#tiklop

synopsis

Bakugou Katsuki doesn’t believe in Christmas miracles—but he believes in you.

While the holidays bring lights, laughter, and mistletoe, Bakugou watches you from the sidelines, convinced that whatever you’re wishing for couldn’t possibly be him. After all, Santa doesn’t see the late nights, the quiet loyalty, the way Bakugou loves too hard and says too little.

And if Santa really knew you like Bakugou does… maybe he’d understand why Katsuki keeps his feelings locked away—burning, aching, and unsaid.

Bakugou Katsuki hates Christmas.

He hates the noise, the forced cheer, the way everyone suddenly expects him to be nice. He hates the stupid decorations strung around the dorms, hates the music looping endlessly through the halls.

But most of all—he hates the way Christmas makes him think about you.

You’re everywhere this time of year. Laughing with friends in the common room. Offering hot chocolate to people who don’t deserve it. Standing under the lights with that soft expression that makes his chest feel tight in a way explosions never could.

Bakugou tells himself it’s nothing.

It’s just proximity. Just habit. Just annoyance.

That’s what he tells himself when he snaps at Kaminari for joking about mistletoe. That’s what he tells himself when he looks away a second too late after catching you smiling at someone else.

He doesn’t do wishes.

Doesn’t believe in Santa, or miracles, or the idea that wanting something badly enough makes it yours.

Because if that were true—you’d already be his.

Christmas Eve hits quietly.

The dorms settle down, lights dimmed, snow falling outside like the world’s trying to soften itself. Bakugou stands out on the balcony, hands stuffed into his pockets, breath fogging in the cold.

He hears the door slide open behind him.

“Thought I’d find you here,” you say gently.

He clicks his tongue. “Tch. It’s quiet.”

You step beside him anyway, close enough that your shoulder brushes his arm. He doesn’t move away. Doesn’t lean in either. Just stands there, rigid, like holding himself together takes effort.

“Everyone’s doing gifts,” you say. “You didn’t come.”

“Don’t need that crap.”

You hum, unconvinced. After a moment, you hold something out toward him—a small, neatly wrapped box.

“I know,” you say softly. “But I wanted to.”

Bakugou stares at it like it might explode.

“…You’re an idiot,” he mutters, but he takes it. Carefully. Like it matters.

Inside is something simple. Something him. Something you noticed when no one else did.

His throat tightens.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Still.”

He clenches the box in his hand, jaw tight, chest burning with words he refuses to let out. Because how the hell is he supposed to explain that he knows you better than anyone? That he notices when you’re tired, when you fake smiles, when you give too much of yourself away?

How is he supposed to tell you that he loves you in a way that’s rough and unpolished and real?

Santa wouldn’t understand that.

You turn toward him, eyes soft. “Katsuki… you’re not hard to care about, you know.”

That breaks something.

He looks away, breath sharp. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Silence stretches. Snow keeps falling.

Finally, he speaks—quiet, raw, honest in a way that scares him.

“I know you,” he says. “I know what you like. What you hate. I know when you’re lying about being okay.” His hands curl into fists. “And I know I’m not… what people picture for you.”

You stare at him.

“Katsuki,” you whisper.

He turns then, eyes blazing. “Santa doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t see the real shit. So yeah—maybe I don’t believe in Christmas miracles. But I believe in you.”

The words hang in the cold air.

You step forward and kiss him—slow, sure, warm. No hesitation. No doubt.

Bakugou freezes for half a second.

Then his hands are on you, gripping tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The kiss is rough around the edges, but desperate, full of everything he’s been holding back.

When you pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing hard.

“…Stay,” he mutters.

You smile. “I was planning on it.”

For the first time, Bakugou thinks—

maybe Christmas isn’t total bullshit after all.

This is my first time using Tumblr, so please bear with me while I’m still getting the hang of things. I hope you enjoy my writing—everything here is new to me and I’m still learningヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝ