#jens

the backseat of the impala became your most cherished spot, it's the one dean will rush you in when he desperately needs to feel your burning skin pressed under his aching muscles, allowing you to find shelter away from his brother's nosiness.

you love it when he pushes you against the cold leathered bench in the backseat, giving him full view of your flushed face, adorned by the soft streaks of moonlight. it feels much more intimate than any motel rooms, with none of your soft moans piercing through the walls for sam and a bunch of strangers to hear.

the almost routine-like feeling of it all makes it exiting, and you anticipate the moment he'll drag you to his car in the middle of the night with a cocky smirk on his face. it always end up with dean casting shadows over your body, kissing you sloppily until spit slides down your chins.

it's deliciously obscene, the sounds you both make, so visibly turned on but too caught up in the act to do anything about it. until dean's hand trails down from its familiar spot on your throat to your waistband, before tugging on the stretchy material of your underwear, a smile twisting his reddened lips upwards when it hits your sensitive skin with a smack.

dean never refrains himself from teasing, especially when he's buried deep inside you, because he knows damn well you'll get your revenge as soon as possible, and he secretly enjoys it.

it's almost like your pussy has been carved for him, fitting perfectly against his palm. your walls are shaped to the size of his fingers, working inside you so beautifully each time to the point where nobody else can make you cum like he does. and when you're alone, desperately trying to reach this high, you find yourself blushing and panting, wishing dean could just appear right at the foot of your bed to help you finish.

dean genuinely likes it, knowing that you can't even satisfy yourself fully anymore. it's a type of pride you've never seen before, the way he always wants to be the one to offer you a release. even if he's not seeking sex, which is rare, he'll never turn you down when he notices how flustered and needy you are.

he likes to say that he's giving you a hand, as if it were a simple act of service. that's not exactly the term you'd use when he's got you squirming and whimpering, his fingers endlessly pumping in and out of you as he strokes your hair like you're some sort of fragile porcelain doll.

"you're doing so good, baby" his raspy voice always sends you over the edge, as it is often accompanied by innumerable sweet praises that he whispers against you mouth when you're too weak and struggling to kiss him back.

dean also loves to make you ride his fingers, seeing you propped up on his lap while you bounce on him, the cold metal of his ring making you shiver; it all paints a perfect picture he wishes for no one else to see.

this is what he loves most about you; knowing that you're entirely his, as much as he is yours.