[Note: This is a Jack Frost x Reader. Leave now if you don't like that. I went ahead and gave it a chapter and a name, incase if I do decide to continue. Most likely I will because I have fun writing and I should honestly do it more often. Also I don't want to fit everything into this one chapter.]
Chapter 1: Forest Blizzard
[Name] buckled onto the frigid ground, speckles of ice stung at her eyes and fingertips. [Name] weakly gritted her teeth. Everything on her body hurt. Her face was numb from the cold and her vision was beginning to grow faint. So, this is the end, she thought dimly. I'm going to freeze, and no one would even have the slightest idea of what had killed me. [Name] could feel the gale ripping right above her wildly, the snow quickly beginning to burying her, causing her to become even colder than she was prior. Just as [Name]'s vision began to blink out, she saw the outline of a figure holding a gnarled staff. She tried to call for help, as a last ditch effort to feign death, but her voice was whipped away by the howl of the blizzard. She tried in vain to open her eyes wider to make out who the weather-beaten arrival was, instead let her eyes droop closed, and slipped into darkness. She was tired.
[Name] roused, bleary eyed, and was immediately greeted with a glowing, pleasant warmth. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and drowsily gazed around, still lying on her side. Her breath caught in her throat. She was back in her room. She had on a pink, wooly scarf and a thick, mauve sweater. Not the cold and by and large miserable thermals she'd been wearing—how long ago? It escaped her. She glanced down, she was neatly tucked in. Immediately reasonable thoughts rushed into her mind, her father must have found me. Or a neighbor. Yes, she thought, trembling, that must be it. Nothing else. She stared over at her digital clock on her nightstand and tutted. Nine-thirty AM, mom might have breakfast made by now. One-by-one [Name] pulled off the layers of thick blankets and quilts that were lying on top of her. She shivered. The fewer blankets there were on her, the colder it became, almost like she was back in the blizzard again. She'd have to thank dad when she was less shaken. She felt like a cat who'd gotten its tail yanked whilst inquiring a particularly dangerous rat; dazed, and jittery with nervous energy, however muted. When the last blanket was off of her body, she felt like the frosty air had enveloped her. It's like I'm ensnared inside of a raw, icy haze, [Name] thought to herself. As soon as it came, it disappeared. She had shifted to get off of the bed, and the cold just suddenly disappeared. Now positively flabbergasted [Name] looked down at her bed, noticing there seemed to be a second indention in it. She shook her head, "It's just the cold getting to you, [Name]. It's nothing." She muttered to herself, still staring at the fabric creases and wrinkles formed around the notch. [Name] strode over to her dresser and picked a warmer pair of paints. God knows she needed it, and slipped into them and nonchalantly headed downstairs, letting her nose guide her. She smiled.
[Name] spotted her mother sitting quietly at the table with plates filled to the brim with mouth watering food laid out before her. Eggs, bacon, bread, I don't know how she finds time to make all of this, but she was certainly grateful, especially after her preceding incident. Her mother turned her eyes, which were beginning to show signs of age, and fixed on her daughter. Her mother smiled quaintly. "Hello, [name]. I finished breakfast. Are you hungry?" Her mother flicked the newspaper she had resting on her lap open and began to read. [Name] made her way down to the opposite end of the table. "Sure, Mom, I'd love some." She smiled. This was nice. She placed two golden brown pancakes onto her plate, which was laced with ducks and tufts of grass. They were old plates, she recalled, a gift. She plucked up two pieces of chopped strawberries, picking the reddest and most ripe appearing berries, and placed them on crown of her pancakes. Pleased with her creation, she wedged a thin square butter from the bar and gingerly lifted up the top pancake, smoothing it across the bottom pancake. "Hey, can you pass me the maple syrup, please?" [Name] quietly asked her mother. Amused at her daughters mild tone, slid the bottle of syrup across the table inches from her plate. [Name] began to pour it over her pancake and let it drip onto the sides of the porcelain plate, turning the ducks into a sticky amber. She dipped her fork into the side of her pancake and began to score into it into several bite sized portions. "Delicious," [Name] sighed around the crushed up pancake inside of her mouth. "Your cooking is always the best, mom." She looked up at her mom who was now staring at her from over the newspaper, eyes glinting. "Thank you, sweetie" she responded, then went back to reading. [Name] paused and looked up from her meal, "Hey mom?"
"How did I get home?" [Name]'s mom looked up from her newspaper and looked quizzically at [Name]. "We just found you sitting on the staircase passed out, we thought somebody might've found you and placed you on the steps. All I know is you were covered in snow, and cold as ice." Stunned, [Name] froze. Cold as ice… She looked incredulously and just a little anxiously down at her plate and continued to eat. She frowned. The pancakes were less appetizing now.
[Name] dropped her fork and knife on the edge of the plate and wiped her mouth with the pink napkin her mom had laid on the side of the table. "Thanks for the meal," [Name] said briskly as she stood up and stretched, several of her joints popped. She groaned inwardly. "Let me take your dish." [Name] gripped her moms dish with three fingers and placed it on top of hers with a clink. She then, more evenly, went over to the sink and dropped them in the murky suds. Her mom smiled, and softly replied appreciatively. [Name] proceeded to wash the dishes. The warm water felt pleasant on her hands and she relished the warmth quietly for a few instants, and resumed scrubbing. But as she did, she felt the tip of her nose numb and her breath got icy. She touched the tip of her nose. …Cold as ice? [Name] thought in shock. But it's so warm in here! [Name] suddenly realized her mom was staring at her, amused. "Jack Frost nipping at your nose?" her mother asked while giggling. [Name]'s eyebrows arched. "Jack Frost?" [Name] scoffed, "He's only a legend. Don't tell me you believe in him." [Name] placed down the dishes in the sink and marched back up the carpeted stairs. Her mother chuckled, and resumed her reading.
[Name] closed the door gently behind her. Jack Frost isn't real, Jack Frost is only a legend. [Name] shook her head, trying to clear out the thoughts. But that only caused more to swarm in. But who was that boy I saw in the forest? Did he bring me home? Why? What if he was stuck in the blizzard, too? [Name] shook her head, and then felt her right hand begin to get cold again. She lifted it up to look at it, it was beginning to turn red… The hand began to warm up again suddenly, and she felt a wave of cold brush across her bottom lip. What is happening? She touched her lower lip, and when she pulled her fingers away, there were little specks of frost on them. "Frost…" [Name] whispered quietly. "Jack Frost…"
"About time you began to believe."
[Name] whipped around, startled. Behind her was a frost covered boy, holding a gnarled staff in his right hand. He stared straight at her, smiling gently.