Dean Winchester Haircut Novels & Stories

Thinking about ordering dumplings I’m too lazy to pick up. The FaceTime request came in before I could even finish rereading what I sent. “Shit,” I muttered, scrambling to sit up. I reached for the pink gloss I’d left on my nightstand and swiped it on in a rush, then smoothed my hair with one hand and hit accept with the other. The screen blinked and then there he was. Dean, lounging on what looked like his bed, in a white T shirt and gray shorts. The Calvin Klein waistband peeked out just enough to be annoying, and his hair was messy in that intentional way that wasn’t fair. He looked comfortable. Clean. A little too good.

This was not something I had ever-experienced before. Dean smiled down at me. His eyes held so much sincerity that I could have melted right into him. He brought his hand to the back of my head, gently tugging out the hair-tie that was holding my hair up. My hair fell, the natural waves dropping past my shoulders. It was-new, different. He bit his bottom lip as he grinned, cocking his head to the side. "Live a little, Elle. Ready?" "Wait." I brought my hand up to his disheveled hair and ran my fingers through, pushing his hair out his face a little. I nodded. "Now we are."

"You ok, Kar? Damn, I knew you had too many shots." "Yeah, and you just shook them decently up. I like vodka sour, but not this way." I manage to make fun of it before puking again. Dean holds my hair back, although I try to send him away a dozen times. I nearly fall asleep with my head resting next to the toilet, ewww. Once things finally seem to settle, Dean helps me up to the sink and brush my teeth once more. Dean uses the spare toothbrush himself and smiles at me. "Another thing I miss every single day," he sighs.

Gunnar added, leaning closer, his voice low. The barber swallowed hard, his initial bravado now replaced by a sheepish demeanor. “Yes, of course. I’ll stick to the haircut.” Gunnar leaned back, his mood slightly soured but still amused by the situation. The barber, clearly embarrassed and eager to make amends, quickly focused on his task, working diligently to perfect the Classic Quiff cut. Rene, still sipping his whiskey, finally looked up, noticing the tension. He raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Everything alright?”

Schematics for a competitor's showcase, and a meal ticket into more successful ventures. Sitting before his desk, is a pixie of a man, with skin like mocha and eyes as brown as honey. Deacon Lancaster dons his low-cut curly hair that contrasts the fairness of his brown skin. The epitome of debonair, in his navy-blue jacket over white linen, popover shirt, two buttons loose. A style so casual yet appeals to a more formal approach on menswear. Deacon's petite height and taut muscles fill out the shirt, with incredible symmetry. Highlighting his physical appearance, which pulls attention anywhere he goes. Lucian Slater:

30; supposedly when the fun starts. I head out of the bathroom, which I've turned into my make up studio; my clothes and make up strewn all over the place, and through to the living room to find Dean and Holden looking ravishing, sat on the sofa watching tv. Dean is dressed in a tight light blue dress shirt, the collar open showing a few curls of his dark chest hair, and a pair of ass hugging black jeans.. He looks good enough to eat.. 'Mind out the gutter Lizzie!' I scold myself.

When he got home as well, he was too exhausted to cook anything. Tony came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, his hair perfectly brushed back and to the side in his usual biker style. Dillon loved it. He did his similarly but different, since his hair was shorter. Usually Dillon would brush it back a bit and spike the front. Alternatively, he'd just leave it to lay flat and natural, and just spike the very front a bit. Either way, Dillon didn't put nearly the amount of thought or energy into his hair that Tony did. It was cute.

“No, I’m not sick. I just like it this way.” He wrinkled his nose. “But you’re a girl.” “So,” I said, perhaps a little too defensively because he shied away from me and into Dean. “Even girls can have short, short hair,” Dean told him. “Just like Uncle Andy is a boy and has long hair and ponytails.”

Alex Waking up later than usual, I scratch my long beard and look in the mirror. I’m not so bad, I say to myself. At 6’4”, I’m taller than most men and thanks to my hockey background I have a solid foundation of thick muscles. Those boys had no business calling me ‘Quarter Pounder’ last night, I work out nearly every day. My hair is starting to turn silver, but the salt and pepper isn't bothering me. I could use a haircut though. Going into the playoffs, the team agreed this year to refrain from cutting their hair or beards in a superstitious ritual. This was the first year I played along, letting my locks go wild. Considering our victory, I guess I’ll be growing it out next year, as

he drawled in a wavering voice before turning to me "I can also see that the temporary solution worked, you're looking like yourself again. Love the new haircut, man" My jaw ticked and I stormed up to him "Cut the crap, Dean and tell us what the hell happened here! Where is everyone and why does the pack house look the way it does?!" Dean's weak smile fell and he exhaled a rather strained breath. My eyes widened as I stepped back to look him over properly. He looked like he had been through hell and back. His hair was matted like he hadn't ran a brush through it in a long time, there were huge, purple bags under his eyes and his skin was very pale. His clothes were also ruffled and creased