So, Your Hair…
Ft. Kirishima x Platonic!Black!Y/N.
Yall, Y/N got Type 4 hair for this one. I’ll make something for everybody else later. If you cannot tell, I don’t proof read shit so have fun reading without having a stroke.
Y/N and Kirishima sitting in a dim room, face to face, surrounded by tacky decor and a despair inducing aura. His pitiful eyes meet her broken ones before the gaze is forcibly teared away. They’re both hunched over clutching their hair,; their crown.
Her coils, not yet suffering from shrinkage, dancing in her dark embraced ignoring the atmosphere in the room. Free from perm, relaxer, extensions or anything else. Her hair was just her. Called unprofessional and became a zoo attraction in her history despite having no control over how it grows. Others begging to touch a single curl, marveling at the gravity defying sight, asking ignorant questions and attacked with subliminal messages. Called ratchet once entangled with protective styles only to sit back and watch others with a lighter complexion mock her culture and take it as her own.
(Y/N) gripped her hair gently and shot a deep look at Kirishima.
His crown contained misery and stories of a inferiority and imposter complex. Stories of freezing in the line of danger, unable to protect anyone. Stories of watching his green superior take on his demons in middle school and in the entrance exam, unable to do anything due to fear paralysis. His red dye masked the stench of desperation and pessimism. However, despite the mask he wore everyday, if you were to look closely enough, you can see his black roots fade in along with eyebags and depression.
Kirishima let go of his hair and sat straight up at (Y/N) to ask the overwhelming question that struck them dumby slient.
“So, who’s gonna tell Bakugou that we accidentally ate his Takis?”