𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 🎄
Synopsis: you and your blue lock boyfriend making/decorating Christmas cookies!
Characters: Isagi, Bachira, Chigiri, rin , sae, Nagi
The comforting aroma of ginger and icing fills the homely kitchen as you and your boyfriend mix up the batter of the Christmas cookies you two had just whipped up. Wham! Was playing quietly in the background, making your hips sway playfully to the beat. “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart..” you mumble, fingers gripping the wooden spoon in your hand as you use it as a makeshift microphone.
“But the very next day, you gave it away” the egoist joins in, his muscular arm wrapping itself around your waist. Sure it was cringey, and if any of his fellow teammates saw it he’d probably die on the spot, but it made you happy and so he was willing to oblige. For now. “God, this is embarrassing” he huffs out playfully, the hand rested on your waist squeezing with affection.
“Oh stop, drop the ego for today and have fun! It’s Christmas eve after all..” a signal finger dips into the green icing, which in any normal case would be used to ice the cookies, but in this case..
“My nose!” He calls out, his free hand reaching up to his face to wipe off the sugary goodness from his nose. “Eugh- what a waste!” Isagi gasps dramatically, staring at the icing now smeared across his fingers before flicking his gaze back to you. There’s a beat of silence, then something mischievous sparks behind his blue eyes.“Oh, you’re done” he says, voice low with faux menace.
Before you can react, he dips his own finger into the bowl and swipes a streak of green across your cheek. It’s cold, sweet, and you yelp in protest, laughter bubbling out despite yourself.“Isagi!”
“You started it.” he counters, grin wide and boyish, ego temporarily abandoned in favor of something far more dangerous. What starts as harmless retaliation quickly devolves into chaos. Flour dusts the counter, icing ends up everywhere except the cookies, and at some point Isagi’s nose is no longer the only casualty. There’s a smear of red icing across his cheek now, and a little on his eyebrow, making him look ridiculous and adorable all at once.
You’re laughing so hard your sides ache, barely registering when his hands find your wrists, gently pinning them above your head. The music keeps playing, Wham oblivious to the moment as Isagi leans closer, forehead resting against yours.“Okay” he breathes, smiling softly now, laughter fading into something warmer. “Truce.”
“Only if you admit I won” you tease, eyes flicking to the icing on his face.
He scoffs. “In what universe?!” but he stops himself, sighing before nodding. “Fine. You win.”
Satisfied, you reach up, thumb brushing gently over his cheek to wipe away the icing. Your touch lingers, and Isagi’s expression softens completely, gaze dropping to your lips for just a second before he presses a quick, sweet kiss to your forehead.
“Merry Christmas” he murmurs.
“Merry Christmas” you echo, smiling as he pulls you back into his arms, swaying gently to the music amid the mess you’ve made together.
The kitchen smells like sugar and butter, warm and sweet, and Bachira is already elbow-deep in chaos.
He’s humming to himself, something tuneless, but happy as he pipes frosting onto a star-shaped cookie with way too much enthusiasm. The icing squiggles wildly, more abstract art than snowflake.
“Look” he says proudly, holding it up. “It’s a monster Christmas star.”
You laugh, trying to focus on neatly outlining a gingerbread man, but Bachira leans over your shoulder anyway, chin almost resting there. There’s flour on his cheek, a smear of green icing on his sleeve.
“That one’s boring-!” he declares gently. “Needs more soul.”
Before you can protest, he adds two lopsided candy eyes and a crooked smile to your cookie. Somehow, it works. It’s ridiculous. It’s perfect.
“Much better, see? Soul.”
Hours pass like that.. stealing sprinkles from each other, frosting fingers, Bachira sneaking bites of cookies that are definitely supposed to cool first. Christmas music plays softly in the background, and at some point he presses a warm cookie into your hand, grinning like he’s giving you a treasure.
“For you” he declares proudly, kneeling down as if he were proposing. “The very best one.”
It’s misshapen and messy and covered in too many colours-just like the whole afternoon. And when you bite into it, Bachira beams, like that was all he wanted for Christmas this year. You.
Decorating Christmas cookies with Chigiri feels like stepping into a quiet, hidden pocket of the holiday season, one where everything slows down just enough to breathe.
The kitchen glows with soft yellow light, reflecting off the snow piled along the windowsill. Chigiri stands beside you, pink hair tied back with a ribbon you swear he pretends not to care about. He measures out icing colors carefully, arranging them in neat rows like a painter preparing a palette.
“You’re really serious about this..” you say, amused, as he smooths frosting onto a cookie with practiced precision.
He hums thoughtfully. “It’s relaxing” he replies. “And… I don’t get to do things like this often.” There’s something honest in his voice, something tender.
You work together in comfortable silence for a while, passing sprinkles, comparing designs, laughing softly when powdered sugar dusts your clothes. Every now and then your hands brush, and Chigiri always pauses, just slightly, before continuing, cheeks faintly pink.
When suddenly, you mess up a cookie. The icing smearing into such an unrecognisable shape you couldn’t tell if it was supposed to be a snowman or a Santa clause-you groan. “I ruined it.”
Chigiri gently takes it from you, studying it like it’s important. “No, you didn’t.” With a careful flick of his wrist, he reshapes the frosting, adding delicate details until it looks intentional. Then he adds a small heart near the edge.
“There” he says quietly. “Now it’s yours.”
Later, as the cookies cool, you lean against the counter together, Christmas music humming softly in the background. Chigiri hands you one of his finished cookies pastel pink and white, elegant and almost too perfect to eat.
“You don’t have to save it..”he says, noticing your hesitation. “I made it for you.”
When you take a bite, his smile is small but genuine, eyes warm as he watches your reaction. “Merry Christmas,” he adds softly, like it’s meant just for you.
In that moment, frosting on your fingers, warmth lingering between you, Chigiri standing close..it feels less like decorating cookies and more like sharing something fragile and special. A quiet tradition, just beginning.
The kitchen smells like cinnamon before anything even goes into the oven.
Rin stands stiffly at the counter, sleeves rolled just enough to keep them clean, staring down at a bowl of flour like it personally offended him. You’re not sure why you expected him to be good at baking, maybe because he’s good at everything else, but the slight furrow in his brow says this is unfamiliar territory.
“…You’re supposed to mix it,” you say gently, nudging the bowl toward him.
“I know,” Rin replies, flatly as if you’ve personally offended him by saying something so obvious.
However, he makes to attempt to mix it.
Instead, he keeps staring, as if waiting for the ingredients to organize themselves out of respect.
You hide a smile and reach over, placing your hand over his on the wooden spoon. His shoulders tense immediately.
“Like this,” you say, guiding the motion. “Slow at first. You don’t want flour everywhere.”
Rin’s ears turn pink. “I wasn’t going to spill it.” He mumbles, taking the bowl from you to teach you that he can in fact bake cookies. Well..
A small cloud of flour puffs up between you, dusting the counter and Rin’s nose. He freezes, blinking once.
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
“…Don’t laugh,” he mutters, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and only making it worse. There’s a white streak across his cheek now, and he looks genuinely offended by it.
“You’ve got—here,” you say, reaching up to brush it off.
Rin goes very still, his heart rate picking up tenfold.
Your fingers barely graze his skin, warm and careful, and for a moment the only sound is the low hum of the oven preheating. His eyes flick down to you, sharp as ever, but softened by something quieter..something uncertain.
“…Thanks.” he says, after a beat.
You step back, pretending not to notice how his gaze lingers.
Once the dough is finally mixed, you roll it out together. Rin presses the rolling pin down with far too much force, flattening the dough to near oblivion.
“You’re attacking it,” you say, suppressing a giggle
“That gingerbread man is going to be see-through.”
He exhales through his nose but eases up. When you hand him a cookie cutter shaped like a star, he pauses.
“Because you’re one,” you say, without thinking.
Rin stops completely, and suddenly he’s the same shade as Santa’s coat.
You realize too late what you said, heat rushing to your face. “I mean—soccer-wise. Obviously. Don’t overthink it.”
He doesn’t respond right away. He just presses the star into the dough, carefully this time, lifting it with precise fingers. The shape comes out clean.
“…Idiot” he murmurs, but his voice lacks any real bite.
When the cookies go into the oven, the wait feels longer than the entire match of a high-stakes game. You sit on the floor with your back against the cabinet, and Rin hesitates before joining you, knees drawn up, arms loosely folded.
“Do you… do this often?” he asks, quietly.
“Bake? Yeah. It’s calming.”
The admission surprises you more than it should.
When the timer finally rings, Rin’s on his feet instantly, oven mitts already on like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life. He slides the tray out with surprising care, eyes scanning the cookies like they’re teammates he’s responsible for.
They’re slightly uneven. A few are overbrowned. One star is missing a point.
Rin stares at them. “…They’re bad.”
“They’re perfect.” you reassure proudly.
He looks at you again, searching your face, then huffs softly. “You’re biased.”
Later, when you’re icing the cookies together Rin concentrating far too hard on keeping the lines straight, he quietly hands you a star-shaped one.
“This one’s yours,” he says. “I made it better.”
You smile, warmth blooming in your chest that has nothing to do with the oven.
He looks away, but this time, he doesn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Decorating Christmas cookies with Sae starts with silence.
Not the awkward kind, but really..just the natural quiet he carries with him. He watches as you set out the bowls of icing and trays of baked cookies, expression unreadable, hands tucked into his pockets.
“I don’t see the point,” he says at first, tone flat. “But I said I’d help.”
You smile anyway and hand him a piping bag.
Sae studies it like it’s something unfamiliar but worth mastering. When he finally applies icing to a cookie, his movements are controlled and exact, clean lines forming a minimalist pattern that somehow looks intentional and elegant.
“…You’re taking this seriously” you say.
“I don’t do things halfway” he replies, without looking up.
The kitchen stays quiet, warmed by the glow of the oven and the muted winter light outside. There’s no Christmas music, just the soft scrape of metal trays and the occasional rustle of wrappers. Working beside him feels grounding, like sharing space matters more than filling it with noise.
At some point, your icing bag slips, frosting smearing across the counter and onto your fingers. You sigh, frustrated.
Sae pauses, then reaches for a towel, wiping the mess away with practiced efficiency. “You rush too much,” he mutters, not unkindly. He replaces your icing bag, then, after a moment’s hesitation, takes your hand.
His touch is steady, warm. He adjusts your grip with quiet care. “Slow down” he says. “You’ll get it.”
Your heart stutters, but Sae acts like nothing’s changed, returning to his own cookie with the same calm focus as before.
As the cookies pile up, his designs remain simple.. trees, stars, snowflakes, but each one is precise, almost thoughtful. When you tease him for being boring, he scoffs.
“Not everything needs to be loud to be good.”
Later, while the cookies cool, you lean against the counter, shoulders nearly touching. Sae reaches for a cookie he’s kept separate from the rest,cleanly iced, lightly dusted with sugar, perfect in its restraint.
He slides it toward you without meeting your eyes. “This one’s yours.”
You hesitate. “You sure?”
“…Yeah.” A pause. “I made it thinking of you.”
The words are quiet, but they land heavier than anything else he could’ve said.
Standing there in the warm kitchen, frosting drying on your fingers, Sae beside you and closer than usual, the moment feels rare. Not flashy. Not soft in obvious ways.
The kitchen smells like sugar and butter, warm and comforting, and honestly, it’s the only reason Nagi agreed to this in the first place.
He’s slouched against the counter, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you measure flour. The Christmas lights strung above the cabinets glow softly, reflecting in his pale hair.
“This is such a hassle..” he mutters.
“You’re the one who said cookies taste better when they’re homemade” you reply without looking at him.
Nagi blinks, the few brain cells he had that weren’t for playing football or video games trying to fetch this lost information. “…Did I?”
“Yes. Last week. Right before you asked me to make them.”
He sighs dramatically, pushing himself upright and wandering over. “Then I guess I’m already involved. Annoying.”
Despite the complaint, he leans over your shoulder, chin hovering near your head as he watches you crack eggs into the bowl. He doesn’t touch anything, just observes, like it’s a game tutorial he didn’t skip for once.
You hand him the whisk. “Your turn.” You chime, a smug smirk playing on your lips.
He stares at it like it might explode. “That looks tiring.”
“It’s literally stirring.”
But he takes it anyway, slow and unenthusiastic, whisking the dough with lazy movements. Somehow, it still turns out fine. Nagi has that annoying talent..minimum effort, maximum results.
You try not to laugh when flour dusts his sleeve.
He notices immediately. “Did you just laugh at me?”
“No..” you say. “I laughed with you.”
“I wasn’t laughing to begin with.”
When it’s time to cut the cookies, Nagi perks up slightly. Not because he’s excited, he never is, but because the cookie cutters are shaped like stars, trees, and little soccer balls.
He picks up the soccer ball one, presses it into the dough, and lifts it carefully. “This one’s mine.”
“All of them are yours if you help bake them.”
He considers this. “…I’ll take half.”
The oven hums quietly as the cookies bake, and the two of you end up sitting on the floor, backs against the cabinets. Nagi’s shoulder presses into yours, warm and familiar. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move away either.
When the timer goes off, he’s the first one up.
“Hey,” you say. “You said this was annoying.”
He shrugs, already pulling on oven mitts that are way too festive for him, red with little reindeer on them. “I never said I hated it.”
The cookies come out golden and perfect. You decorate them together, icing a mess everywhere. Nagi’s cookies are minimal [just enough frosting to count] but one of them has a small, careful snowflake drawn on top.
You raise an eyebrow. “You said you weren’t trying.”
He avoids your gaze. “Didn’t say I wasn’t paying attention.”
Later, when you bite into a cookie and smile, Nagi watches you closely.
You nod. “Yeah. Definitely.”
He relaxes, just a little, leaning closer. “Good. Then we don’t have to call this a waste of time.”
The Christmas lights flicker softly, cookie crumbs scatter across the counter, and for once, Nagi Reo-less, talent-unbothered Nagi doesn’t mind being exactly where he is.. making cookies with you, on a quiet Christmas night.
a/n: MERRY CHRISTMASSS🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 I’m sorry if these are crap I’ve been so busy- hopefully I’ll start posting frequently against after new years! ❤️
