.” Your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence causing a fresh wave of tears to well up in your eyes.

Dean lifts his head from his hands and looks over at you with red, teary eyes of his own. “Ba-, shit sorry, Y/N you have no reason to be sorry. This is the best decision for the both of us, we chose to break up because long distance dating is impractical.” Dean takes a deep breath before continuing, “I love you. I always will and because of that I don’t want to be the one to hold you back. You need to go to your dream school without worrying and thinking about what your dumbass boyfriend is doing.”

Dean takes your hands in his, looking at you with red and irritated eyes. “Deanie-” He cuts you off. “You go live your life and I’ll go live mine but don’t think, even for a second, that we are breaking up because of lack of love. We are breaking up so we can become the best versions of ourselves and if one day we find each other again, and the timing is right, then you better bet your sweet ass that we will give this another go. Alright?”

Despite the situation you let out a small laugh. Leave it to Dean to bring a smile to your face in the midst of your breakup. “Yeah,” you say in a meek tone, “I’m gonna hold you to that Dean, cause you and I are far from our ending.” A lone tear rolls down Dean’s cheek, his smile faltering for only a second. You lean forward and kiss his cheek, lingering for one second too long before leaning back and letting go of Dean’s hands. “Goodbye Dean.”

Dean watches you leave. He stares at the door long after you cross the threshold, the room smells faintly of your perfume, the only sign that you were even there at all. Dean only has one thought at the forefront of his mind; this isn’t goodbye, as cliche as it sounds, this is until I see you later. The fear of holding you back is the only reason he is letting you walk out the door and out of his life but you will never walk out of his heart, you're there to stay until he sees you again.

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- 5 years later -

Dean lays in his bed with his sheets wrapped loosely around his torso, his head is thrown back onto the pillows with one arm resting over his eyes. “Dean?” He hums in response. “Don’t you want to get something to eat? I know this great place down the street.” He lifts his arm and peeks one eye open, his gaze falling on a busty blond who is currently redressing, her name eludes him. Is it Ava? Maddie? Tara? Dean doesn’t know and honestly he doesn’t care.

“No.” His response is short and curt, no emotion showing on his face. Her face falls. Fuck, Dean thinks, this is why you don’t do freshmen they always get attached. “Look Ava-” She scoffs. “It’s Melody!” Dean winces. “Right, Melody. Look it’s nothing against you but I don’t date. I’m Six Flags, you come for a good time but you leave right after.” Melody just shakes her head in response, spitting “You’re fucking sick, Dean.” in his direction before leaving the room, slamming the door behind her.

After Melody leaves, Dean's room becomes silent. He doesn’t feel bad, he should, but he doesn’t. He never feels bad when this happens, something changed within him five years ago, something so deep that Dean himself didn’t see it happening until it reared its ugly head during his first college hookup freshman year. Now, Dean is a senior. He should be more mature, more respectful, and definitely nicer, but he can’t find it in himself to do these things. He hasn’t been able to ever since you walked out that door, all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Dean was all those things. He was mature, respectful, and nice. He was that way because of you, because he knew that you hated when men acted like dicks who thought the world owed them something. When Dean was with you he made sure to be the best version of himself, he made sure to always show you love and complete and utter respect because that is what you deserved. Dean rolls over and opens his bedside drawer and pulls out an old, crumpled photo.

The photo is of you and him. It was taken exactly one week before the end of your relationship. It was the last week Dean was truly happy, now that he thinks about it. Now, Dean loves the guys, they make him happy but not in the way that you did. No one has ever made him feel the way that you did. He holds the photo in his palm, running his finger over your smiling face, picturing the moment in his head. The way your hair smelled like your old apple-scented shampoo and conditioner, the way you would hold his face in your hands when you teased him about his cheesy pick-up lines.

Dean sighs and closes his eyes, putting the photo facedown on his chest and forcing the old memories of you and him out of his mind. “Dean!” Logan calls from downstairs, “We’re leaving in 5 for practice, if you’re not in the car we’re leaving without you!” Dean calls back down to Logan, telling him he’ll be down in 3 minutes before slowly getting out of bed and putting the photo of you in the back of his drawer. Dean went a whole 3 weeks without looking at the picture, a new record for him, now his streak is ruined because you constantly plague his thoughts and the only way to get you out of them is to creeply stare at your photo for hours on end.

By the time Dean gets downstairs the boys are surrounding the kitchen island discussing Dean and Beau’s joint birthday party that’ll take place tomorrow after the game. Little did he know that a certain brunette dressed as J-Lo will be the first girl to fully distract Dean for you, something that Dean craves because for the last 5 years every girl he’s been with only reminds him of you by the end of the night.

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“Because I did.”

“Because I did.”

“Because I did.”

Those three little words replay in Dean’s head over and over again like a bad song. Dean didn’t complete the assignment but Allie did. For the first time in five years Dean stayed loyal to someone who captured his attention, who made him feel happy and whole, only for her to turn around and stab him in the back? Dean is in shambles. He is devastated. Why would Allie do this? Why does the first girl that Dean actually likes since you have to completely throw his feelings under the bus.

Beau stares at Dean’s shocked and hurt face. Beauknows, of course Beau knows. Beau is one of the only people at Briar who knows about you. The girl who Dean is still completely in love with. The girl who has never left Dean’s heart. Beau gives Dean a sympathetic look, his eyes saying what his mouth can’t at this moment; “I’m sorry Dean. I’m sorry you’re hurting again.” The front door of Malone’s chimes as a new patron enters the diner, his black hair is styled to perfection and his smug face has a cocky grin on it.

Allie gasps. Beau’s eyebrows shoot up. Dean turns around. While Allie is busy staring at Carter St. James (also known as Hunter Davenport), Dean and Beau are staring at the girl that entered behind Carter/Hunter. The girl who has haunted Dean’s thoughts since she exited Dean’s living room the summer after they graduated high school. You.

Dean has only experienced tunnel vision three times in his life. The first time was when Dean first saw you for the first time. You were standing at your locker, laughing at something your friend was saying but all he could see was you. Another time was your senior year of high school when a cocky football player decided to grab your ass when you bent over to pick up a pencil. The third time is right now at this very moment.

Everything else fades from view, there's no more Hunter Davenport and his smug face, no more Garrett and Hannah sucking face in a diner booth, just you. Walking back into his life like you never left at all. “Y/N!” Dean calls out. The smile on his face is bright as your head swivels into his direction.

You cannot believe it. Dean stands before you, a little more muscular than the last time you saw him but nevertheless, he is still the Dean you fell in love with all those years ago. You can feel tears welling in your eyes, your feet move without warning as you start walking towards him. Dean does the same, his feet carrying him towards you like they know where he was always meant to be.

You meet in the middle of Malone’s and embrace each other in a hug that feels like home. Tears flow down both of your cheeks, soaking your shirts. Finally, after all these years apart you and Dean are back in each other’s arms. The love you still feel for Dean comes rushing back in full force, overwhelming you immensely but being held in Dean’s arms makes all that noise go away.

Dean buries his face in your hair, your hair that still smells of your apple scented shampoo and conditioner. I’m home, Dean thinks, I’m where I’m meant to be. Dean squeezes you in his arms, just like he used to, before pulling back just slightly, close enough that you’re still in one another’s arms but far enough that your faces are now in front of each other. “Deanie,” you say, “I’m sorry,”

Dean tilts his head back and laughs loudly, the smile on his face is constricting the tears on his face. “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t be sorry.” You smile and let out a light-hearted laugh, “Dean, how long do I have to wait for you to kiss me?” Dean brings a hand to your chin, gripping it gently before bringing his lips down to yours. He captures your lips in a slow kiss, savoring the taste of you, afraid you're going to disappear again.

Hospital room 202 is quiet for the first time in 16 hours, only the sound of the heartbeat monitor fills the room. You lay half propped up on the bed holding your brand new bundle of joy in your arms, your sweet baby is sleeping soundly tucked in your comforting embrace. Brock sits next to you with his arms wrapped around you, his head softly resting against yours as he stares down at your brand new baby.

Your baby boy yawns softly before tucking his tiny head back into the crook of your arm and Brock swears he’s never seen anything more perfect (other than you of course). “I’m so proud of you.” Brock whispers, his voice light and airy so he doesn’t disturb the silence of the room. One lone tear rolls down your cheek before it’s kissed away by Brock. Your sweet Brock who brushed back your hair and let you grip his hand during the delivery, so hard and tight that he swore his hand was breaking.

“Can I hold him?” You nod, silently mouthing ‘yeah’ as you shift, getting ready to hand him to Brock. Brock sits up straighter, shrugs his t-shirt off, and holds his hands out in preparation for his boy. You carefully set him in Brock’s arms, making sure he’s supporting the head, before sitting back and letting Brock have his moment. His entire body visibly melts as he stares down at his newborn pressed against his bare chest, your baby’s little hand reaching up to grab Brock’s hand.

You wrap an arm around Brock’s shoulders as you lean against him, your cheek resting on his shoulder as you stare down at your baby. Tears start rolling down Brock’s face, all the emotions from the past 24 hours coming at him in full force. “I’m so fucking proud of you baby, so fucking proud.” You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Thank you Brock. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I’m telling you ‘Run, Joey, Run’ is one of the best covers on Glee! Hands down.” You give Beau an indescribable look, your eyebrows are drawn together and your mouth is agape. “Beau, sweet Beau, you have to be joking! I mean don’t get me wrong that was a great cover but the best? Hell no. That’s reserved for ‘Creep’.” Beau hums and nods, appearing deep in thought before cracking a smile and agreeing with you.

A rerun of Glee plays on the computer screen before you, a tradition that you and Beau have. Whenever you and him have one of your designated ‘sleepovers’ you always watch reruns of Glee (along with eating 3 bags of popcorn). You’re both laying in Beau’s bed, your head resting on his bicep, while the laptop is in his lap and the popcorn in yours. “I think we can both agree that the twerking episode is awful though.” Beau laughs, “That’s just because Mr. Schue is a fucking creep.” You raise your hand giving Beau a high five, “True dat.”

A knock on the door sounds through Beau’s room accompanied by a high-pitched voice. “Beau? Are you in there?” Your laughter dies and Beau’s megawatt smile falters, as if the disruption bothers him. Before he can answer, the door opens and Kayleigh walks in, Beau’s head cheerleader girlfriend. “What’s going on in here, Beau-Beau?” Beau removes his arm from around your shoulders and you both sit up straighter on the bed. “Nothing Kay, we’re just watching Glee.” Kayleigh’s face scrunches up in confusion before turning into disgust, “Um Beau? That show is for geeks. Not for the starting quarterback of Briar U.”

“It’s a TV show. Anyone can watch it.” Kayleigh shoots you a deadly glare, stomping forward and pointing a finger in your face, “I wasn’t talking to you now was I?” Beau’s face hardens, his eyes go from warm to hard as he grabs Kayleigh’s wrist and moves her finger out of your face. “Don’t talk to her like that.” Kayleigh rolls her eyes and grabs Beau’s hand muttering the word “Whatever” under her breath before pulling Beau up and off the bed.

“I think I’m gonna go back to my dorm. Allie and Hannah are having a movie marathon.” You pick up your overnight bag and move towards the door, looking back at Beau as you say “I’ll see you later, Beau.” Beau shrugs Kayleigh off of him as he rushes to beat you to the door. “Wait! You can’t walk back in the dark, I’ll drive you.” Kayleigh shrieks. “Beau, I've had it! You are constantly choosing her over me and for what? I’m clearly the superior choice. You need to choose. Right now. Me or her.” Beau doesn’t hesitate.

“Y/N.”

You look at Beau, noticing that he’s already looking at you, his deep brown chocolaty eyes are softly looking at you, love and adoration deep in his gaze. Kayleigh screams a shallow “Fuck you!” at Beau as she storms out of his room, screaming and stomping her way out of the house. You wait until you hear the front door of the frat house slam shut before you speak. “Beau…I-I don’t even know what to say-” Beau cuts you off. “Then don’t say anything!” He takes a step closer, cupping your face in his hands before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.