One Direction Preferences from Tumblr

#56: He Dyes Your Hair

#56: He Dyes Your Hair - faithfully-1d-imagines

Louis: You had been dying your hair black for a few years now, but Louis had finally convinced you to go back to your natural color; it had always been his favorite on you. You’d been going through the bleaching process for a few weeks now; it’s a pain in the ass to lift out the black color. You’d started to process in the salon, but you suddenly became unsatisfied with the job the beautician had been doing. You’d decided to do it at home with time with Louis’ help. You knew he’d be good at anything beauty related because he grew up with half a dozen women in the house. Louis has you sit on the bathroom counter while he adorns plastic gloves and reviews the products you’ve chosen. “Forty volume bleach? Forty volume! (Y/n), this is going to fry your hair! You should’ve gone with a twenty volume instead,” he scolds. “I don’t care!” you exclaim, “I’m ready for this black to come out as soon as possible!” He rolls his eyes at you and begins to mix the  solution. You gives you a brush and intrusts you to comb out all of the tangles. You begin to haphazardly rake through your hair before you Louis interjects, “No! You’re doing it wrong, love. You’ve got to brush out the tangles bottom to top, or you’ll rip out more hair than you need to,” he explains. You shrug him off but do what you’re told. After he turns you to face the mirror, he combs over your hair and begins to section it off. He carefully applies the bleach to your hair, starting from the roots and gradually pulling it out to the ends until all your hair was completely saturated. He gathers it all on top of your head and places a plastic cap over it. “Now, you better not scratch that, or you might get some sores,” he explains while setting a timer, “If it itches, you’ll just have to pat it.” You shake your head in acknowledgment. To pass the time, Louis makes you some juice, and you two discuss his upcoming tour. Once the timer goes off, Louis helps you rinse your hair in the kitchen sink. You’ve finally got all the bleach out, and your hair is securely wrapped up in a towel atop your head. “Well, I think it’s about nap time, you declare with a huge yawn. “Oh no you don’t!” Louis thrusts a bottle at you, “You’re going to get in the shower and put this on your hair!” You inspect the label on the bottle: Deep Conditioner. “I swear, Louis…you care more about my hair than I do,” you joke. “Well, someone’s got to do the worrying around here,” he laughs and pushes you toward the shower. 

Zayn: “Zayn! Can you come here for a second?” you call from the bathroom. “Yeah!” he calls back. You can hear footsteps pattering down the hallway and stopping at the bathroom door. Zayn pokes his head in before visibly cringing at the pungent smell of hair dye. He flicks the switch on the wall to turn on the bathroom vent before he addresses you, “What’s up, babe?”  “Can you please help me get this dye on the back of my hair?” you ask him. “Ugh, babe, c’mon. You know I hate you dying your hair, especially now that you’re putting in crazy colors like purple!” he says motioning to your hands, which are caked in lilac hair dye. “Please, baby? Pleaseee? I can’t see back there!” you beg, using your best puppy dog eyes. Zayn sighs and finally gives in. “Thank you, baby!” you say enthusiastically, giving him a kiss. He slips on the extra pair of
gloves sitting on the vanity, but before you could explain to him what to do, he squeezes out a missive glob of dye into his palm and wipes it on the back of your head. You can feel it dripping down onto your neck. “Zayn! That’s not how you’re supposed to do it!” you exclaim. “Hey, just be glad I agreed. I’ll fix it, don’t you worry your pretty little mind,” he reassures you. He finally had it all mixed in, and he even set the timer for you. While waiting for the time to pass, you  decided to address the subject of what you were going to do for dinner tonight. You agreed on takeout; you’d pay since he did last time. You got in the shower and washed out all the dye, and after about forty minutes later, you had dried and styled your hair. You were very excited to show Zayn how it turned out, so you wandered out onto the deck where Zayn was  having a smoke. “Babe, doesn’t my hair look awesome?” you gush. He nods and reaches across you to get his drink off the table. When he was bringing his hand back, the cherry of his cigarette singed the ends of your freshly died hair. Your nose was suddenly filled with the scent of burnt hair. “Ugh! Damn it, Zayn!” you exclaim. You reach out and slap the  cigarette out of his hand. “I’m sorry, (y/n)! I really didn’t mean to, I swear! What can I do to make you feel better?” he begs. “It’s fine,” you sigh, “You’re paying for takeout though.”