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grapementos · 11 months

Text

roots

aged up kirishima x gn reader

based on this tt.

you couldn’t remember when it started, but you knew exactly how.

you’d invited bakugo over for your weekly cooking sesh, but this time around he’d asked to bring kirishima with him. of course, you didn’t mind, so within 20 minutes, they’d both arrived.

after you and bakugo prepped a meal and kirishima sat on the counter, sharing a story about something kaminari had done earlier that week, you all sat down in your living room to eat and watch a movie.

kirishima sat on the floor to be closer to your coffee table, directly in front of your spot on the couch.

after a bit of banter over what movie to watch, silence fell over the three of you.

once you finished your food, leaned over to put your plate on the coffee table. once you leaned back, you were able to see how much kirishima’s roots had grown out. the black was a little over half an inch grown, a stark contrast against his signature red.

“you need to touch up your roots, kiri.” you chuckled, tapping the top of his head, “since when do you let them grow out this much?”

he looked up, fingering a strand of his hair, “i can never get my roots right. it’s a pain doing it by myself, so i guess i’ve kinda just let it go.” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

you looked over at bakugo, grinning.

“nope. no way. i can’t stand the smell of bleach.” he shook his head, “not to mention that stuff kills your brain cells.”

you scoffed, “fine. since katsuki doesn’t want to lose his last brain cell, i don’t mind helping you touch it up.”

kirishima grinned, turning to look back at you, “really? here? i don’t want to stain your tub or anything.. the red i use is permanent and super potent.”

“dont worry about it.” you brushed it off, making a shooing motion at bakugo, “since you’re not gonna help, can you at least run down to the beauty store and get what we need?”

he looked around, as if you weren’t talking to him, “do i have ‘bitch’ written across my forehead or something?”

despite his grumbles, he grabbed his keys and stomped out the door. kirishima sent him a photo of everything he needed and, before you knew it, the two of you were setting up in the restroom, a speaker set up on your restroom counter.

bakugo came back within a half hour and dropped off everything you needed and then left, insisting he had to get home and that it was past his bed time.

and so it began—one night turned into every sixth sunday, kirishima turned into ejiro, and your pillows and tub turned a light shade of red.

after two years, the two of you had settled into a content rhythm. kirishima became a person that you found you couldn’t live without. he knew some of the most personal things about you, what made you laugh, cry, smile, he knew you. and you him.

this sunday, kirishima showed up right on time, this time with snacks in one hand, dye and bleach in the other.

“i come bearing snacks!”

you laughed, “hey. sleeping over again?”

that was another thing—he’d began staying the night half a year into your arrangement, though he’d slept in your guest room.

“yeah, ‘course. by the time we finish, there’s no way i’m gonna drive all the way home.”

you closed the door behind him and walked to the bathroom, “as if you don’t live three blocks away.”

“don’t know what you’re talking about.” he sing-songed, putting the food in either the fridge or pantry.

“uh-huh. come get your ass in this chair before i change my mind.” you called, setting up the speaker to your usual station.

he chuckled and walked into the restroom, handing you the bag of materials and plopping down on the chair.

he spun around a few times, grabbing one of the brushes off your sink and singing a horrible rendition of never gonna give you up.

you snatched the brush from him, bopping him gently on the head, “if you’re gonna sing, at least sing the song that’s playing.”

you started mixing the bleach, pulling on some gloves. you were practically nose blind to the scent by now, so it didn’t bother you much.

kirishima was scrolling through his phone as you started brushing his hair, sectioning it with clips to get better access to the roots.

with a determined breath, you started bleaching his roots. your tongue poked out in concentration, eyes focused on every brushstroke.

after you completed every section, you finally looked up, dropping the dry brush into the bowl.

once you looked up, however, you saw that kirishima was already looking at you, a small smile on his face.

“what? did i get bleach on my face?”

he laughed and shook his head, “no.”

“then what?”

“nothing. you’re just super.. focused. in the zone.”

you rolled your eyes, “duh. i don’t wanna mess up your hair.”

he just laughed, looking back down at his phone.

you threw your gloves into the trash, “want anything from the kitchen?”

“taiyaki please.”

you retrieved both the taiyaki and new pair of gloves from the kitchen, setting a timer for his hair to process.

“mm,” he mumbled through bites, “i was thinking-”

“dangerous.”

“-shut up- i was thinking, hey, we’ve been doing this for a long time, and you don’t really, like, benefit from it at all.”

“not true.” you quirked a brow, “i get to gossip, laugh, and jam with my best friend.”

“i thought katsuki was your best friend.”

“shh.” you put a finger over your lips, “he’s been demoted.”

he laughed, a light pink dusting his cheeks, “ha, yeah, i won’t tell him. don’t worry.”

you could tell by the way his smile faltered that he didn’t completely believe you, so you squeezed his shoulder, “really, ei. i love spending time with you.”

you offered him a smile and then poked his cheek, “plus, your hair would either be all jacked up or you’d be paying $200 a month to get your hair done.”

his lips quirked back up into a smile, and he looked back down at his phone, “yeah. i like spending time with you too.”

after the timer went off, you grabbed some of his clothes from the guest room—he had a mini wardrobe at this point. you brought his clothes and a black towel to the bathroom, setting it on the sink.

“wash it off, and don’t get it in your eyes again. i’m not taking you to the hospital for slipping and falling for the third time.”

—

eventually, he washed the bleach out. you dried it with your blow drier, only to get right onto the red dye. again, he showered, blow dried, and at last, you were finished.

he grinned once his his hair was poofy and beautifully red.

you smiled through a yawn, leaning back against the wall, “looks great. now, if you don’t mind, i’m gonna shower. out.”

he chuckled and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

you showered quickly and gratefully, so glad to be done with kirishima’s hair. the red stains on the floor made you smile and reminisce over all the good times you’d shared.

once you were finally out and done reminiscing, you changed into some clothes to sleep in and stepped out of the restroom to see kirishima laying on your bed.

you sat on your side, drying out the rest of your hair.

“you tired?”

“yeah, a little. you?” he mumbled, dropping his phone down onto the bed.

“yeah.”

neither of you moved, your eyes flitting over to his still form. his hair looked great, and his eyes were half-lidded and heavy with sleep.

you laid on your stomach with your head towards him, chuckling, “there’s a stain on your forehead.”

you rubbed the red spot on his hairline with your thumb, brushing his hair back behind his ears to see if there were anymore stains.

his eyes were wide and set on you, scanning up and down your face, “oh?”

“yeah, my bad. to be fair though, you move a lot.” you rubbed the stain, but it didn’t budge, “it’s not coming off, guess you’ll just have to scrub it hard tomorrow.”

you finally met his eyes, cheeks growing warm as you realized he was looking right at you.

“uh—um, im pretty tired. maybe we should go to bed.” you suggested after a few beats, pushing yourself back up into a sitting position.

he agreed quickly, fake coughing as he stood up from your bed, “yeah—yeah, me too. i’ll, uh, i’ll see you tomorrow. g’night.”

with an awkward wave, he hobbled out of your room and into the guest room, leaving you with a racing heart.

after you were sure he was gone, you quickly turned off the light, burying yourself under the covers.

what was that feeling? why was your chest so warm and stomach so tingly?

you thought “butterflies in the stomach” was just a figure of speech.

you slapped your cheeks with your hands, shaking your head. no, you were not about to ruin the closest friendship you had.

after reaching your decision, you decided you were going to sleep it off. yeah. you’d be clear-headed tomorrow.

unfortunately, your brain and body and other plans. instead of sleep, all you could do was stare up at the ceiling. you tossed and turned for naught, unable to get comfortable enough to sleep.

with a groan, you got up, deciding to grab something to drink to possibly help you sleep. maybe tea.

as you slipped on some house shoes, you trudged into the kitchen. just as you entered, you found kirishima already leaning against the counter eating something.

“oh my god, you scared the shit out of me,” you panted, hand over your heart, “what’re you doing awake?”

“what’re you doing awake?”

“couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes at his deflection, “same for you? or is it just your insatiable hunger?”

“couldn’t sleep.”

you nodded, grabbing a kettle and two teacups.

“i don’t sleep well most of the time.” he admitted, “i don’t know why.”

“insomnia?” you suggested, “have you tried melatonin?”

“yeah, doesn’t work.”

“when i can’t sleep, it’s usually ‘cause i’m too cold. hugging something usually works. a pillow, stuffed animal if that’s your thing.”

“yeah?” he chuckled, “maybe that’s why i sleep so well when kami’s over. he clings, my god.”

you laughed, biting your lip in contemplation.

“do you…” you started, back to him, “maybe wanna sleep in my bed? see if it helps?”

his neck almost broke with how quickly he turned to look at you, “like, with you?”

“god, don’t make it weird,” you crossed your arms, turning to face him, “it was just a suggestion.”

he coughed, roughly swallowing a piece of whatever he was eating, “sorry—uh, sorry. i, uh, i would like that.”

you nodded, abandoning the tea and kettle, “okay, well, finish your food and bring your pillow. i’ll be in the room.”

you walked back to your room, a giddy feeling rising in your chest. oh god. why did you do that? you made it weird. he’s going to think your weird.

you laid down on your side, scooting your pillow over and anxiously awaiting his presence.

after what seemed like forever, he nervously shuffled into the room, dropping red-tinted pillow down next to yours.

“do i just…?”

“lay down, weirdo. i don’t bite.” you chuckled, scooting under the blanket.

he laid down next to you hesitantly, turning to face you.

you looked his way, smiling, “better?”

“uh, i can’t tell.” his smile was a little crooked and didn’t reach his eyes.

your heart was pounding, going crazy in your chest—you had no idea how your voice was steady. or how you were able to smile and be so calm. maybe because it was kirishima—the kirishima that made you feel safe, secure, and happy. one of, if not your favorite, person. you loved him, so, so much, and in so many ways.

you looked into his eyes, suddenly realizing just how close the two of you were. were his eyelashes always so long? had his eyes always been so red? the color of love, you thought.

he was looking at you too, searching your eyes for something, but you couldn’t tell what. he was searching desperately, almost begging to find something unbeknownst to you.

you shuddered, suddenly vulnerable, but in the best way. you trusted kirishima with your vulnerabilities, because he’d embraced every single one of them.

he was so amazing. so perfect, so loving. why hadn’t you seen it before?

he was just so..

“beautiful.”

you both breathed out at the same time, fiery blushes engulfing both of your faces.

“fuck—fuck, i’m sorry.” he jerked back, as if he’d been burned, “i’ll go—”

with a rush of courage, you grabbed his face, sealing every one of your once-forbidden thoughts with a kiss.

it was everything you’d ever wanted in a kiss—loving, safe, and most of all, from the person you loved. it was as if the stars aligned, shoving the two of you together at last.

when you finally came to your senses and reluctantly ended the blissful exchange, you leaned your forehead against his, “i love you.”

you didn’t let him speak, grabbing his hands tightly because you needed him to hear you, “i love you, i love you, i love you, i love you.”

he wrapped you in his arms, squeezing you oh so tight, “i love you. i love the way you dye my hair, i love listening to music with you, i love leaving pieces of me here because i can’t live without you.”

you buried your face into his shoulder, wishing you could somehow get closer to him, “stay with me. not just every sixth sunday. stay with me.” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around him, “my tub, my towels, my pillowcases, they all look so much better with your red. i need your red.”

“then it’s yours.”

BONUS: after you’d both settled your emotions, more kisses were exchanged, relationships were established, and you were both unbelievably happy, there was still the issue of needing sleep.

“so what was that thing you said about holding things?” he mumbled sleepily, tracing hearts onto your back.

you chuckled, suddenly getting an idea, “turn around.”

“but i don’t wanna let you go.”

“trust me, turn around.”

he groaned, reluctantly letting you go and facing the other way.

you grinned and wrapped your arms around him from behind, pulling him close to your chest, “how’s this?”

“are you seriously big spooning me right now?”

“what, you don’t like it?”

“i love it.” he mumbled, resting his hands on top of yours, “i love you.”

“i love you.”

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