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Literature Text
It’s completely out of this world.
How could a stick—a fairly ordinary-looking piece of wood—transform so quickly?
He just touched it, and it came alive. The moment he wrapped his hand around his staff, a magical, bluish white ice spread over the area on and around where he was grasping it, thick around his hand and progressively thinning until it stopped a few inches in either direction.
You can’t help but smile at the remarkableness of it all.
“Do you have a sled?” Jack Frost asks as he turns to face you once again, beaming.
Do you have a sled? “I think so…Lemme go check,” you tell him. You hear him laugh a little as you dash off to your garage. What is the spirit of winter plotting?
You spend a good five to ten minutes rummaging through your mess of a garage for a sled or anything you can use as one. Just as you’re about to give up, you find the perfect thing for the job.
You rush back out to the living room, holding a good-sized storage bin lid over your head.
Your heart immediately sinks.
The fire has been put out and isn’t even smoking anymore. The blanket is neatly folded and put on the arm of the couch. The tray and the food it once held are put back into their proper places. Jack’s cloak that you had taken off of him is nowhere to be found. The room is cold.
But not a Jack Frost kind of cold.
An empty kind of cold.
Still with a tiny spark of hope in you, you take your lid and fling open the door, running outside with searching eyes. You look in all directions for any sign of a white-haired teenage boy holding a wooden staff, listening for even the slightest sound of the familiar laughter.
Nothing. No sign of him anywhere.
Your fantasy has ended as quickly as it started.
You drop your storage bin lid and halfheartedly kick the snow at your feet. You were really looking forward to having an adventure, even if it all turned out to be a dream. You knew, somewhere in the back of your head, that it was all too good to be true. But you didn’t want that little part of you to turn out to be right.
It begins to snow.
Just a weather phenomenon. Science. Not caused by a mythical spirit.
You pick the lid back up and start to make your way back to your house.
But it was all so real…Jack Frost…real…
“Careful, it’s slippery!” you hear a familiar, mischievous voice playfully warn you.
“Huh? Wha—WHOA!” You slip and fall, ending up on your makeshift sled.
The next thing you know, you’re sledding backwards down your hill at full speed.
How could a stick—a fairly ordinary-looking piece of wood—transform so quickly?
He just touched it, and it came alive. The moment he wrapped his hand around his staff, a magical, bluish white ice spread over the area on and around where he was grasping it, thick around his hand and progressively thinning until it stopped a few inches in either direction.
You can’t help but smile at the remarkableness of it all.
“Do you have a sled?” Jack Frost asks as he turns to face you once again, beaming.
Do you have a sled? “I think so…Lemme go check,” you tell him. You hear him laugh a little as you dash off to your garage. What is the spirit of winter plotting?
You spend a good five to ten minutes rummaging through your mess of a garage for a sled or anything you can use as one. Just as you’re about to give up, you find the perfect thing for the job.
You rush back out to the living room, holding a good-sized storage bin lid over your head.
Your heart immediately sinks.
The fire has been put out and isn’t even smoking anymore. The blanket is neatly folded and put on the arm of the couch. The tray and the food it once held are put back into their proper places. Jack’s cloak that you had taken off of him is nowhere to be found. The room is cold.
But not a Jack Frost kind of cold.
An empty kind of cold.
Still with a tiny spark of hope in you, you take your lid and fling open the door, running outside with searching eyes. You look in all directions for any sign of a white-haired teenage boy holding a wooden staff, listening for even the slightest sound of the familiar laughter.
Nothing. No sign of him anywhere.
Your fantasy has ended as quickly as it started.
You drop your storage bin lid and halfheartedly kick the snow at your feet. You were really looking forward to having an adventure, even if it all turned out to be a dream. You knew, somewhere in the back of your head, that it was all too good to be true. But you didn’t want that little part of you to turn out to be right.
It begins to snow.
Just a weather phenomenon. Science. Not caused by a mythical spirit.
You pick the lid back up and start to make your way back to your house.
But it was all so real…Jack Frost…real…
“Careful, it’s slippery!” you hear a familiar, mischievous voice playfully warn you.
“Huh? Wha—WHOA!” You slip and fall, ending up on your makeshift sled.
The next thing you know, you’re sledding backwards down your hill at full speed.
Literature
JackFrostXReader
Snow.
You bounded out of bed and pressed your face to the cold glass pane of the window peering outside. A huge grin attacked your petite pale face as you saw the blankets of white ice and snowmen that seemed to have appeared just overnight. Winter was by far your favorite season of the year and the feeling of snow between your fingers was just indescribable. You found yourself tracing your finger around the patterns of icicles that had formed on the window.
"Hey (Name)!"
The voice shook you out of your daydream and you jumped back as your best friend Jamie Bennett appeared in front of your window with a snowball and wooden sled. Even
Literature
Jack FrostXReader~Part Two
"(Your name), you found him. You found Jack."
The white haired boy smiled at your sister and she smiled right back.
"I don't care who he is, I don't want you near him," You said quickly.
"But-" She started.
"It's okay (sister's name), what do you say we show her a little winter fun?" The boy said with a smirk rewarded with several nods and a giggle from your sister. He jumped out of the tree and landed on the ground with surprising ease. In fact, he almost seemed to float down.
"No, you stay away from us," You said, pointing the stick at him. It wasn't much to defend yourself against the unusual creeper, but it would ha
Literature
Jack FrostXReader: We Meet Again
You ran through the falling snow, tears streaming down your face. The moon was the only thing lighting your path, though you didn't even know where you were going anyway. Suddenly your foot struck a rock under the blanket of snow and you plummeted into it's cold embrace face first.
Never in your life had you needed someone so bad.
You lay there, your cheeks stinging from the biting cold the snow offered. Not able to take it anymore, you sat up and buried your face in your knees. Eventually you would have to sum up some strength and go home, but that wasn't happening anytime soon.
Today had been the worst day the fates had
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Here it is, Chapter 8! I'm sorry it's so short, but the next one is probably going to end up being pretty darn long. I want to keep writing, so I'll stick Chapter 9 up by the end of today too. 
SO I HAVE A KIND OF REALLY AWESOME STORY TO TELL ALL OF YOU GUYS. I was re-reading Chapter 6 (I reread my chapters so I can stay in the same writing mindset and keep it as consistent as possible, i'm sorry if I failed hard this time around) and my hands, which I have on my keyboard for scrolling, start to get really cold. Just my hands. I take them away from my keyboard, and they're a normal temperature again. Put them back near my laptop and BAM cold again. It's just the area above my keyboard, too, nowhere else around my laptop. Air conditioning isn't on. I move my laptop, still cold around the same area. Utterly confused, but being the super Jack Frost fangirl that I am, I begin to think "oh my gosh, Jack Frost is sitting here telling me to keep scrolling." I get inspired enough to read the chapter aloud and guess what? As I read the parts about dear Jack, my whole body gets cold, like I'm standing out in snow kind of cold. The other parts, I'm still getting progressively colder, but not as cold as the lines directly involving Jack. After I read aloud the last line, the cold leaves me, and I get the sense that it's happy with me. Then the wind blows from out of nowhere.
Moral of the story? Jack Frost is very real.
Great, now I look like a super duper crazy person and I've probably scared all of you off from continuing to follow my fanfiction.
Chapter 1: [link]
Chapter 7: [link]
9: [link]
SO I HAVE A KIND OF REALLY AWESOME STORY TO TELL ALL OF YOU GUYS. I was re-reading Chapter 6 (I reread my chapters so I can stay in the same writing mindset and keep it as consistent as possible, i'm sorry if I failed hard this time around) and my hands, which I have on my keyboard for scrolling, start to get really cold. Just my hands. I take them away from my keyboard, and they're a normal temperature again. Put them back near my laptop and BAM cold again. It's just the area above my keyboard, too, nowhere else around my laptop. Air conditioning isn't on. I move my laptop, still cold around the same area. Utterly confused, but being the super Jack Frost fangirl that I am, I begin to think "oh my gosh, Jack Frost is sitting here telling me to keep scrolling." I get inspired enough to read the chapter aloud and guess what? As I read the parts about dear Jack, my whole body gets cold, like I'm standing out in snow kind of cold. The other parts, I'm still getting progressively colder, but not as cold as the lines directly involving Jack. After I read aloud the last line, the cold leaves me, and I get the sense that it's happy with me. Then the wind blows from out of nowhere.
Moral of the story? Jack Frost is very real.
Chapter 1: [link]
Chapter 7: [link]
9: [link]
© 2012 - 2024 LegendofFullmetal
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Alot of times when I'm reading some jack frost x readers my arm gets cold and it feels like someone really cold is grabbing me in fact its doing it right now (I'm totally fangirling right now!!)