Harry Styles Aesthetic Novels & Stories

But I also didn't want to look like I hadn't tried at all. I wanted to leave an impression. My hair was still damp from the bath. I couldn't leave it down, it would be too casual. But I also didn't want it to look serious. I brought out my blow drier and blow-dried it until it fell in soft waves, then gathered the top section and twisted it into a loose, elegant knot at the back of my head. I left the rest dropping down my shoulders in gentle waves, framing my face. A few tendrils escaped, softening the look. It was polished but not serious. Classic but not boring. The kind of style that would make people stop and stare.

He didn't pick the clothes; he just stood back and watched as I picked silk blazers and heels that felt like weapons. Then we went to a salon. The stylist looked at my blunt, dead hair and sighed. “We can’t make it long overnight,” she said. “Don't make it long,” Alexander said from the chair behind me. “Make it sharp. Make it look like it belongs to a woman who doesn't take orders.” When I looked in the mirror, I didn't see the ghost anymore. My hair was a sleek, angled bob that hit my jaw like a blade. My eyes looked darker, colder.

The tie is meticulously knotted, creating a clean and polished look. Kay's perfectly styled hair reflects the current trend of a well-groomed appearance. It was styled in a sleek and modern manner, with a carefully crafted side part or a slightly tousled look, adding a hint of effortless charm. His fingers run through his hair nervously, reflecting his anticipation and adding a touch of vulnerability to his overall demeanor.

Kind of like a hazel, but they had more color to them. His dark-chocolate brown hair was parted and arched at the top, like one of those f-boy hairstyles. He wasn't an f-boy, though. He just liked the style. But a lot of girls thought he was cute and had total crushes on him. I was surprised he was still single. He was funny, nice, smart, and good-looking.

“Under those corporate parameters, are there specific stylistic vectors your tongue wants my hand to steer his choices toward?” I seized the tactical opening instantly. “Yes. Absolute confirmation. Nothing that translates to a low-tier mate trap. Zero threads that imply a brainless bimbo aesthetic. My image requires an architecture that registers as highly intelligent, yet entirely sharp. Dominant. Historic. Symmetrical cleavage represents a viable asset, but nothing that evokes the visual data of a primitive breeding den pin-up.” “The metrics are logged. My hands will manipulate what we can behind the veil.”

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his pettiness. "Scaredy cat!" I teased, pouting my lips; watching his face tense, he was clearly trying to work through some inner thoughts. Letting my eyes scan over his body, I sucked in air softly; he was incredibly handsome! Model handsome! His hair seemed to change colour from dark blonde to light brown. However, the gold shimmers that caught the light never dulled. How he styled it reminded me of a TV series I had seen: Peaky Blinders — with the sides cropped short, he looked both fierce and sexy.

His answer was there. “I adopted a straight style of hair after noticing it made me look slightly older and more intimidating. The wavy hair is natural. When I took over Harper Publishing, I was desperate to rejuvenate it so this hairstyle was born and I’ve continued with it.” “I like your natural hair better.” The words were out before Zach could take them back. He waited nervously for Darien’s reaction. The billionaire simply smiled widely at him. “Thank you. My parents always said it was too unruly so that does mean a lot.”

I can’t say it was a sentiment I’d ever really bought into. We pulled up outside the house and Soren was waiting ready to jump into the back seat. “Hey, pretty lady.” He ruffled my hair over the headrest. “Gonna get you all dolled up. Good job I’m coming as lead stylist.” “Keep telling yourself that, Soren,” Max said. “We want corporate, not trendy.” “Trendy corporate,” Soren said. “We don’t want her looking like some power bitch from the 90s. Urgh. No.”

I muttered. “That’s not an issue. I’m here. We’ll go shopping today.” “No, Harry. You’re busy. I can just pick something.” “No. That’s not acceptable. They’re meeting the Trinity Real Estate CEO for the first time. You have to stand out. Let’s inform the housekeeper—she can look after the kids while we’re out.” “Fine,” I said, hiding a laugh. “So, you’re my stylist for today?” A few hours later, we were walking through rows of boutiques. Some were familiar, others not. Harry’s hands sifted through racks, placing dresses in front of me, his fingers brushing the silky fabrics.

Harry had made him wear a black crop top that exposed his flat tummy and high waisted black jeans that accentuated the curve of his waist and hips. His face was bare save for the pink lip gloss and the thin eyeliner which Harry insisted will make his pretty features pop out. While he looked good, this didn't feel like him at all. The omega preferred his comfortable hoodies and sweats. Standing amidst the people in this club, he felt exposed. Harry nudged his shoulder. "You should loosen up and dance!" Simon frowned at him. "But we're here for—" "I know," Harry said, touching his shoulder. "Dance and you'll find whatever you're looking for."