How to Not Fall in Love with a Winchester
You should definitely avoid ever looking at either of them. Do not notice the strong line of Dean’s jaw or the sharpness of Sam’s cheek bones. Don’t look into Sam’s eyes when they are filled with emotion. Don’t notice that Dean’s eyes are sometimes the exact color of a midwestern sky just before a summer tornado. Don’t admire the way Sam’s shoulders hunch over dusty books while he researches for a case. And you should not let yourself enjoy watching Dean’s lips wrap around the neck of a beer bottle when he takes a drink. Don’t ever focus on the way Sam’s forehead wrinkles when he raises his eyebrows or how his adam’s apple dips when he clenches his jaw. Don’t think about Dean’s freckles or his stupid adorable smirk. Don’t watch Dean walk. Trust me, just don’t. Avoid looking at Sam when he’s sprawled over a chair.
Don’t go to a bar with them. Or a diner. Don’t let them buy you a cup of coffee because then you’ll probably notice how Sam’s hands make that coffee mug look like a child’s toy. Don’t look at Dean when he smiles with his tongue just visible behind his perfect teeth and his eyes crinkling at the corners. Don’t imagine what he looks like when he bites his bottom lip. Don’t go for a ride in their car because then you’ll just be asking for it. Don’t watch Dean while he drives, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time with the classic rock spilling from the speakers. Don’t look at Sam’s long legs folded into the passenger seat, his head practically hitting the ceiling. And under all circumstances, avoid seeing Sam smile; those dimples will definitely do you in.
Especially don’t imagine what they look like under all that flannel and denim. Don’t even think about what it would be like to run a hand through Sam’s hair or the way his hands would feel on your skin. Don’t imagine what it would be like to feel his lips on yours, to feel his hand wrapped around the back of your skull or cupping your ass, pressing you against him. Do not imagine Dean lifting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, his fingers digging into your hips possessively. You also shouldn’t imagine what it would be like if Dean took you up against a wall or what it would be like to have Sam’s head between your legs. Don’t ever let them wink at you (you might implode).
But most of all, don’t listen to their stories—about how they kill monsters and demons. About how they save innocent lives everyday. About how they saved the world once. About how they always save each other. Don’t ever imagine them saving you from a supernatural being. Avoid realizing the expanse of the guilt they carry for every person they could not save, for all their loved ones that have died, for letting each other down. Don’t let them show you the depth of love they have for each other, how either would do anything for the other, how all either wants to do is sacrifice his own life so his brother can live. Don’t talk to them about growing up together in cheap hotel rooms and a chevy impala, when all they had was each other. Don’t let them tell you stories about their prank wars or their teenage dares. Don’t let Dean tell you about how he will always always look out for Sammy. Don’t let Sam tell you that Dean is his hero.
Just don’t do any of that, okay? If you don’t do any of that, I promise you’ll be fine.
titsay
2087
turnnoffyourmind
theartofmadeline
