My Boyfriend’s Dad
👥Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
📖Word count: ~6000
‼️Rating: Explicit (18+)
⚠️Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, significant age gap, boyfriend's dad, cheating, forbidden relationship, mutual pining, praise kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, mild possessiveness, aftercare.
🔞Minors DNI.
📍Summary: After yet another night of being stood up by your boyfriend, you end up soaked with rain at his father's doorstep. In a surprising turn of events, you find yourself on the couch with the last man you should want.
•••
You get off the bus and immediately curse yourself for agreeing to come instead of waiting for your boyfriend to pick you up after work. He'd texted you an hour ago, apologizing that he'd be late, but telling you to go on without him, promising he'd meet you at his dad's house as soon as he was done.
It was supposed to be simple – his dad's chilli for dinner, a bottle of wine you brought and then you'd get to spend some much needed time together just doing whatever. But just like usual lately, Matt had bailed with yet another excuse and that pattern had started to great on your nerves.
The rain was coming down hard, soaking through your clothes, even when you sprint to the familiar house in one of Lawrence's middle class neighborhoods. You clutch your handbag tighter to your body as you hurry around the Impala parked in the driveway and reach the front door.
Raising your hand, you knocked on the door and waited. A second later, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and sigh in disappointment, eyes closing briefly. Somehow, you already know it's another message from Matt.
You pulled it out, attempting to shield it from the rain with your hand and read what it said:
Matt: I'm really sorry, babe. Something else came up, I'm not going to be able to make it after all. Just have dinner without me, okay? Don't wait up. I'll make it up to you.
You stare at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen as you debated whether to even respond or not. Seriously? Again? You didn't actually believe he'd make it up to you because he never did, only always promised he would.
What did he expect you to do now? Go inside anyway and just have dinner with his dad? It's not like you didn't like his dad or he didn't like you. He had always been good to you, kind and polite. He even remembered the little things about you like how you liked your coffee, asked how things were going at the library you worked at over the summer.
But recently you started noticing things about his dad too, things you probably shouldn't be paying attention to when it was your boyfriend's dad. You noticed his build – his broad shoulders and strong arms, mainly when he reached for something high up in the kitchen cupboard.
His deep voice when he spoke or laughed, the well-defined jawline lined with beard you knew would prickle your skin and wanted to feel it scrape against the skin in the most sensitive places.
And maybe you were reading too much into it, but you could have sworn that sometimes he was looking at you, watching you, like you weren't just his son's girlfriend. But maybe that was just you being lonely since your boyfriend barely gave you any attention lately.
And when he did it felt like he was only using you to get his release, not caring much about yours. Like the last time you'd stayed over a few weeks ago, Matt had fucked you quick and quiet on the living room couch when his dad was out running errands. You remember staring at the ceiling afterwards, feeling unsatisfied and strangely empty.
Either way, standing at his front door soaked to the bone with your boyfriend nowhere in sight suddenly didn't feel like the best idea. You wanted to turn around, run back to the bus stop and forget the whole thing.
But before you could do that, the door opened. He stood there in a simple black T-shirt and faded jeans, dish towel thrown over one shoulder. His green eyes glanced around, as if scanning where his son was, then settled on your soaked frame. A small crease formed between his brows that made you want to run your finger over it and smooth it out.
God, stop it, you thought to yourself. He's your boyfriend's father. Matt's dad.
"Hey, kid," he greeted, eyes glancing over your shoulder once more. "Where's Matt?"
"Hello, Mr. Winchester," you forced a polite smile, then sighed. "He just texted me that he's not coming and not to wait for him. Work, I guess."
He huffed like he couldn't believe it. "Again?"
You only nodded and almost apologized for showing up alone at his house. "I will just head home," you offered, already taking a step to the stair below you.
"What?" he frowned like the idea of that didn't even cross his mind. "Nonsense, get in here before you catch a cold," he stepped aside, motioning for you to come in.
With reluctance, you gave in and walked past him into the warm interior of the house. You could already smell the chilli wafting from the kitchen, making your mouth water and stomach growl.
Mr. Winchester shut the door behind you, then gave you another once-over. He looked like he felt bad for you and maybe it wasn't just because of the drenched clothes you were wearing.
"You're completely soaked," he stated the obvious. "You got anything dry in the car?"
You laughed a little, shaking your head. "No, I– I took the bus."
He ran a hand over his jaw, scratching his beard then nodded. "Alright... well, Matt's room's a mess. You'll never find anything in there," he said as if he was trying to find a good enough solution for the situation at hand. "I can bring you some of my clothes if you don't mind."
"Oh, nono," you quickly shook your head and refused. "It's okay, I don't want to be a bother. You can just bring me anything of Matt's."
"You're not," that was all he said and then he disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there, creating a puddle on the hardwood floor, the strap of your handbag still clutched tightly to you.
A moment later he returned, holding out a simple white shirt, socks and a pair of grey sweatpants to you. "You know where the bathroom is," he said as he handed them to you. "Go get changed. Chili's got another ten minutes and then we can eat. It's worth it, I promise."
"Thank you," you took the clothes with a polite smile before you made your way down the hall.
You locked the door behind you and let out a long breath, your face dropping into your hands. You started undressing – your hoodie, shirt then your jeans – all producing a wet squelch when they landed on the floor. Your face grimaced at the sound and at the situation you were in thanks to your shitty boyfriend.
"Great, thanks, Matt," you grumbled to yourself.
Even your freaking socks were soaked and what was worse, you quickly realized your underwear was as well. For a second you simply stared at them, hoping they'd somehow dry by the sheer force of your willpower alone.
"You've got to be kidding me," you sighed, rubbing a hand down your face, debating on what to do.
The thought of going commando and having dinner with Mr. Winchester made heat creep up your neck and into your cheeks. But you slipped them off, adding them onto the pile onn the floor because it was better than the alternative.
There was no way you could stay in that wet underwear. It'd leave a wet stain on the grey sweatpants and your wet bra would be visible through the white shirt.
"It's fine," you tried to tell yourself, pulling the clothes he brought for you on. "It is so completely not fine," you whined quietly.
The socks were too big and you were able to pull them almost to your knees, but you made them work. The sweatpants and shirt were enormous on you, the hem of the shirt reaching to the middle of your thighs. As you were pulling the sleeves back a little, another realization hit you.
These weren't Matt's clothes. You could tell by the scent on them that was familiar, but sure as hell wasn't your boyfriend's. It was his dad's.
"Oh my fucking God," you whispered to yourself as reality of the situation came over you.
You were commando, in your boyfriend's dad's clothes. It felt so wrong, but something about that made heat pool in between your thighs. You took one long breath in through your nose, gathered your wet clothes into your arms, handbag on your shoulder, and opened the bathroom door.
Mr. Winchester was just turning off the stove as you came in, his head turning to look at you with a smile. "There she is," he said, eyes quickly sweeping over your body in his clothes. "Feel better?"
You laughed a little, that embarrassed little laugh. "Kind of."
"That's good," he said, crossed the room and held out a hand. "I'll throw those in the dryer."
Your grip around the bundle tightened without you realizing. "Oh, Mr. Winchester, you don't have to–"
"I don't mind," he responded, thinking you were just too polite and didn't want to bother him more.
"No, really, it's okay," you insisted.
He looked at you with a puzzled frown on his forehead. "Kid, they're soaking wet."
"I know, but..." you trailed off, not having an excuse ready and your face got warmer, cheeks probably flushing in different colors of reds and pinks.
He looked down from your expression to the clothes in your arms and understanding dawned on him immediately. An amused grin spread on his handsome face. "Oh."
You felt so awkward, wanting the floor to open up and swallow you whole. "I'm sorry, that's..."
"You don't have to apologize," he chuckled dismissively. "I promise you, sweetheart, I've seen a few pairs of women's underwear in my lifetime."
You laughed nervously. You probably wouldn't mind him seeing your underwear in a different setting, perhaps if he was taking it off you, but this felt embarrassing. "Yeah, I know."
He smiled warmly at you. "I'll toss the whole pile in without looking. Deal?"
God, he was always so sweet and nice to you. You thought it over and then finally handed him the clothes. "Deal."
He walked away with them and returned shortly after that, giving you one of those cute smiles again. "See? Nobody died."
You chuckled, but this time the embarrassment and awkwardness eased and it was a genuine one. "I guess so."
He got back to the pot on the stove and started plating the chilli for you two. That's when you remembered the bottle of wine you brought, not wanting to come empty-handed, thinking you were going to share it with Matt if he declined.
You pulled out the bottle of red wine and held it toward him. "Oh, before I forget, Mr. Winchester–"
He turned to look at you when you spoke, seeing the bottle in your hands. "You didn't have to bring anything."
"I know," you shrugged your shoulders. "It was supposed to be for Matt and me, but..." you left the sentence blank, both of you understanding what you wanted to say. "I guess you can have his share since he's not here."
That quiet deep laugh sounded from his throat as he accepted the bottle, turning it in his hands to read the label. "Well, looks like my son's loss is my gain."
Crap, the heat that moved straight to your pussy made your thighs clench just from his words. Now you were grateful for those huge sweatpants because they definitely hid that subtle movement. For some reason you wished he wasn't just talking about the wine and that made you feel that unwelcome throb between your legs.
You knew he was Matt's dad and you shouldn't be having these thoughts about him, but you couldn't help it. And his green eyes lingering on yours didn't help that at all.
He opened the wine swiftly, uncorked it and poured the red liquid into two wine glasses. He sat them on the table next to the two plates and both of you sat down to eat.
You sat across from him as you ate in silence for a while, the oversized shirt slipping off your shoulder every time you lifted your hand to put the spoon in your mouth. He looked each time it happened and then averted his gaze way too quickly.
The chilli tasted great at least, so you didn't have to force yourself to eat it or to pretend anything else than you already had to.
"You weren't kidding," you admitted after a few spoonfuls. "This is really good."
He looked up from his own bowl, a smile on his face and you were glad you put it there. He looked so proud of it. "I told you it was worth it."
"You should open a restaurant," you half-joked, shoveling more chili onto your spoon.
"Yeah?" he laughed heartily at that. "And who'd eat there? I'd be bankrupt in a week."
You giggled as well, then looked straight in his eyes. "I'd come."
"That's because you're way too polite, sweetheart," he said then.
You were surprised that you actually found yourself smiling more than you'd expected, maybe more than you'd with Matt lately. Halfway through the dinner, second glass of wine in, your eyes wandered toward the hallway in the direction of the laundry room.
"My clothes..." you began. "How long do you think they'll need?"
Mr. Winchester looked over his shoulder. "Another half hour, maybe."
You nodded, slowly finishing your plate. "I'll get out of your hair once they're dry."
His brows pulled together and he took a sip of the wine. "My hair?"
"I mean..." you gave a little laugh. "Matt's not coming. I don't really want to overstay my welcome."
He leaned back in his chair, eyes on you. "You're not overstaying. It's pouring outside. I'm not letting you go back out to stand at the bust stop in this weather."
"I just don't want to impose more than I already have."
He shook his head, quickly reassuring you and you believed him. "You aren't. And you haven't. I don't mind having company here once in a while."
"Okay," you smiled at him.
When both of you were done with your plates and glasses, you gathered yours and stacked his empty one on top.
"Leave it," he instructed you.
"You cooked, gave me your clothes..." you started.
"And?"
"And the least I can do is help clean up," you offered.
He studied your face for a second before he gave in. "Alright. You wash, I dry."
And you did just that, finding your rhythm soon enough. It felt strange, kind of domestic, like you should be doing this with Matt and not his dad.
"So..." he said after a moment. "Haven't seen you here in a while. Does that mean Matt's keeping you busy elsewhere?"
"Ehm... no," you hesitated, then answered carefully while still focusing on washing the plate. You didn't exactly want to badmouth Matt to his own father. It didn't feel right. "It's more like... he's been busy."
He hummed in understanding, drying the pot you washed earlier. "Yeah, I get that," he glanced at you sideways. "But being busy is not an excuse to not hang out with his girlfriend more than once a week."
You swallowed, setting the clean plate for him to dry. "He's your son... I shouldn't... I don't want to say anything bad about him to you. It's not fair. We're just out of the honeymoon phase, I guess."
You turned the water off and he finished drying the last plate, then dried his hands slowly on the towel, leaning one hip against the counter, facing you now. "You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. I've known this boy my whole life, I know his faults better than anyone. And I'm sure I am to blame for some of them."
You bit your lower lip, staring down into the empty sink. "It's just... sometimes it feels like I'm the only one trying to make it work anymore. Like I'm convenient when he wants something, but the rest of the time..." you stopped yourself. You trusted him, but it still didn't really felt right. The wine in your system had other ideas though. "I shouldn't say that. He's your son. I love him. Or... I did. I do. I don't even know anymore."
He was quiet for a moment, then set the towel down on the counter and stepped closer to you. His hand came to rest on your upper arm and he looked down into your eyes. "You're a good woman. Too good to waste your time on someone who doesn't want to give you his time of day or put any effort into the relationship. And in saying that in the best way possible."
Fuck, his hand was on your arm... on that huge shirt of his you were wearing, while you had no underwear on. That's the only thing you could think about, your head tilting up a little to look up at him.
Your pulse hammered like crazy, even more after his next words. "You deserve someone better than that. Someone who appreciates what he's got."
Yeah, like you, you thought to yourself. You stopped breathing for a moment and took a good look at him. Those impossibly green eyes, the little lines of wrinkles around them, the beard you wanted to run your fingers through and those plump lips you wanted to kiss.
He was older, more experienced. You had no doubt in your mind that he was the type of man who would treat you like you deserve. Hell, he probably knew how you needed to be treated more than you did. But it was so wrong to think about him like that – this was your boyfriend's dad. You should stop those thoughts before you made the sweatpants he gave you wet with your arousal. His sweatpants.
And whe his fingers brushed a damp strand of hair off your cheek and tucked it behind your ear, you were so touch-starved that you leaned into it instead of pulling away. His hand stroked the skin on your cheek and jaw and you didn't even think about your next actions. You just went for it. Thank-fucking-God for the wine making you this brave.
You stepped up onto your toes and leaned in, slow enough to give him every chance to pull away. When he didn't, you pressed your lips to his, feeling them warm and moving against yours. Guilt was almost immediate, but so was want, and that was louder.
His lips tasted a little spicy from the chili as he kissed you back. You pulled away juat a tiny bit to see his eyes and heard him mutter against your mouth. "What are you doing, sweetheart?" his voice was soft and husky. "We shouldn't. You're my son's girl."
"I know," you breathed in a whisper, eyes already closing again and hand clutching at the front of his shirt. "We really shouldn't."
His lips descended to yours this time, deeper. The hand on your jaw was firmer and his other one tugged you to his chest by your waist. His tongue traced your lower lip, begging for entrance until you opened for him.
You pressed yourself closer, your hands going to his hair and behind his neck, needing him as close as you could have him. Your tongue was tangling with his, exploring his mouth and now you could taste the wine as well as the chili.
His taste made your head spin and you must have had the same effect on him because he groaned into your mouth. You moaned into his and felt his hand slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted. For an older man – a man who should have known better – he was kissing you like he was starving just as much as you have.
You were neglected for so long and his hands felt like they knew exactly what they were doing with you, unlike Matt's rushing or fumbling ones that didn't care at all.
He broke the kiss this time, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours. "We really can't. I'm old enough to be your–," he stopped himself. "You're dating Matt. This is wrong on every level."
"Yeah, so so bad...," Your fingers only curled tighter into his shirt, not letting go and neither was he. "But I don't want to stop. Do you?"
"Shit," he whispered and then he was kissing you again, walking you backwards until your lower back hit the edge of the kitchen counter.
The kiss was messy now, that beard you only dreamed of was now actually scraping against your skin in the most delicious way, better than you'd let yourself secretly imagine. His hand slipped under the hem of that oversized shirt easily, settling on your heated skin.
You ground your hips against him and the movement made the sweatpants shift, reminding you again that you were completely bare underneath. You could also feel his hard cock pressing against his jeans and you whimpered needily into his mouth.
His strong arms lifted you up onto the counter as if you weighted nothing and your legs immediately parted on instinct, making room for him. He stepped between them, grinding against you, his cock pressing right against your pussy. You rocked against him in return, feeling yourself get even wetter, no doubt ruining his sweatpants.
"You're killing me here, sweetheart," he hissed as he broke the kiss, only to trail his mouth down your neck. "My son's girlfriend wearing my clothes, up on the counter, grinding on my dick."
The dirty words only send a fresh wave of arousal through you and you tilted your head to give him a better access, hands digging into his strong shoulders. "I need it," you admitted, eyes and voice dazed. "Matt hasn't... it's been so long since anyone made me feel wanted."
He pulled back, eyes searching yours. Guilt, need and hunger warred on his face and on yours as well. "Me too, babygirl... me too."
His hand slid up your thigh, sliding under the sweatpants when it reached the hem. He squeezed your flesh, fingers brushing against the skin where your underwear should have been.
"Fuck, I forgot you had no underwear," he growled. "Jesus."
"They were soaked from the rain–" you reminded him, your cheeks turning pink.
He cut you off with another deep kiss, fingers tracing lower until they found your soaked folds, making your breathing get heavier. Two of them slid through your wetness, feeling you. "So fucking wet already. All this because of a few kisses from your boyfriend's old man?"
"Yes– Mr. Winchester," you moaned, hips grinding against his hand to chase the friction his hand could offer you.
He circled your clit, then pushed one finger inside you, curling it against that perfect spot inside of you thag made you moan louder for him. Then he added the second one, working you open with his fingers right there on the counter. His mouth was on your neck, careful not to suck any marks on you, murmuring filthy praises that had you clenching around his fingers already.
"Oh my god, yes–" you moaned.
"Dripping down my hand," he muttered. "Letting your boyfriend's dad finger your pussy on the counter."
Your hand shot to his wrist as you felt yourself near incredibly fast, your mouth hanging open. You came embarrassingly fast – because he knew what he was actually doing and because you were so neglected – pulsing around his fingers.
"So pretty," he pumped them in and out of you through it, kissing you softly until the tremors stopped. Then he lifted you off the counter and you squealed in surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you into the living room without another word.
The couch. He laid you on the exact freaking couch where Matt fucked you quickly and selfishly a few weeks ago while he was out. The memory quickly disappeared when his face appeared in your field of view, hovering above you, stripping the shirt off you.
His eyes raked over your naked skin, nipples already hard. "Beautiful," he breathed out. "You're so beautiful."
You were about to do the same, reaching for his belt, but he caught your hands, pinning them gently above your head with one of his large hands. "Slow down. I'm gonna take care of you first. It's been too long since someone did, hasn't it?"
You didn't even have to answer, he already knew. His mouth kissed down your neck, your chest, sucking one nipple while his hand cupped and played with the other. He continued lower, until his shoulders settled between your thighs, pulling those sweatpants down your legs without any problem.
He ate you out like he was hungry, like it's also been a while since he took care of someone. Your hands were in his hair, gripping it while he kept groaning into your pussy.
He kept you right on the edge, not letting you cum yet and you begged. "Mr. Winchester, please... make me cum."
With a smirk he pulled away, his thumb gently massaging your clit, but not like you wanted him to. "I want to feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart."
Once he came back up your body, his clothes came off one after the other, leaving him completely naked on top of you. He stroked himself a few times, watching you splayed under him with dark eyes and you almost moaned just at the sight of him. He was big, bigger than you've even imagined in secret and you only hoped he would fit.
You reached for him, positioning him at your entrance, but he pulled away, leaving you slightly confused. "Condom," he explained. "We should be–"
You grabbed his wrist, stopping him quickly from leaving. "I'm on birth control. We don't need it, I want to feel you."
His eyes were completely black at this point, almost no trace of green in them as he debated your words. "You let my son fuck this pussy raw?"
"Yeah, I–" you started to explain yourself, but he cut you off this time.
"Did you let him cum inside you?"
You shook your head firmly, breathing hard. "No. Never, Mr. Winchester, I swear."
There was a strange possessiveness in his eyes now as he pressed the thick tip against you, rubbing it up and down your wet lips, parting them. "Good girl."
He pushed into you then, stretching your walls even more open than his fingers did, little by little. You whimpered at the pleasant burn, feeling so full already and he wasn't even all the way in. He was bigger than Matt, thicker too and gave your tight body time to adjust.
You watched each other's faces the whole time and you bit your lip to try and stop the smirk from forming when you saw how hard he was fighting not to just slam all the way in.
"Such a tight and wet pussy," he groaned when he bottomed out inside you, his tip resting against your cervix. "I'm gonna fuck this neglected pussy right."
You moaned, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper, rolling your hips. "You're so big."
He started moving, thrusting in and out of you, hitting that sensitive spot inside of you every time. "Yeah? Feel that?" he growled, changing the angle of his hips to grind against your clit on every thrust. "Feel how deep I am?"
"Mhmmm..." you moaned in agreement, head tipped back. "So fucking deep... I can feel you in my belly."
He moved to sit on his heels, releasing your hands, spreading your legs wide for him, fucking you even deeper. One of his hands moved to your lower abdomen, pressing down on it. "Right here, babygirl?"
You couldn't even talk, just kept moaning, the sounds being fucked out of you one after the other. He thrusted harder, the sounds of your wet pussy filling the living room. "Talk to me. Tell me whose cock is fucking you so good right now."
"Yours, Mr. Winchester," you gasped, lying there uselessly as he fucked the living hell out of you. "My boyfriend's dad is fucking me so so good..."
"Look at you," he strained out, looking right at your scrunched face. "You like how filthy this is? Letting your boyfriend's dad fuck you better than he can? Such a dirty girl."
You were getting close again, so close. Your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles move under your palms as he pounded into you.
"Please," you begged, your heels digging into his lower back again, hips rolling against his desperately. You didn't want it to end yet, wanting it to last longer, but you couldn't hold it. He felt too good and knew exactly what he was doing. "I'm gonna cum... please don't stop."
"Cum on my cock, sweetheart. Let me feel it," His hand slid between your bodies, thumb pressing against your clit, massaging it so well you couldn't think. "That's it. Good girl. Cum for me."
His words, the way he was talking you through it, the sensation of his cock pounding your cervix and the added stimulation on your clit did it for you. You came hard so hard you could swear you saw stars, crying out, pussy pulsing around his cock. Dean fucked you through it, and even through the bliss, you noticed his pace growing erratic. You knew he was close too.
"You're gonna make me cum," he warned you in a strained voice. "Tell me where you want it."
"Inside," you answered immediately, still trembling from the intensity of your own orgasm. "Please, fill me up. I want to feel you cum inside me."
He moaned loudly, a surprised sound leaving his mouth, his eyes searching your face to see if you really meant it. "Fuck... you wouldn't let my son do this, but you're begging me to cum inside you? Naughty little girl."
He slammed himself in and out of you a few more times, then buried himself as deep as he could and came with a long groan. You could feel his cock twitching inside you, followed by the feeling of warm liquid filling you in multiple spurts.
He stayed buried inside you afterward, collapsing carefully over your body, forearms braced against the couch on either side of you so he didn't crush you with his weight. His breath was hot against your neck as he kissed the skin there softly, feeling the guilt slowly roll in once again when the high started subsiding.
He pulled out of you slowly, a trickle of his cum following right after. Oh God, Matt's dad just finished inside me. On the same couch he fucked me a few weeks ago, you thought still in disbelief, trying to hold onto the absolute bliss as long as possible. He watched it leak out of you with a possessive look in his eyes, then grabbed the throw blanket and gently cleaned you up without a word.
You both dressed back in silence, not knowing what to say. He handed you back the oversized shirt and sweatpants, and you pulled them on with shaky hands. He tugged his own clothes back on, running a hand through his messy hair, looking every bit the guilty man he was.
"Shit," he muttered as he sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees. "That... we really fucked up, kid."
"Don't call me kid, please. Not after we just did... that," you said, the nickname feeling way too weird now. "But yeah," you sat beside him, feeling your thighs still trembling from what he did to you. "I'm sorry... I've just been lonely... and you... you made me feel wanted. But he's your son. This is going to blow everything up if he ever finds out."
He rubbed his face, looking at the floor. "You have nothing to apologize for. I knew what I was doing. Been lonely as hell myself. It doesn't excuse it though. You're half my age, his fucking girlfriend... Christ." He looked at you, eyes still dark from the memory of what you'd done minutes earlier. "But the worst part is that I want it again."
Your mouth opened, wanting to tell him you didn't regret it and wanted it again as well. But you didn't get a chance to answer. Headlights shone in through the windows and you recognized the stupid squeak of Matt's breaks.
"Fuckfuckfuck," you whispered, standing quickly and smoothing the oversized shirt down your thighs. There was nothing wrong with it, but you guessed you needed it to steady your nerves. You counted your luck stars that he didn't arrive ten minutes earlier or else he'd catch you fucking his–
Mr. Winchester stood too, putting some distance between you just as the front door opened. Matt stepped inside, shaking rain off his jacket, looking tired. "Hey, looks like I made it after all. Sorry I'm late, work dragged and traffic was a nightmare because of the rain."
He noticed you still there and his eyes flicked over the clothes you were wearing with curiosity, eyebrows raised. "What the hell are you wearing? Are those dad's clothes?"
You froze, heat rushing to your face on instinct and guilt, worried he'd see right through you and how you let his dad rail you. Once you calmed down a little, you recognized that tone of voice not as suspicious, but as amused and curious.
His father luckily stepped in smoothly, answering before you even could think of a response. "She showed up soaked to the bone," he explained so casually like nothing happened between the two of you. You envied how casual he could be when you were a nervous wreck inside, all your thoughts scrambled. "Took the bus since you bailed. Her clothes were drenched, so I gave her something dry while hers are in the dryer. I didn't want her sitting around wet and catching a cold waiting on you."
"Yeah," you added, forcing your smile to look normal, hoping it didn't look as guilty as you felt. "It was pouring. Your dad was nice enough to let me stay for dinner too."
Matt nodded, glancing from you to his dad. "Thanks for looking out for her, dad." He walked over to you, leaned in and kissed your cheek out of habit. You didn't miss the red, barely visible mark on the side of his neck, almost hidden beneath the collar. "Sorry again, babe. Work was a mess."
You only nodded, murmuring something like it's okay with that fake smile, while Dean watched the exchange with a carefully neutral expression. His eyes locked with yours for a split second over Matt's shoulder, reminding you of everything that had just happened in this house while Matt was gone. If he was jealous he was hiding it well because you truly couldn't tell.
"No problem," Mr. Winchester said, clapping his son on the shoulder a little too firmly. "Chili's still warm if you want some. We already ate."
The three of you moved toward the kitchen like this was just any other day when it wasn't. Not at all. Matt started talking about some problem at the shop, grabbing a bowl for the chilli.
You nodded along, not even listening to his ramblings. You saw red when you thought about how loyal you'd stayed to the man even when he wasn't giving you any reasons to – until today of course. All the excuses, canceled plans and endless promises he never actually fulfilled.
You remember how guilty you felt for what you did today, when the bastard was cheating on you for god knows how long.
Dean was acting completely normal, leaning against the counter, arms crossed across his chest, engaging in conversation with his son like nothing had changed. Like he hadn't just fucked his girlfriend on the living room couch.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe pretending was the only way any of you were getting through the evening when each of you were keeping those kinds of secrets.
Your eyes were focused on the pattern of the counter, lost in thought, but when you looked up, Mr. Winchester was already looking at you like he was imagining you naked again.
