Christmas with Aizawa is low-energy, high-comfort.
He falls asleep on the couch halfway through decorating.
You gently drape a blanket over him; his hand automatically catches your wrist.
“…m’not asleep,” he lies.
The tree is simple. No flashy lights.
Just warmth.
Just quiet.
Later, when snow falls outside, he pulls you closer.
“You don’t need anything else, right?”
You shake your head.
He exhales—content.
Pure Hallmark movie energy.
He’s wearing an ugly Christmas sweater and genuinely loves it.
Bakes cookies (they’re… edible).
Laughs too loudly.
When he hands you your gift, he looks nervous.
It’s thoughtful.
Handwritten note included.
“Thank you,” he says softly, bowing his head.
“For spending this day with me.”
You swear he glows brighter than the tree.
Christmas, but fashion-forward.
The tree is styled. Curated. Coordinated.
Even the ornaments have a theme.
He adjusts your scarf before you step outside.
“Tighten it—fashion should never compromise warmth.”
Your gift is wrapped flawlessly.
Inside? Something timeless.
Elegant.
Practical.
He smiles faintly.
“Christmas is about care,” he says.
“And presentation.”
Quiet, disciplined, unexpectedly gentle.
No wasted movement.
No excess.
He brews tea.
Listens to the wind outside.
Sits close without speaking.
When he gives you your gift, it’s small but meaningful.
Something you mentioned once.
“You are observant,” you say.
He nods.
“So are you.”
Snow falls.
Time slows.
It’s peaceful.
The decorations are nautical-themed.
The lights are dim and blue-toned.
He’s calm, reserved, but watches you carefully.
Protectively.
Your gift is practical—warm, sturdy, useful.
When you thank him, he inclines his head.
“Comfort is important,” he says.
“Fear has no place here.”
The fire burns low.
He stands by the window longer than necessary.
He hands you your gift like it’s a formal exchange.
Then hesitates.
Later, when the house is quiet, he sits beside you.
Not touching.
But closer than usual.
Redemption is slow.
But tonight, he tries.
Bakugou Katsuki (Grown Up)
Loud. Intense. Soft only for you.
“Why the hell is everything red and green?!”
He still helps decorate.
He buys you something expensive and pretends it was no big deal.
It was.
He remembered everything.
At midnight, he presses his forehead to yours.
“Don’t get all sentimental,” he mutters.
“…Merry Christmas.”
Midoriya Izuku (Grown Up)
He’s rambling about traditions, heroes, snow statistics.
You listen, smiling.
His gift is handmade and slightly shaky.
He apologizes for it.
You love it.
He blushes.
“I just wanted it to mean something.”
Lights tangled.
Music blasting.
Laughing constantly.
He drapes tinsel over your shoulders like a crown.
“Royalty behavior.”
Your gift is goofy but thoughtful.
He grins when you laugh.
“That’s all I wanted.”
EXTREMELY organized Christmas.
Schedule posted.
Gift exchange timed.
Dinner punctual.
He bows formally when giving you your present.
You tease him.
He panics.
Then laughs.
“…Merry Christmas,” he says, softer than usual.
Dark. Flickering lights.
Burnt-out decorations.
He leans against the wall, watching snow fall.
Smirks when you tease him about celebrating.
“Don’t get it twisted,” he says.
“I just… don’t hate it with you.”
Your gift smells faintly of smoke.
He doesn’t explain.
You don’t ask.
Messy. Quiet. Vulnerable.
The tree is crooked.
Half-decorated.
He picks at wrapping paper nervously.
Hands you your gift like he’s afraid you’ll reject it.
When you smile, his shoulders drop.
Relief floods his face.
“…Merry Christmas,” he murmurs.
“Thanks for staying.”
Cold. Controlled. Sterile Christmas.
Everything is clean.
Too clean.
He disinfects his hands before handing you your gift.
It’s pristine.
Perfect.
He watches you closely as you open it.
Searching your expression.
If you nod, he exhales.
Just slightly.
prguitarman
janainaart
2087
kaledo-art
germansingergirl
kianamaiart
areudirty
andulkaphoto
romaincrisis
snowghoul
