Dean Winchester Haircut Novels & Stories

I’ve never had a need to put one on a man and watch him a little too intensely—A practised skill. He already has shoes on and when he walks back into his room to get his jacket I hear a blast of a drier as he quickly sorts his hair out. In the couple minutes of quiet, I can almost visualise him with his hair gel, taming hints of waves into scruffy neatness. I love Alexi’s most recent haircut. All short back and sides now and a little unruly on top, which leaves enough hair to run your fingernails through and grip onto in the throes of passion. Not that I will be, it’s just a preferred thing.

he says softly. "Hey" I smile. "You look really nice today, green really suits you," Winston says sheepishly. I look down at my emerald green turtle neck top, "Thank you" I smile. "Did you get a haircut recently?" I ask observing his hair from the edges. "Yeah, they were growing a bit too long for my liking so got them trimmed from the edges" Winston shrugs. "It looks nice" I pause, "Have you ever thought of getting a buzz cut? I think you would look really badass with it" I grin tilting my head.

Jordan's POV I quickly changed from suit to a black shirt and jacket. I messed up my hair while looking at the rear view mirror. Zach is beside me, watching me as I tie my hair in a man bun. "Do you think I need a haircut?" I asked Zach while looking at my reflection. He quickly nodded. "Yes, sir. I think you'll look more presentable if you get a haircut." I paused and stared at him. Really? "I shouldn't get a haircut, then."

Damien. Ingrid nodded and then she left me alone with a courteous smile. Looking at myself in the mirror on the wall, I ran my fingers through my dark brown hair. During the first day of the military training, one of my superiors advised me to cut my hair short so I had cut it in a short pixie hairstyle. My hair had grown since then and it was now tailored in a messy chin-length bob hairstyle.

He chuckles, pointing at his mate who is working behind the bar. Dean is a typical pretty boy. Blonde hair, blue eyes and a body that is not too muscular, making the ladies come to his clubs for more than just to have a good time. But he's locked solid with his mate, Jazz, who is probably the exact opposite of him. Whereas he is clean-cut, All-American, Jazz has tattoos and piercings and she seriously doesn't take shit from anybody. Harry has been dying to know what things are like in the bedroom for him, but Dean keeps his mouth shut when it comes to his mate.

Declan remarked and placed the hair clippers into her hands. “That’s not necessary.” Sienna objected and tried to give him back the clippers. “Please,” He begged and stared into her big brown eyes. Sienna nodded and got up to plug the clippers into the output source next to her bed. She switched them on, and the buzzing filled the room. Sienna exhaled and started cutting away his hair. The curly blonde strands fell to the floor as she shaved all of his hair off and left him with a buzz cut. “Your beautiful hair.” Sienna frowned and touched his head. The process was quite therapeutic and made both her and Declan feel better. He refused to help her clean up his hair and wanted to do it himself

He looked up at Serenius when he heard the man's voice going off. "How often do you usually have your hair done?" "Weekly," Declan replied automatically, grasping at the distraction from his thoughts. "It's been a bit longer than that since you got here, hasn't it?" With a dramatic sigh, Declan nodded. "Don't even say that. I've been dying from flat hair. I hate how limp it is. Like a drowned Ramen noodle."

To put simply, the Dean is perfect. His short dark brown hair practically screams for me to run my fingers through it. Even his small mole on the side of his neck is also begging me to touch it, but not just touched it. No. It is begging for me to lick it and maybe even nibble it a little bit.

I had tried to fix my hair with a little water from the bathroom sink and had tucked the dirtiest parts of my shirt under my sweater. I wanted to at the very least look like someone worth claiming. Then, the Dean walked in, and the room went dead silent. He wasn't alone. Trailing behind him was the man from the roof. Up close, without the haze of a concussion or the dark of the night, he was almost painful to look at. He was tall, built like a predator, and carried himself with the kind of effortless power that made everyone else in the room look like a background character.

He had heard about me through some mutual friends and wanted to meet. Our friend set up the meeting and that’s when I saw Dean for the first time. I was gobsmacked. He’s so tall, muscular; I mean, you can see the definition of his muscles through his tight white t-shirt. I swear the cotton was going to rip in two if he so much as flexed. His hair is a beautiful chocolate brown, layered to rest on his shoulders and those smoldering dark brown almost black eyes. I swear a bit of drool just slipped from my mouth when I saw him strolling towards me.