Short Spiky Black Hair Novels & Stories

He was a towering figure, standing at 6'4" with broad shoulders and a muscular build. He had chiseled features, with a strong jawline and piercing grey eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. His hair was a rich, golden blond, styled in messy spikes that gave him a carefree and devil-may-care appearance. Despite his tough exterior, he wore a permanent smirk on his face, giving off an aura of confidence and playfulness. A mischievous glint never left his eyes, as if he was always up to something fun and exciting, even though he did not fully understand what was going on in that moment.

When one eye was open, the other followed shortly, fully open as she sees herself with her new hair. Her hair is not too short but considering this is Anya Moore, aka the long-haired blondie popstar, this is the shortest and the darkest her hair has been. The other side of her head is shaved while the other is only up to her cheeks. Her hair is completely straight and black, with orange on the tips. “So?” Georgia asked. Anya stood up, still in shock. She turns to look at Georgia. “So?” She looks at me. “How do I look?!”

It’s quite thin on top, but the bottom makes up for it. He looks like a sleeping cherub, now that she thinks about it. Except his hair isn’t curly in the least. It’s straight and smooth, quite floppy if she may add. The image is making her mentally laugh. She’s picturing a weirdly coherent headbang with that kind of hair. She lets out a soft snort.

“And she has been for years… Surely I can survive a month… I have to…” Determined now to get off on the right foot, Sparkle plastered a smile on her face, climbed up to the wide front porch, and knocked on the double doors. She was still smiling a moment later when the door was thrown open and she looked up into a pair of suspicious brown eyes. An instant snap of attraction slapped at Sparkle, surprising her with its force. His black hair was long, hitting past the collar of his dark red shirt, and the thick mass lifted slightly as another cold wind trickled past.

Their light skin contrasts with their black hair and at the same time makes them look like fucking Snow White. "I'll buy the round!" Tip yelled after me, I looked over my shoulder at him. "You're going to like the show." The girl with pink locks opened a wide smile that seems to convince the other, and jumped up, arriving at the tip held out two microphones. I rolled my eyes at the brother and watched the girl who went up on stage watching the work in full, her short black hair with blue streaks highlighted against a long-sleeved black sweater, the collar covering her thin neck while exalting her breasts big and defined waist.

My brain happened to process a lot within a short period. My eyes scanned his huge arm. I'm certain that it's 5 times my arm. Very close to his neck was his broad shoulder. Its firmness was admiring and it suited him. I was losing it as his beauty made me droll. My breathing changed, it was rapid and as a result, I tightened my grip on the tray table. How could I forget that hair? His jet-black hair came out differently for the first time. It was messy and damp and not organized like it often was. It was like a teenage basketball player's hair. Now, I do wonder why he doesn't wear it this way. It should be his regular look.

And tonight, she was the grand prize. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back in wild waves, framing a face with striking silver-gray eyes and full lips that trembled slightly. The outfit they’d forced her into left nothing to the imagination: tiny black sport shorts that barely covered the generous curve of her ass, riding up with every shift of her hips, and a cropped tank top stretched tight across her heavy, DD breasts. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, her nipples faintly visible in the cool air.

You'd think being ten minutes late was some kind of world-ending crisis. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" I yelled back, rolling my eyes as I put the finishing touches on my pixie cut with a single purple streak in the front. Short black hair wasn't just a style; it was a statement, and you couldn't just walk out looking like a mess.

They give me the freedom I need to move around, and I never get my dick pinched in a zipper when I fuck a woman. I never get fully undressed; it's too intimate. I want them to know that I'm there for one thing and one thing only. Tonight, I put on a black pair after my shower. My dark hair is still wet as I slick it back. It's a little on the longer side, so some of it drops down over my forehead.

Always the charmer, that one. “I’ve got a paper to do tonight, I won’t be at practice. Want to order some pizzas or something for dinner?” Ron asked as he sat back in his chair and looked at me. I looked back at my mirror image, different only in hairstyle. Archie’s black hair was a mop of long hair on top, boyish and flirty like some of the soccer athletes from Europe wore theirs. Ron’s was cut in a sensible style, short back and sides, a little longer on top. Mine was a little long all over, mostly because I didn’t care about bi-weekly haircuts and styling gel. I just wanted it to grow long enough that I could tie it back and be done with it.