#rotg drabble

[x-lee-cya]

okay but what if jack was originally a spring spirit. what if he was a spring spirit but got turned into a winter one by manny, or mother nature, or fuck, even pitch - but for this one let's go with mother nature.

no one'd believe him. he'd've been around for, what, 50 years before she changed him, at most, bc i imagine that's how long it takes for immortal spirits to catch notice of any newbies, esp given how jack seems to be the only (major/[ ] who stays there] spirit in burgess. so. 51 or 53 years in, MN comes in, goes, "hey yeah you're a winter sprite now" and jack just goes "what the fu-??"

he assumes, for the next decade or so, that it's a joke. (whenever faced with evidence it's true, he stays in denial for another six.)

it can't be true, ignoring how his mud-brown hair has turned white (there's only one stripe of brown left, by the time the movie comes about. he dyes it the same shade of ice-white the rest of his hair has turned into over the last 300 years; the reminder is more painful then anything, at that point, and so it's better left forgotten, in his book) and his well-tanned skin into the pale complexion of the likes of which he's only ever seen on winter seasonals. ignoring how one of his eyes is now bright lakewater-blue instead of both of them being sun-shone gold-brown, how his freckles are white like little snowdrops embedded into his skin instead of like miniature sunflowers sprouting themselves again and again with every new spring.

and now imagine how hard it'd be for jack, to transition from Type A to Type fuckin' Z, even if slowly - but isn't that even more painful, in the end? he loses the ability to make his flowers, his vines, his grasses, his trees - he gets sluggish in early spring and is conked out every time by the 30th of the first month of the too-warm (much, much too warm, and when has anything ever been too warm for him?) season, no matter how much he tries to stay awake, to see just someone's flowers even if not his own. he fails. he always, always fails.

then '68 comes around. things go wrong, jack gets upset, he can't remember why, and he makes a storm - even after all this time he's still shite at controlling his winter magic: he gets a scar from bunny aswell as a flower - a snowdrop, ironically enough; his old namesake, 'fore he became jack frost instead of jack snowdrop - and bunny a scar and a few snowflakes from him when winter finally comes 'round again.

then 2012 comes around, and, well. there's no point TELLING the guardians that he used to be a spring sprite, not when they'd never believe him, bunny especially. he'd take it as an insult, probably. some kind of mockery, some slight against him and all his fellow spring seasonals (once jack's fellow spring seasonals, but not anymore, NEVER anymore) - after all, if no one else ever believed him when he tried to explain what'd happened, what MN had done to him, had changed him, they'd all just laughed.

(well, laughed and then hurt him, but that's besides the point).

but THEN bunny catches him trying - and failing - to make animated flowers using his frost; they melt as soon as their shape solidifies. mother nature'd changed him so much, jack thinks, a tad bitterly, that he can't even make anything vaguely spring-y with his own (new, strange, wrong) element.

"why can't'cha make those? ya made that frost-bunny for jamie jus' fine," asks bunny.

"yeah, well, why don't'cha ask miss mother nature that question and then get back to me in three-to-give business days," jack grumbles, not even making a paltry attempt to hide the bitterness, the borderline resentment in his voice for mother nature, for the one who changed him, the one who ruined him. resentment's a dangerous thing, jack knows, but he thinks he's allowed it, in this one case.

(he'd never resented the moon as much as he'd resented mother nature.)

bunnymund blinks, taken aback, ears flipping back to press against his furred neck. taps his foot against the ground, gently. he's still looking at jack, looking at his failing, melting, broken frostflowers, his one visible blue eye - jack'd always kept his other one hidden, 'least round him and all the other guardians. the one time bunny'd tried to ask, the frostbite'd gotten all defensive, and so bunnymund'd let it drop - dead and tired.

(jack didn't look back, even as he felt eyes on him, heard the sound of bunny's signature tunnel opening and then close, once again.)

and then bunny does just that.

[guardian-of-fun-times]

Jack Frost would be an absolute mess beneath you, whimpering and gasping before you’re even fully seated on his cock. His whole body trembles, icy fingers gripping your thighs like they’re the only thing grounding him, but he’s still barely holding on. His flushed cheeks burn with need, his breath coming in short, ragged pants, and his lips part in a desperate moan as he watches you take him in inch by inch.

He’s already drooling, blue eyes glazed over with pleasure, struggling to keep himself together, but the sensation of your warmth wrapped around him is too much. His cock twitches inside you, pulsing with barely restrained need, and his hands flex against your skin as if he’s trying to slow himself down—but it’s useless. The second you sink down fully, taking him to the hilt, his whole body tenses, back arching as a strangled whimper escapes his throat. He doesn’t even have time to warn you before he’s spilling inside, overwhelmed, panting, and completely at your mercy.

[freak-like-meemy]

Jack Frost has a penchant for wild spirits—the ones who weave words like spells, paint dreams into existence, and lose themselves in the embrace of a story. He’s drawn to the brunettes who carry entire worlds in their minds, ink-stained fingers tracing the edges of fate itself. The ones who defy gravity, who ride atop giant winged beasts as if they were born to belong to the wind, chasing adventures no mere mortal dares to touch.

Perhaps it's their fire against his cold, their boundless imagination against his eternal solitude. He’s always been enamored with those who don't just see magic but create it. And in them, he finds a warmth even winter cannot steal.

Sidenote: This was absolutely fueled by thoughts of Jatherine and Hijack, naturally~

[saturnzskyzz]

𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦(Late) 𝐸𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟!

Lee: Jack Ler: Bunnymund

Summary: Jack Frost dragged the rise of the guardians to the Warren. On Easter. Only for the rest of the guardians to realize that.. Jack Frost only wanted to mess with Bunnymund.

Warning: swearing | tickling |

A/N: I want to apologize in advance if trying to write Bunnymund’s dialogue gets too much, I never really written for Australian characters before, so this is kinda new for me. I’m open minded with better ways on how to write for accents like Bunnymund’s character! Anyway, enjoy :] (this was really short and rushed cause Easter already passed)

Easter

“C’mon guys! It’ll be fun!” Jack sprung in excitement like a little kid on Christmas as he’s standing before the four other guardians.

The tooth fairy raised an exciting smile, same as Sandman, but Bunnymund and North however? Well.. North already knew how Bunny was going to react.

Bunnymund sighed. “Look, kid.. I get that ya wanna celebrate my tradition in the Warren, but those eggs ou’ there are flat out.” He crosses his arms.

Jack gives him a smirk. “Oh really?” He then crosses his arms.

Tilting his head, he gives Jack a look. “Positive.”

Jack scoffs. “Last time I checked.. they weren’t there when I visited.”

Bunnymund looks at him in disbelief. “… Mate, Ya went off to the bloody Warren ta check on my eggs?”

Jack only nodded.

Bunnymund sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

The rest looked at each other in awkward silence as they tried to decipher what would happen next.

After a long pause, Bunnymund raised his head to look at Jack. “Fine.. but I’m hidin’ the eggs. Ya here?”

“Fine by me!” With a smug smile, he stormed off to the Warren, as well as everybody else.

———

“I said I was sorry!” Jack Frost shouted with a cocky grin. He was not sorry at all.

“You li’l shit!” Bunnymund shouted as he pounced on Jack, who was nothing but a mischievous, floating kid with a half full basket of eggs-that Bunnymund didn’t place around the Warren.

“Woah-!” Is all Jack was able to let out before he was tackled to the ground. Both trying to gain the upper hand, they were both rolling around in the grass before the Bunny was able to stop them, with him on top of Jack.

“Yah dag! Those were not my eggs!” Bunnymund shouted some more. He was faced with a cheeky grin as Jack couldn’t contain the piled up giggles that he had been pushing away since they have arrived at the Warren.

“Ya know I didn’t place those eggs, Jack!” Clearly annoyed.

“Ihihi know! Yohou should’ve seen the look on your face, bunny!” Jack giggled out. He held onto his stomach as he couldn’t contain his pile of giggles that just kept coming out. Such childish behavior.

“You’re childish!” He pushed him more into the ground as he realized that Jack just couldn’t stop giggling. Seriously, he just couldn’t think that this is funny whatsoever!

The others stared in disbelief. They fought almost all the time, yes, but to them this was something more extreme.

“Hey, maybe lay off of him?” North said, trying to reason with the bunny.

He only scoffed at that. “Lay off? Then who outta teach this kid a lesson, ay?” he asked, as he dug his fingers into Jack’s sides, surprising the poor guardian-

“WoAH! chihIHIhill mahan!” He laughed a bit harder from the tingly feeling that coursed through out his entire torso.

“I’ll chill once you’ve learned ya lesson!” He shouted. Never once relenting the touch, making Jack feel like he was going ballistic.

“WHAT lehesson?!”

“This Lesson!” As an emphasis, he went for his ribs without much of a warning.

Jack shouted at the feeling. He twisted and turned. Even tried to push away at the attacking fingers, but it was to no avail.

“I SAHAHAID IHI WAHAS SAHRRY!”

“Yeah well, maybe don’t mess with the bloody Easter bunny, mate!”

[phaticserpent]

- Losing Control -

Pitch Black/Reader (nsfw)

The way he would shudder as you twitched under him when he emptied another load into you. Enough for you to lose count, but not for him.

"Just a few more." He would grunt into your ear as his hands gripped onto your hips. His stamina would never waver as he pounded into you over and over again, listening to you babble and cry out. The way he would pull you closer as his release washed over him, not letting you go till every single drop of his seed filled you. Your legs would be shaking and have barely any strength to hold yourself up. But he wasn't done. You would whine out when he began thrusting again, and Pitch would kiss your neck as he continued his assault on your cunt.

"S-so full." You whined.

"N-not full enough." He groaned. He was completely addicted to the feeling of being inside you, the way you would squeeze around him, the sounds you would make as you reached your orgasm, and the way you gasped when he reached his own.

[pleaseletmeinibeg453]

Jelsa oneshots inspired by songs

First love/Late spring by Mitski

Jelsa, oneshot, modern AU (Breathing/Collapsing)

--- Wild women don’t get the blues But I find that  Lately, I’ve been crying like a tall child

---

Anyone who knew Jack Frost didn't associate the word ‘soft’ with him. 

But he was.

He knew he was too soft for this.

Too soft to love her. Too soft to leave her. Too soft to survive the way she looked at him, eyes wide with unspoken sorrow, asking him—begging him—not to stay. She was lying, over and over again, and even though those lies slipped past her lips, her eyes were begging him to stay. To love her. What was he supposed to believe? What was he supposed to do?

Elsa was late spring.

And the first woman he loved so deeply.

It was the kind of love that bloomed far too early, like spring forcing itself through the frozen earth before it was ready, before the ground had softened enough to cradle its roots. The world around them was still so cold, so unforgiving, and he hadn’t yet grown into himself to protect it, to protect her. He wasn’t strong enough for how he loved her, not in the way she deserved.

Like some hidden part of him—tucked away under years of damage and inevitable decisions—had quietly reshaped itself just to make room for her. And now, it hurt to breathe without her.

And now he was crying, towering over her, wild and broken, unable to stop the avalanche of fear crashing through him. What was he supposed to do without her? She had been the first real thing in his life that made him feel anything and everything. Without her, how would he breathe?

It wasn’t the love he feared—he could never fear that, not when it had stitched itself so deeply into the marrow of his bones, not when it had carved itself into every tender fold of his heart. No, it was the letting go that ripped him apart. 

Don’t. Please.

Please don’t say you love me. 

So he hadn’t.

Her voice, when she said it, had trembled like autumn leaves caught in a storm. The kind of voice that shattered something inside him every time she spoke it, like she was handing him pieces of herself to hold for safekeeping, knowing the moment would come when she had to walk away. For him. For him to live. To not be tainted by the mess they had made together.

But how was he supposed to stand and watch her walk away? Was he not supposed to reach out and take her hand? Was he not supposed to ever think of her again?

Just one word from her. It would be enough. Don’t. 

He held it in. Held her in. He pressed his goodbye into her mouth with a kiss that tasted like salt and desperation. Like he could somehow keep her warmth a little longer, wrap it around himself, and pretend he didn’t feel the ache inside his ribs where her heart used to be.

And then, when she fell asleep in his arms, he did what she asked. He let her go.

All she had to do was say “Don’t,”—just that, one word—and he would’ve come undone. He would’ve dropped every promise he made to anyone, everyone, and he would give her the future she deserved.

He would’ve turned around. Fallen to his knees. Crawled back to her with nothing but her name on his lips and his heart full of love. 

She didn’t even need to mean it. She just had to say it. Just whisper “Don’t.”

And he would’ve stayed.

He would’ve burned the world down for the chance to pretend they could still belong to each other.

But then, she didn’t. She wanted him to leave.

胸がはち切れそうで

He did it for her. Because he loved her enough to let her walk into a future that didn’t make her sad. Maybe he wouldn’t have to wait forever to come back to her. Maybe fate would be kind and give him another chance to make it right, to show her that he could be everything she needed him to be.

He did it because he saw the pain bleeding out of her eyes when she asked him to leave. She just looked at him with those eyes, full of sorrow and love and fear all tangled together, and he knew—he knew—she was breaking her own heart to save his.

But he was sure his was breaking beyond saving.

Because she would heal—he believed that, even if it shattered him to think of her moving on, smiling again, learning how to breathe without him. She would survive. Strength was always her strong suit..

But Jack wouldn't. He wasn't made for this kind of loss.

But for now, he was left standing alone in the spring, the wind biting at his skin, and he had nothing but the silence of her absence. And all he could do was hope—pray, even—that someday she would come back to him.

---

Please, hurry, leave me, I can’t breathe.

---

[9haharharley1]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black Characters: Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Nicholas St. North, E. Aster Bunnymund, Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood) Additional Tags: Cute, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Just really cute guys, Christmas fic Summary:

Jack's been making a nuisance of himself at the North Pole. North enlists Bunny to do something about him.

[timeturner-jay]

Jack Frost - “Wolf”

The trail is fresh, clean imprints cut into the flawless blanket of untouched snow. Their stark outlines seem an almost crass disturbance, this far north where life should be sleeping at this time of year. The sun has barely crested the horizon in weeks, and in the omnipresent gloom, the shadows run deep across this landscape of glimmering white, and pool in every crevice and hollow they can find. Like a line of ink, the footsteps of one lone, hungry wolf lead them out across the tundra. Jack doesn’t follow them, not this time. He’s not here for company, and starving hunters don’t make for good playmates; he’s not so cruel that he would tease them through their death throes. The deep sleep will come eventually, as it always does this far north, and anywhere else in the world as well. He ponders the trail though, and traces its route through the frozen trees. His bare feet don’t disturb a single snowflake as he walks, leaving no mark of his passing; winter is here already, the snow and the ice and the long nights the only trail he needs as he loops his way around the globe, year after year after year.

Jack Frost as winter personified is one of my favourite headcanons to play around with, and I'm never going to let it go. <3 Hope you like this, anon!

Drabble Requests are open if anyone else wants to send one in!

[blackbeeno3569]

A bit of their daily life outside of crisis, while the new page is in progress...

THE IMPORTANCE OF PRACTICE Hazel walked through the dark corridors of the Lair’s palace, slowly running through a spell book she was reading those days. Her footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor, as she walked down the stairs to the hall, flipping over another page. Then she froze on a spot in an instant. In the hall there was a giant spider, not shy from the size of a bear, its body shimmering with nightmare sand particles and its many eyes watching her without a single motion. Its fangs clapped sharply and Hazel did the only logical thing that there was to be done. She yelled. “Pitch!!!” “Oh, there you are,” the Boogeyman emerged from behind the creature, not paying her much attention though, organising the black sand around the spider’s legs. The shadowy beast leaned closer to her with a curiosity of an extremely ugly dog, that kind that could drool all over your legs and still look like it could bite off your arm, patiently letting its creator to work.

“Why do we have a giant spider in our hall?” Hazel asked slowly, her voice strained. She took a cautious step back. She never liked spiders and this creature made her skin crawl and heart race even though she knew it’s not really real.

“Spiders demand practice,” Pitch explained without looking at her, reaching down on the spider’s stomach to add some other scary detail probably, “if I don’t make some here or there,” his voice a bit muffled from the cloud of the black sand as he was precising its hairy limbs, “they tend to move their legs in a funny way when I need them...”

Only then he realised the true meaning of her question, letting the sand subside. “You are afraid of spiders?” he looked at her with a hint of disbelief. “It’s of the size of a horse!” she snapped back, Pitch’s tone way too light to her liking. He grinned mischievously and snapped his fingers: “Easy to fix, my dear.” “Don’t you dare-!” The giant spider fell into hundreds of smaller ones, filling the whole floor. The myriad of the crawling creatures stopped only in a disciplined circle around her feet. Hazel yelled again, disintegrating the few first rows back into the sand with a swift wave of her hand, just before she shot their author a livid look. He let them disappear all at once with a single elegant move of his wrist, leaning down to her with an academic tone and his grin even wider, amused glint playing in his eyes: “It’s part of the basic set of human natural fears, to be afraid of spiders, you see. Necessary for human survival in the wild outdoors. A heritage of the ancestors we might say. Absolutely needed imagery for my nightmares and fearlings.”

Her glare could curdle milk but it didn’t seem to have much of an effect on Pitch. “Very useful lecture,” she snarled and took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart, “I hope you had fun.” “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to present you with a bit of useful information,” he nodded with a seriousness betrayed only by his eyes and he leaned down to kiss her forehead, “also you should get some benefit of living with the Boogeyman sometimes.” Hazel’s lips twitched in a smile. There was something endearing about both his dedication to his craft and his playfulness. “The almost heart attack waiting for me in the hall is a benefit?” “You could simply just enjoy a nice spider,” he countered, “it was a rather good one I think.”

“I won’t enjoy any spider, thank you very much, not in a hundred years.” “Did you see the way they ran?” “I did, my love. Unfortunately I did. Very convincing.”

“It’s not easy to do, you know.” “I can imagine.”

They walked out of the hall together, the fear slowly being forgotten.

There were indeed certain benefits of living with the Boogeyman. Not exactly in encountering the nightmare creatures in the halls of one’s home necessarily, but there were some. At least Hazel thought so.

[ryan-says-hi]

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]

Jack is going to catch his secret admirer this time.

He ate dinner long after sunset to keep his energy up. He made a pot of coffee and downed half of it with a grimace, despite his mother's complaints. Hell, he was even out in the field in the dead of night barefoot, his toes turning numb with the cold press of dirt. 

He’s starting to regret that last one. He glances down at his toes, wiggling them to check that they still listen to him. Indeed, they wiggle.

Jack isn’t sure how long he’ll have to wait or if his admirer will come tonight at all. But seeing Hiccup the other day, holding the flower meant for him, had filled him with some feverish desire to finally catch the person in the act. Hiccup was proof that this person did exist. For whatever reason, there’s someone who holds affection for Jack.

The thought warms his face (though, regretfully, it does nothing for his poor feet). Someone holding affection for him. He, Jack, the shepherd boy, who’s made the mistake of biting Hiccup once when they’d gotten too into their wrestling match. 

Someone holds affection for him.

The moon is just a skinny slip of light, itty bitty in the inkblot sky. Jack tilts his chin up to it regardless, leaning a little heavier on his staff as he watches shadows of midnight black cross the sky. Likely clouds, but maybe a flock of birds or a late-night dragon hunt. Jack scans the shadow for any indication it’s a group of dragons, even as his thoughts tumble away from the present.

He’s been thinking about his admirer, sure, but ever since he’d caught Hiccup with the flower, he’s also been struck by the realization that he’ll have a chance to spend more time with Hiccup. A trip to the mountains, or even to the dragon village, would surely be easier if he asked his admirer to take him there. 

Not that he hasn’t asked Hiccup before. He has, on several occasions. But Hiccup tends to get stuttery anytime Jack hints at finally meeting the dragon riders Hiccup talks so fondly of, so Jack doesn’t push.

Well. He pushes a little. But not too much, or too often. Just a bit of pushing here and there, especially when he isn’t being trailed by Emily. 

The thought of Emily makes him frown.

Emily is—well. She’s Emily, which means she’s always saying things, and not all of them are truthful. So when she’d told Jack it was Hiccup leaving him all those gifts, he’d immediately assumed she was messing with him. Hiccup is a friend! A friend who has important things to do for his tribe, important responsibilities. (Besides that, Jack has seen how Hiccup talks about his “friend” Astrid. He’s pretty sure she’s more than a friend, but he doesn’t have any theories as to why Hiccup would be shy on that one.)

The moon whispers out from behind the moving shadow, and Jack’s spirits sink a little at the wispy shapes that pass over its crescent form. Just a cloud. 

Blowing his bangs from his forehead with a huff, Jack leans further against his staff, his spine giving a small pop between his shoulder blades as he adjusts his weight. “You think they’ll come tonight?” He asks the sheep. The sheep don’t respond. Jack is sure one day he’ll get them to crack. Hiccup doesn’t seem to think so, but Jack is on a mission to prove him wrong.

Jack lowers his eyes from the moon, gaze pulled like a leaf on the wind to the crook of his staff. He’d taken the flower Hiccup had half crushed and woven the stem of it around the wooden crook, mostly as a way to preserve the flower since it was too damaged to last more than a day. Staring at the stem, Jack lets his thoughts turn idly.

There’s something weird about the whole thing.

Why would Emily lie to him? She’s never tried messing with his feelings before. Getting out of chores and passing blame is her usual MO. They rib one another, but at the end of the day, they’re siblings; Jack sneaks her extra cookies from the cookie jar after dinner, and Emily double checks his bed decoy is still in place on nights Jack sneaks out to the pasture to lie under the moon. She’d never lie to him about something like this.

And now that Jack is thinking about it, why had Hiccup been holding the flower? Had he seen it next to Jack and picked it up? That had been Jack’s assumption when he’d (been very rudely) woken up, but now . . .

“I’m sure he will,” Jack says to the sheep. He can’t remember what he’d been telling the sheep, but talking out loud always helps, especially when his thoughts are as scrambled as they are now. Groaning in frustration, he straightens up from his lean against his staff—

—only to stiffen at the abrupt shuffling of sheep, somewhere to his left.

Jack snatches his staff from the ground and spins on his heel, eyes straining in the darkness. 

There! A figure, too shrouded in the night for him to make out any details, but most definitely humanoid (and not a wolf, thank the gods). The moon isn’t doing Jack any favors, but it looks like they’re frozen midstep, their head hunched over their shoulders. 

Jack lowers his staff, his heart racing. About time! “Hey!” Jack calls out, putting on his best grin. If they’re a dragon, they can probably see him even in the dark, and he wants to make a decent impression on them. 

(The realization that this stranger probably knows Jack far better than Jack knows them is . . . unsettling, but Jack shoves it down. They’ve been leaving him flowers and bread. How much danger could he be in?)

The figure doesn’t unfold from their hunched position, so Jack steps forward, trying to get a better glimpse of them. What little light the moon has been offering flickers away—probably behind a cloud.

The figure bolts.

“Wha—hey!”

Jack spits a curse and takes off after them. 

Whoever they are, they’re fast. But Jack is fast too, light as the wind even on frozen feet. Jack can barely make out who he’s chasing, trusting the vague silhouette of panicked sheep parting around them to trace his path over the pasture. The moon begins to emerge from behind its cloud, and big, black leathery things snap open from the figure's back. 

For a moment, Jack thinks they’re Hiccup’s wings.

The figure crouches, like they’re about to burst into the air. In a panic, Jack lurches forward with his staff. The crook of it catches the dragon around the waist, just over what looks to be a belt—

—and then Jack is in the air, a mad gust of wind erupting over his face from the figure’s wings. It’d be enough to shock him out of his grip on his staff, had he not been so accustomed to grabbing onto Hiccup for delighted life every time he’d been snatched from the earth. Even so, he yelps in surprise as his body is flung forward. 

Their combined weight is enough to throw the figure off their flight. The two of them jolt in midair, and Jack thuds into the figure's legs as momentum catches him. Something metal hits him in the gut, knocking the wind from him. There’s a tug on his staff, and between the chaotic tumbling of it all, Jack’s white-knuckled grip on the wood slips. 

He falls, eyes screwed shut as thoughts whirl around his skull too quickly for him to grab at anything other than bracing for pain.

A second later, a body thuds into his, and he’s being flipped suddenly, everything spinning for a wild moment as the figure crushes him to their chest. It’s a rough grab, and Jack’s hands make a blind grab on instinct, frozen fingers gripping at armour—armour Jack knows by heart by now.

Jack’s eyes fly open.

Hiccup’s face is screwed together, the worried knit of his eyebrows achingly familiar in the light of the moon. It only takes a moment for Hiccup to right them in the air, his arms firm around Jack’s waist as his wings beat steady, a near-perfect partner to the night sky. 

“Gods, Jack,” Hiccup says. There’s probably irritation in his voice, but Jack’s a bit too busy having his whole world suddenly rearranged to really process the fact that Hiccup’s upset with him. “How did your staff not break? I get you’re not very heavy, but I took off at full speed, and it carried you. What is it made of—Jack? Jack?!”

Jack snaps his eyes away from Hiccup’s mouth. He’s not irritated, Jack realizes abruptly. He’s worried. 

“Are you hurt?” 

The arms around his waist adjust, and then there’s a hand on his face, strikingly warm against his chilled cheeks. Stupid dragons and all their stupidly natural furnace heat, Jack thinks suddenly and viciously as he lets go of Hiccup’s stupid armour to grab his stupid face. The thought of Hiccup dropping him never even crosses his mind. 

“You’re my admirer?” He asks, his voice erupting from him far louder than he’d intended. “You’re the person who’s been leaving me bread and—and flowers and—and—!”

Hiccup’s eyes widen, pupils enormous. His ears flatten against his head, and beneath Jack’s hands, he feels the heat that rises to Hiccup’s cheek. It’s an absurdly nice feeling. 

“Uhm,” Hiccup says, when Jack fails to splutter any further. “Surprise?”

Surprise, he says. Surprise.

Jack can’t help but laugh.

It burbles out of him, gently at first, but then he starts to shake with it, something delightful like sizzling bacon or the crash of a hot spring erupting inside of him. He lets go of Hiccup’s face so he can tuck his own into Hiccup’s neck, utterly consumed by the laughter that’s sending him into shambles.

As he slowly regains control of his laughter, Hiccup lowers them to the ground. By the time his feet touch solid earth, he’s dizzy with how happy he feels, and it’s only Hiccup’s arms around him that keep him upright. 

“Jack?” he asks. He sounds nervous, or—well. Nervous isn’t quite a strong enough word, or maybe it’s an understatement. He sounds like he’s making that face he gets when Mary catches him off guard by offering him food, or the first time one of the sheep randomly appeared at his side, its bored expression insanely comically next to the utter panic that had made Hiccup’s shoulder rigid as rocks.

The memory is enough to finally make Jack’s laughter subside. He pulls his face from Hiccup’s neck, and sure enough, Hiccup looks halfway between miserable and delighted. It’s a look only he could pull off. Not for the first time, Jack wants to kiss him stupid.

‘Oh, I’m stupid,’ Jack thinks.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he says as he catches his breath, his face sore with the grin that’s completely overthrown his face. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear.”

Hiccup nods like he doesn’t believe Jack, which is fair. “Uh-huh,” he says slowly. 

Jack brings his hands back up to Hiccup’s face. Before he can lose his courage, he leans forward, and is greeted by a mouth as warm as the cheeks under his hands as he kisses Hiccup quickly.

When he pulls back, Hiccup looks utterly dazed. And then he grins, pupils enormous and ears straight as sugar cane as he leans forward and thumps his forehead against Jack’s. Jack leans into it, into the soft brush of Hiccup’s fringe and the bump of their noses. “You could have told me,” Jack says, and delights in the feeling of Hiccup’s brow screwing together, even as smile lines appear at his eyes. 

“Yeah, that’s. Well. I tried telling you the other day? With the—”

“—The green gambler! Oh Gods, I’m so dumb.”

Hiccup barks out a laugh. “Maybe a little,” he says. Jack jabs him fruitlessly in the ribs, which hurts his finger way more than it hurts Hiccup. But it makes Hiccup laugh against him, his tail making a swish noise in the grass as it sways behind him, so it’s entirely worth it. 

Hiccup pulls away from him, arms loosening from Jack’s waist. Before Jack can begin to complain, he sees why—his staff, and a handful of green gamblers clenched tightly in Hiccup’s fist, the stalks crushed in Hiccup’s grasp. “I brought you more,” he starts, his ears doing an odd flutter against his head. “I was trying to make up for the last one I crushed. Which went swimmingly, as you can see so clearly by the evidence.”

Jack wonders how he hadn’t pieced it together before, the little fact that he’s so stupidly smitten by Hiccup, when all he wants to do is kiss the downturned corners of Hiccup’s mouth to see them turn back right side up. 

He takes the flowers, and his staff, and then gladly slides back into Hiccup’s personal space like it’s his own. Hiccup’s tail curls around the backs of his heels. “You could always take me to see the village,” he suggests. He’d had a blank image of a figure flying him to dragon village earlier. His mind fills in the shadow with Hiccup’s silhouette, and Jack feels a little breathless. “Show me the mountaintop you’ve been getting them from.”

Hiccup’s smile is achingly sweet, made all the sweeter by the way he hesitates for just a moment before bringing his hand back up to Jack’s face. As if Jack wouldn’t immediately lean into the touch, which he does. “Is that what it takes to make it up to you?” he asks.

“Oh, that’s a hard one. I was pretty bummed about the flower bit. That, and getting rudely woken up, and now that I think about it, you sort of kicked me with your prosthetic, but I guess I did sort of attack you with my staff? Sorry about that, by the way, but you were running and I drank coffee earlier, which is gross, just so I could catch you, so, really, that’s also on you.”

Jack recognizes the look on Hiccup’s face now, the one that’s escaped him forever—its fondness, and it’s almost enough to warm Jack against the cold of night.

“Kiss me?” Jack asks.

Hiccup obliges.

__________

@aura2023 I DID IT. PART THREE, LIKE I PROMISED. Holy shit, I did NOT think this semester was going to be as demanding as it was, so I apologize for the wait! But I loved the ending you'd put in the tags about Jack recognizing Hiccup in the night by his hugs, and I was determined to bring it to life. I really hope you like this!!

(And now to actually look at my thousand other wip's, siiigghh)

[heartbinders]

TAG DUMP: JACK FROST

❛ ic: jack. ❛ musings: jack. ❛ headcanon: jack. ❛ aesthetic: jack. ❛ meta: jack. ❛ images: jack. ❛ relations: jack. ❛ open: jack. ❛ closed: jack. ❛ inbox: jack. ❛ dash games: jack. ❛ starter call: jack. ❛ drabbles: jack. ❛ music: jack. ❛ verse: jack ; human. ❛ verse: jack ; wandering spirit. ❛ verse: jack ; guardian.

[x-lee-cya]

hc / fic idea: jack still has his old cloak, he just doesnt wear it in the movies bc it’d gotten ripped back during the blizzard of ’68 and he’d been too busy to fix it since then (listen, when you’re immortal ~40 years can seem like theyre like 5, ok?)

he mentions it once offhandedly to bunny, who immediately feels guilty bc it was ripped by him, and in the same second gets a wonderful, terrible idea: so he asks where jack keeps it.

“in this old snow cave i use to sleep in during the summers,” jack replies, then asks, slightlh confused, “why d’you wanna know?”

“no reason,” lies aster.

(the cloak’s fixed, with ice and snowflake patterns stitched painstakingly to the centuries-old close up the holes, and if aster’d also maybe, slightly magically reinforced the old thing the same way he’d done all of his old clothes from the golden age of old, from before the pooka massacre… well. the old thing clearly meant a lot to the blighter, for the sentimental value it had and newly-regained memories it represented even if nothing else. he was just doing a close mate of his a kindhearted favour, that’s all; nothing special to it, no sir.)

(jack finds it the morning after aster leaves it on top of his always-frozen lake, in a neat, green, somehow egg-patterned (“really not tryin’ to be subtle here, huh, cottontail?”) box with a white bow in top. he runs to the warren as soon as he’s put the snowflake-patterned thing on and tackles aster in the biggest bear hug he’s capable of giving the pooka.

aster kindly chooses to ignore the slight wetpatch the frostbite leaves in his fur, during said bear hug. guess that cloak’d meant more to the winter sprite then he’d first thought, after all.)

[guardian-of-fun-times]

❄️Rise of the Guardians: Closer to You [Jack Frost X Reader]❄️

The evening sun cast long shadows on the ground illuminating the snow below. The slanting rays of the setting sun gave a warm orange tinge to the sky as you gazed out the grand window for a short while.

You heard a slight tapping against the hard wood floor of his bare feet. You found Jack wandering down the hall and met up with him. "I'm starting to feel sleepy." You told the winter spirit. "My schedule has been off since I abruptly stop my medication. My doctor cancelled our phone appointment since he had an emergency leave, so I'm stuck without them for a while." You stifled a yawn, turned to Jack, smiled, and took his hand. "But I could sure use a cuddle buddy tonight."

The pale crescent moon began to shine like a silvery claw in the falling night sky. The occasional clanking of toys being made in the nearby workshop broke the silence.

"I'll be your cuddle buddy. You can even fall asleep while we cuddle. I'll be here with you, don't worry about it." He let go of your hand and put his arms around you. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby? I can if you'd like?"

"Okay." You smile sheepishly. "We can stay in my room. I have a Borealis light. I hope you don't mind. Oh, I didn't know you can sing. That'd be nice actually."

Oh, of course I wouldn't mind staying in your room! It would be a pleasure. I'll make you feel comfortable as I can. And my singing isn't really good, but I hope you'll like it anyway." He smiles back at you. "And is the Borealis light those kinds of star lights that shine on the ceiling? Because I love those!"

"Yes, it is! You said excitedly. "It glows different colors too. Would you like to crawl into the covers with me? I'm weird about blankets. I need them even when it's hot. It's a comfort thing."

"I don't mind at all. I like to feel comfortable, so I understand. So I'll go with you." He holds you gently and leads you to your room. "What color do you want for the star light tonight, my dear?"

"Ummm." You hesitated. Blue! It's my favorite color. "Oh, I've got to change into my PJs. I don't have any that'll fit you. I'm sorry." You reached your door and opened it for him. "Well, here's my room."

As he follows you to your room and see the room for the first time, I can't help but smile and admire all the beauty and the coziness. "It's a wonderful room. North did an amazing job!" He playfully nips at your nose. "Don't worry about the PJs, I'll be fine."

He moves in closer and corners you. You're now trapped between him and the wall. "I've never had a guy in my room before so this is my first time." You stuttered, your face growing immensely hot.

He laughs. "You're very cute when you blush, you know? It's okay. I don't mind being the first. Actually, it's a huge honor for me." He looks deep into your eyes, a huge grin playing across his face. "You're not going to be needing these." He chuckled, tugging on your shirt.

Jack was drop dead gorgeous and that was the truth. He was a total sweetheart that much you could tell, soft spoken, helpful, smart, handsy, every quality that made his personality attractive. Though, you weren’t sure if that’s what this could turn into.

You escaped his grasp and quickly dive into the blankets, hiding inside. "Come find me!"

"Sounds fun! Wait for me!" He immediately removes his hoodie and belt, leaving his pants unzipped.

He starts trying to search with his hands. When he finds you, he smiles and gives you a small peck on the lips. "Found you!"

You giggled and placed your hands around his neck.

"You're adorable when you hide like this. You look so cute. You make me so happy. Truly and completely. You're just perfect. I love you."

 Before you can say anything, he’s kissing you softly, hoping to convey his feelings more through touch. You hum softly, relaxing against him as he rolls over, resting on top of you. You trail your hands from his hips to his chest, raking your nails gently down his skin. You suck in a sharp breath as he kisses down your neck, his hands sliding up the shirt, sending goosebumps along your skin. As he pushes up the shirt, exposing your skin, wanting to see you with fresh eyes. He pulls the shirt over your head, sitting up and taking the time to really look at you. As he stares at you, you almost feel self-conscious, making you want to cover yourself, but he’s lowering himself back down, placing kisses on your skin. You relax the further he goes, his hands reaching underneath you to unclasp your bra.

He slowly moves it out from underneath you, setting it somewhere to the side, his hands caressing each breast in hand. The sensation of pleasure rolls through you, and your back arches as you close your eyes. You didn’t know what to do with your hands, but the moment his tongue laps at one of your nipples, your fingers are tangling in his hair, a breathy moan escaping your lips. His other hand teases your other nipple gently, rolling it in between his fingers, loving the way you squirmed. His ocean eyes are on your face, taking in your features. Before long, he's switching to the other nipple, palming your other breast. He groans against your skin, trailing kisses down the valley of your breasts. The lower he gets, the faster your heart beats. He nudges your thighs apart, his fingers curling around the waistband of your underwear. His cease in movement causes you to open your eyes. He’s waiting for you to give the okay. With a small nod, he’s swiftly removing your underwear in a matter of seconds.

Nudging your legs further apart, you hold your breath as he kisses your inner thighs, squeezing lightly. His eyes almost roll into the back of his head as he tastes you for the first time. A squeak leaves your mouth as his tongue dips between your folds. Your fingers curl into the sheets, eyes closing as you rock into his face. “Oh…” You moan, sucking in a sharp breath. Jack takes both of your legs, lifting them over his shoulders, angling your lower body upward. His tongue laps against your clit, and he slides a finger into your depths, your answering whimper leading him to continue. He keeps his free hand against your hips, keeping you still as you started to squirm. “Oh fuck…” You rasp, your hands now moving towards his head, either in an effort to keep him there or push him away, you weren’t sure. His humming against your skin makes you shudder, and he slips another finger inside, gently pumping them forward. Your legs are shaking now, toes curling, and your fingers tighten in his hair.

He then starts this sucking motion with his mouth, and you can’t help the quiet wail that leaves your lips. Some part of you prays to God no one could hear you. Your sexual experience wasn’t anything to brag about. With Jack still holding your hip, the friction you wanted so badly was being withheld, and it was frustratingly pleasurable. Your head swims as you lock your legs behind his head. His fingers dig into your flesh in response. “Please…” You breathe out, not sure what you were asking for, but you were asking for something nonetheless. You could feel the pressure building in your body, and your soft moans and curses were uncontainable the closer he brought you to ecstasy. Most men at this point would change the rhythm to a faster pace, but Jack? He continued with this languid motion of flicking his tongue and pumping his fingers like time didn’t exist. Your thighs were practically vibrating over his shoulders, you’re breaths wispy and ragged.

He loved it.

“Jack…” You pant, your eyes screwing shut, white flashes dancing across your dark vision. You were this close. The more he licks and sucks on your flesh, the more of you he tastes, the closer you were to losing your mind. He then replaces his tongue with his thumb, rubbing your clit in small circles, his tongue plundering back into your slick, wet, folds, intent to get all he could. That was your undoing. He finally lets up on your hip, and you rock into his face as your orgasm takes over every part of your body. With your legs clenched around his neck, it kept him there, licking everything you had to offer and more. He didn’t care that you practically soaked his face and the sheets, he was on a high just knowing he got you there. He takes one final lick from the very crevice of your pussy to the top, before easing up, gently unclasping your shaking legs. He kisses each thigh in passing as he lowers your legs down. Your fingers had finally released his hair and if he were human, you’d probably have ripped a few chunks out. You still shudder as he kisses back up your now tired body, before taking your lips, and you moan softly, though you had no energy to do anything more. You can taste yourself, and it was mix between a salty and somewhat of a tart taste if you could describe it. It wasn’t a gross thing you’d think it would be.

He releases your lips to breathe, and your eyes are barely open at this point, but you’re able to see the satisfied look on his face before you close your eyes completely. His frigid body leaves the bed, leaving you even more cold for a moment and you hear water running before he’s back in a minute if not less, wiping between your legs gently. Not wanting to disturb you further, Jack sets the warm towelette on the back of his chair, pulling the covers from under you on top, nestling beside you as you curl into his side once he settles. He kisses your forehead as you drift off into sleep, his arm settling around you.

It was nearly midnight, and the night sky was picturesque. A black to navy gradient was the backdrop for a full moon; the night sky so clear you could almost see every crater. The moon, a glowing yellowy white, loomed large, surrounded by an ethereal glow.

"I'm ready for bed." You snuggled him close.

"Good night, love. Sleep tight. I'll be right here if you need me. I'll be your protector. I'll be your shoulder to cry on. No matter the problem, I'll be right here for you. You're my rock. My world. My everything. I'll always love you. So, sleep tight and dream of me."

"How can I not dream of you? You're already in my every thought." You laughed. "Goodnight Jack."

"Sweet dreams. I'll always dream of you, too. I'll always love you, forever."

[ryan-says-hi]

Laughter bubbles in Jack's mouth, bright and scorching. He almost forgets the sweat trying to puddle on his back. "You what?" He asks.

Hiccup winces, glancing at his rearview mirror at the PetCo front before twisting in his seat. "I might have accidentally stolen a lizard," he says miserably.

The laughter tumbles from Jack. "Accidentally?"

Hiccup glares at Jack, wiping at the sweat on his own brow beneath his fringe. "Yes, accidentally," he hisses. "Toothless here wasn't exactly keen to leave my sweater, and I wasn't about to let Pitch know I was there, watching him roam around the fishtanks at a PetCo like an emo teenager from the early 2000's, so-"

"Wait," Jack interupts, looking at Hiccups sweater intently. Hiccup's jaw snaps shut. He fidgets under Jack's roving eyes, pressing further back into the leather seat. Jack can't see any lumps in the green fabric, but-

"Do you still have the lizard?"

Hiccup blinks. All at once, his fidgeting stops. He reaches under the hem of his sweatshirt, his brows scrunched together like they do when he's actively regreting something. A black tail pokes out from beneath the green. Then a set of backlegs, and then a torso, and then Hiccup is pulling a lizard the size of his forearm out from under his sweater, holding it beneath it's armpits like it'll bite him if he's not careful. It's kind of hilarious, actually. The little guy has enormous green eyes and a gummy smile, no teeth in sight.

Hiccup's face is still screwed with regret, even as he shifts to allow the little guy to rest its backlegs on his thigh. For a fleeting moment, Jack thinks about kissing Hiccup.

Instead, he puts on a shit eating grin and says, "Wasn't Pitch looking for something with teeth?"

Hiccup flashes him a smile. "Put your finger in Toothless' mouth and find out."

The lizard - Toothless - wriggles in Hiccup's grasp, it's lower body enacting freestyle jazz. Jack grins, delighted. He's going to do it, too, raising a finger up to poke at Toothless' flailing belly when the shadows in Hiccup's truck waver.

Toothless' eyes narrow to slits, teeth emerging from it's gums. The next moment, it's vanished, a wisp of smoke as it reappears on Hiccup's shoulder. It ducks into Hiccup's hair at the base of his neck, claws finding purchase in his sweater as it eyes Jack warily.

The sweat on Jack's back crystalizes. Hiccup's breath visibly stammers. "I- I didn't-"

"Hiccup-"

"Oh god. Did I kidnap Pitch's nightmare?"

_________

What if - hear me out - what if Toothless is a baby nightmare who decides it's had enough of Pitches bullshit and resides in a PetCo (a pet store). What if the nightmare takes one look at Hiccup trailing Pitch and takes the form of a lizard to attract his attention. What if Modern Hiccup bonds with said lizard while tracking Pitch, panics when he's nearly caught, and smuggles the lizard out by accident. What if Jack is waiting in Hiccup's truck with the AC cranked to escape the blazing heat when Hiccup returns, having no clue what he's just done, but having a stupid affinity for the little guy all the same.

Also- hear me out- what if none of this has anything to do with the source art, but it inspired me all the same. (Thank you @sboochi for your wonderful art! I can't wait to see what the OG idea was, if that's ever something you want to pursue :D )

I've always liked the idea of a sequel for RotG set during summer. Cold never bothered Jack anyway but scorching sun sure does

[phaticserpent]

Could you write about how Pitch Black would react if he found out his s/o is ticklish?

Sure! (I'd kick this man even though I love him)

You were pretty good at hiding things, especially the fact that you were ticklish. Still, nothing evaded The Nightmare King, Pitch Black. Maybe he always knew, or maybe it was that time where he was placing gentle kisses to your neck.

You let out an involuntary giggle as Pitch moved further down your neck. He pulled back, curious and confused.

"Are you okay?"

"Mhm," your face was flushed. "Just....sensitive." Rather than continue, Pitch began to ghost his touch over your skin, sending tingling sensation throughout your body. His finger ghosted over your stomach while he continued to pepper your neck with kisses.

"....Well, you're really sensitive everywhere." He chuckled lowly. "You're rather ticklish."

"N-no, I'm not." You let out a moan.

"You're cute, but you can't hide anything from me." Pitch smiled. "I won't do anything....I know that being tickled is a big fear for you."

".....You know?"

He leaned in. "Love, I'm the Nightmare King, of course I know." Well, at least you didn't have to worry about being tickled, but he would continue using that sensitivity to his advantage.

[pleaseletmeinibeg453]

Jelsa oneshots inspired by songs

Holidays by Conan Gray

Jelsa, one shot, modern AU

The coffee shop was small, familiar. The kind of place that still had mismatched mugs and a hand-painted menu board that hadn’t been updated in years. She had come here a hundred times before—after school with her friends, on lazy Sunday mornings with her mom. With him.

She didn’t notice him at first. She was too busy tugging off her gloves and squinting at the board, even though she already knew she would order a black coffee.  She had been back in town for less than a day and was already here, drawn to it like a bad habit. She didn’t even like the coffee—it still tasted vaguely of gasoline—but nostalgia made people do strange things, and Elsa wasn’t immune.

She glanced out the window, watching as Anna lingered outside, still caught up in some overly enthusiastic conversation with an old classmate. Elsa didn’t remember the girl’s name. She had probably sat behind her in chemistry, borrowing her pencil once. She would have forgotten her by lunch.

The laugh that floated through the air, slipped into her ear, and finally became a signal in her brain was something she couldn’t describe. She could have searched the entire world, run in circles until her lungs gave out, learned a million languages—and still, she wouldn’t have found a word for it.

It was his.

Years had passed, but he still laughed exactly the same. She knew she shouldn't turn or look at him, but she did. 

Her eyes found him easily, like they hadn’t spent years unlearning the habit.

Jack.

He looked almost the same. Still sharp-jawed and broad-shouldered, still white-haired and a little unruly around the edges. But his face was leaner now, more defined. The boyish softness she remembered was long gone. He was older, better. It suited him.

For a second, they just stared at each other.

And then—he smiled.

Not the easy, practiced grin she remembered—the one she had once told him made him look like a liar. This was smaller. Softer. Familiar in the way that only something worn and weathered could be.

It hit her so easily. The way he smiled like he still knew her. Like he hadn’t forgotten the shape of her name. Like nothing had changed at all. 

Elsa smiled back.

And then, just like that, they both looked away.

Anna joined her in a while, yapping about something Elsa couldn’t bring herself to care about.

She turned back to the counter, ordered her coffee, slipped her gloves into her pocket, and walked over to the table by the wall. She set her phone down and curled her hands around the mug, warming her fingers against the ceramic. She didn’t look at him again. She didn’t have to.

Although, she could still feel him.

She could feel him every time she glanced at the window, catching the faint reflection of him in the glass. She could feel him when she took a sip of her coffee, suddenly hyper-aware of the way he cradled his cup in both hands, the way he had always done when he was cold. She could feel him when she let herself glance over and saw that he had gone back to talking to Aster.

And she thought, God, he’s still the same.

The same Jack who had held her hand beneath the table at dinner, their fingers threaded together, her thumb pressed lightly into the scar on his knuckle. The same Jack who had rolled his eyes when she called him out for being late but still kissed her temple before he left. The same Jack who had sat on the hood of her car one summer night, talking about nothing and everything until the sky turned pale.

He was the same.

And yet, when she caught his eyes again—just for a second, fleeting and sharp—it was still him.

Because his eyes hadn’t changed.

She could still see lifetimes in them. 

Memories she hadn’t meant to hold onto. July afternoons that stretched into evening. The sound of his laugh against her throat. The way he had whispered her name once, low and wrecked, like he couldn’t bear it. The way he had looked at her afterward, his palm pressed against her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her jaw.

She let out a sigh, focusing on something, anything that could change the direction of her thoughts.

The choir outside. Young, off-key voices singing the same carols she had heard a thousand times before.

She shouldn’t have noticed. She shouldn’t have listened. It was the wrong thing to focus on.

Because it took her right back.

To them.

To the two of them standing outside this very café—years ago, hands stuffed into each other’s coat pockets because they were too stubborn to admit they were cold. Still teenagers, still kids, under the delusion that they were adults just because they could drive and drink coffee and kiss each other’s necks with easy, practiced certainty.

But they were still kids.

Barely seventeen.

And still stupid enough to think the world would wait for them.

She could still remember the way he had pulled her in that night—right there on the sidewalk, with the snow in her hair and carolers singing some slow, breathy version of Silent Night in the background. He had kissed her the way only a seventeen-year-old boy could—too hard, too certain, too sure that nothing could break them.

When she glanced over again, he was already looking at her.

And for the briefest second, it felt like they were seventeen again. Sitting in that same coffee shop, her legs pulled up on the chair, his knee pressed against hers. His arm slung lazily over the back of her seat. Her hand on his wrist, tracing slow, absent circles over his skin. Like they were still allowed to look at each other like that. 

But now they weren’t.

She would give anything to be that naive again. 

She blinked once and looked down at her coffee. 

And when he finally left—half an hour later, book tucked into his coat, hands in his pockets—he didn’t say goodbye.

Neither did she.

But she knew she would see him in the holidays. 

-----

I started listening to this song while writing the last chapter of Breathing/Collapsing, and I just HAD to take a break and write an oneshot. Hope you like this idea as much as I do!