I had another ideaaaaaaa (I have issues, moving on)
Sam would LOVE to braid your hair. Whether it's long or short, thick or thin, curly or straight. He'd love braiding it if he could, otherwise just playing with it. Whenever you're cuddled up on the couch, his hand always finds your hair. And if it's the other way around? If you love playing with his hair? He melts. He'd let you braid his hair as much as you like, playing around with it, as long as you give him little scratches along his scalp, he's in Heaven.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ SOFT BROWN LOCS. 𖦹
⭑ SUMMARY : you and Sam love to play with each others hair.
⭑ LISTENING TO : 500 miles by Peter, Paul and Mary. ♬⋆.˚
⭑ TAGS : pure tooth rotting, sweet fluff. established relationship. 650 wc.
──── ⋆⋅★⋅⋆ ────
Sam has picked up a lot of weird habits by being a hunter. He spends hours researching every week – rituals, spirits, ghosts, traditions, gods, you name it he probably knows it. So, you never really questioned how he knew how to braid hair without having a sister or mother.
After a long hunt, when there is blood and dirt caked under your nails you can’t scrub free, worse, pain you can’t scrub free – Sam’s muscular back is behind you, gently touching your shoulders.
Without a word, he moves your hair to your back, rambling softly to you about something cool he saw on a website the other day. His thick fingers work skillfully, parting your hair manually with his nails – and easily slides into the rhythm of braiding.
You feel light sparks down your spine, when he reveals the back of your neck to the colder hair – peaceful warmth spreading through you. “Hey Sam?” you hum softly, head peaking up just a tad. “Yeah?” he replies in the same softer tone, you smile silently to yourself.
“Who taught you how to braid? You’re good, y’know.” a beat, as if he’s thinking to himself. “On a case we went to, there was an old ritual tied to hair. Specifically braids. I spent hours researching it, and I don’t know, I just got better after that.” He admits mindlessly, his fingers brushing the collar of your shirt.
── .✦
Happily for you, Sam's fascination and interest with your hair didn’t end at just braiding. He has other weird habits too. How his hands always easily find your strands of hair when you’re close, it doesn’t even really register to him anymore.
You’ll be curled on the couch, close. And his fingers are running through your strands. Whispering something about the documentary you’re watching, but your mind is elsewhere.
You watch him out of the corner of your eye, memorizing the slope of his nose and lips. How relaxed and at ease he seems, how he always reaches for you even without thinking.
And how could you ever complain? He holds you and touches you with such softness and care, you melt under it instantly. His touch never feels suffocating like it does with others. It’s like a fervor that slowly wraps over you, stills everything else. Makes your brain quiet.
── .✦
But it goes opposite ways, too. You enjoy playing with his hair just as much as he does with yours, when you are cuddled up close, the first thing you do is tousle his soft brown hair. It always smells faintly of cedar, vanilla and something uniquely him.
You always notice how he goes quiet when you run your hands through his hair, like his brain is quieting and he can’t produce any other words. You scratch at his scalp and he leans up into it like a kitten seeking warmth.
He likes to rest his head in your lap when you are on the couch too, mostly because he knows you’ll eventually reach for his head without thinking about it. Lightly tugging at his hair, tracing patterns into it, scratching.
He’s earned the role of your personal fidget toy and he never complains, preens under every ounce of affection you give him. Looks at you like you hung the stars.
When he lets his hair get longer, and it’s always brushing against his shoulders, he laughs lightly as you braid it. The braid is wonky because his hair grew out unevenly at the sides, but he always lets you. Watching with fascination as the braid slowly forms, telling you stories about that ritual again.
Tells you fun facts about hair when it's 3am and you are braiding his hair, just to take it out and do it again. You smile down at him to where he’s in your lap, when his breathing evens out and he falls asleep with your nails on his scalp,
btw if you’re wondering sam for sure cockwarms dean in the impala. dean is his owner and trainer and he’s an oversized puppy. deans cock is his chew toy (no chewing involved) and he will just lay there until “up puppy”
having so much fun playing and getting all riled up and then the next thing they know they’re taking turns fucking each other into oblivion.
it’s all a little frantic and sloppy and there might be some biting and a few little scratches to tend to later but it’s too good to slow down
soooo much praise being thrown back and forth I just know it
Ahhh~
Tongues swirling around eachothers, all sloppy and messy, fighting for dominance until you fall into a sweet, mutual tango - Cause you can take turns, right?
Eagerly fucking yourself in his lap, Puppy cock lodged in your cunt as you ride on him, fluffy fox tail swishing a flick behind your back - plap, plap, plap goes your hips against his, the thick of his swelling knot threatening to push past the taught rim of your hole. Ah! When it finally pops in, it makes your body fall against him, tits to his chest, lips and tongue already on his mouth as you pitifully hump against eachother.
You can't help but bite against his lips, catching his tongue as he tries to soothe the sting, feverish kisses and nibbles running down his neck.
Or how about when he finally flips you over, cock still bruisingly hard and weepy, threading through the cum slicked folds of your pussy. He can't help but mount you, brain screaming at him with the intention to breed- Hands roughly pinning your legs up by under the knee, greedily chasing his own release, biting lingering bruises and teeth marks into your skin.
Ohhh when he cums again, locking you together with barely enough movement to grind he ducks down, capturing your pretty tits in his mouth, nursing and suckling like a starved pup, moaning into your skin as you leg lock him in, petting at his floppy ears.
There's just so much stamina sparking between you- round after round, helpless and loving praises and confessions thrown about- needy "Love you! Love you love you love you!" Whined out past kiss bitten lips, endless whimpers and moans stringing together in a song. So hazed and dazed, only sex on the mind as he fills you up once again.
Nawhh the aftermath.. Sweat-tacky skin on skin, soothing licks of the tongue over mean bites and scratches, hands roaming to knead and massage over joints and muscles. Biiiig stretch and a yawn coming from the pair of you, easily snuggling up practically on top of eachother, all sticky n' spent.
Sam making Dean play with him pretending Sam's a puppy as a kid and then over the years they slowly start becoming Freaks about it
I have this image of Dean licking Sam's tongue (because that must be how dogs show affection it only makes sense) and it tastes funny and makes them both feel weird and they both know better than to let Dad ever know it happened
later nothing will get either of them going quite the way that Sam licking and sucking at the seam of Dean's shirt under his arm and the crotch of his jeans and the sole of his boots will
