Dark Hair Chunky Blonde Highlights Novels & Stories

Spreading out the individual strands, he moved them around. "Are you trying to take up hair weaving?" I asked. He laughed. "No. But you're right. There is something different about it. It's almost like your hair is absorbing light instead of reflecting it." He looked up, caught my gaze. "Does that make sense?" I nodded. "Yeah. But instead of the ash undertones, they're closer to blue." I twisted around, changed how the light hit my hair while looking in the mirror. "I don't know. That sounds crazy."

I had more than a few bruises and scratches from the crash, and since my wolf was so exhausted, I hadn’t been able to heal yet. Once I was submerged, Ember turned and kneeled beside the tub, helping me scrub the dye out of my hair. I watched miserably as the water began to turn brown. “It took a lot of time to get my hair so blonde, you know,” I said, pinching the chocolate strands between my fingers. “So much money… So many trips to the hair salon…” Ember scoffed. “It did not look as good as you think.” My cheeks flushed. “Gee. Thanks.” Everyone back home seemed to prefer the blonde. Especially the men.

Next, I yanked my hairbrush from the nightstand and went to work. Blonde hair dye — not salon quality, but good enough to throw off anyone looking for a girl with black hair. I worked the chemicals in with quick, practiced hands, watching in the mirror as my black strands turned into an uneven gold. By the time I rinsed and towel-dried it, I looked like a completely different person… if that person had no time to care about perfect highlights. I waited. Listened. When their voices faded, I moved.

Hunter chuckled, but thankfully, he didn’t elaborate. Almost two hours later, my hair was finally ready to be rinsed, and the moment I caught sight of it in the mirror, a grin pulled at my lips. The shade of pink was exactly what I wanted—a bright, candy-colored hue that looked like it was ripped straight out of a punk rock fever dream. I ran my fingers through the strands, marveling at the shit this was going to stir. Thick, sticky—and hopefully smelly as fuck. Hunter, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a satisfied look on his face. And to my absolute delight, his crimson streak now had a matching pink one right beside it.

Monalisa POV. I fluffed my hair with my fingers, the curls bouncing over my shoulders as I stepped out of my cab. Today was Saturday and I was returning from the salon after getting a makeover. My stylist, Fiona, was an expert at what she did. She owned a big beauty shop with various sections for women's complete makeover. She'd turned my straight black hair into wavy, long curls, adding some purple and red highlights at the end to make it look like a dark, blooming flame.

To an outside observer it looks like I'm caressing my dead lover. In reality, I'm searching for clues. Brushing back his hair from his face, I noticed something I probably wasn't meant to see. The first half inch of his hair is darker and straighter than the rest with a few strands of gray that end suddenly. This man, whoever he had been, has dyed, permed hair. Hunter has never chemically treated his hair. He doesn't need to.

When he finished drying Azxel’s hair, Sky tilted his head, admiring the new burnt blonde shade and the few scattered streaks of pink. Azxel looked different. Crazy. Sick and beautiful. “Pretty,” Sky whispered with a smile, and Azxel nodded accepting the fact, he was pretty. Sky couldn't stop staring at Azxel. “Now… match me.” He sat down and tapped his thigh for Azxel to step closer and Azxel obliged. Azxel looked like a happy demon. He carefully separated the front left portion of Sky’s dark hair, exactly where Sky wanted the contrast. He applied the burnt blonde gently at first, but Sky’s hand suddenly came up and held Azxel’s jaw, thumb stroking it.

Maybe make a joke about how it belonged to me. But that would make her laugh some other time. As I steadily got to work on her hair, I felt her whole body’s tension slipping. To help restore her back to her undeniable beauty was a fucking privilege. With her eyes closed I could stare at her unashamedly, gently working the tangles and admiring the hundreds of different shades of red that make up her hair. Threads of golden blonde to the darkest, shimmering burnt copper. Utterly unique, just like her. When it was finally untangled and flowing my damaged arm was in pure agony. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop the moment.

I found the way he moved with a confident, yet not overly so, posture alluring. He was close enough that I could vaguely smell the traces of sweat from hard work and something about that sent my hormones into overdrive and I felt my body tingle ever so slightly. I drifted my gaze away from his concentrated expression to his hair since I felt that it would be the safer option. His hair was neither long nor short but somewhere in between and it was completely dishevelled and slightly windswept which was probably the result of running away from the rest of our year. While both our hair was red, mine was more of a flaming coppery red colour. My hair was vibrant and somewhat similar to the sun wi

It wasn't that bad and she was totally overreacting. "We must cut it short and probably color it, if you want. We'll wash it first and then shampoo and condition it. I'll make them soft and beautiful, don't you worry," She said, a wide grin stretched across her face. Olivia was sat right across the room. A few more workers from some saloon worked on her hair as they added blonde highlights to her brown hair. An hour later, my hair was done in a layered cut. I refused to color my hair so they just simply washed and blow dried my hair. Olivia was looking different, in a good way and she liked her new look too.