[DISCONTINUED] Jack Frost X Reader

Chapter Five

-BAD LANGUAGE ALERT-
((It's not too bad just h*ll and d*mn and minor stuff like that))

You reenacted the scene in front of everyone at the party, and being Jack Frost was awesome. He flew, and zapped Pitch, and basically just had fun, so you did too. You leaped around, feeling weightless as you swept your shepherds staff along the floor, the icy wood slippery under your bare feet. Occasionally, you pushed off the walls with your feet, going exceptionally high before landing with barely a thud. You heard small exclamations of wonder and amazement as you jumped around. Finally, when it came to the battle, a kid with gold face glitter on him came out, smiling and tipping a top hat spray painted gold from a play you had done a few years back. You couldn't seem to recall what play. Then 'Pitch' scrambled backwards and fell into a large bin that you were using as his lair and the lid was slapped on. You cheered and threw around styrofoam balls like snowballs. Then you all helped Caleb out of the bin and took a dramatic bow together, holding hands and yanking the smaller children up a few inches in the air between taller ones as you raised your arms high. The adults and your friends applauded you, some with distasteful looks on their faces, but you couldn't care less. If they didn't like you being friends and a good babysitter for little kids, they could eat your socks. Which you still had yet to find. "Do you want to take the makeup off now?"

"Okay," a few said, but the majority said they wanted to stay in costume.

"[Y/N], can we go up to your room?" a small child tugged on your sleeve.

"Sure. I'll take everyone up." You herded them up with your crook, acting like a real shepherd. They resumed their spots on your furniture and you sat on the bellhop cart, since there was nowhere else but the floor, and the floor was hard. They kept giggling and pointing slightly at the cold spot above your head, which- no, who- was sitting on the bars with their feet hanging above you. You rested your elbows on your knees and sighed. "Now what do you guys want to do? I'm all outta ideas."

A preteen girl's face lit up. "Can you give me some tips for makeup? You always look so flawless."

You smiled back. "Sure. Anyone else want a crash course in makeup?" The rest of the older girls followed you over to the vanity and a few younger girls did too, as models so they could practice makeup. "So, I usually only wear a tiny bit of mascara since I don't care if people think I'm pretty, but it's also basic. The perfect place to start." You took out your makeup and prepared to have it destroyed, but by the end of your session, it was in surprisingly good condition. Sure, you had blue eyeshadow all over your face from when someone blew it at you, but you had fun and they learned your makeup tips that they really wanted for some reason.

"Hey, what have the boys been doing this whole time?"

You turned to see them flipping through your sketchbook, messing around on your laptop, and otherwise going through your things. "Hey, stop that! Quit it! No! Don't!" You ran about the room like you were crazy, shutting your laptop, putting your video games away, and wrestling with some kid for your sketchbook. You both fell to the ground, but you had your sketchbook. Well, some of it. The rest was floating in the air, and a hand came out of nowhere and snatched them before you could. You looked up at the owner of the hand and internally groaned. It was Andrew, and those were all of your drawings of the strange people from your dreams. And your nightmares.

He started sifting through them, looking over each one, and your cheeks flamed. "Give them back!" You stood and tried to rip them from his hands, but he held on firmly and kept looking at them. The other kids cleared from your room, leaving you two alone.

He scowled, and it only deepened as he went through them all, tearing the sketchbook from your hands and looking at the ones pinned up on your wall where most wouldn't think to look. Finally he looked up from them, crumpling the pages you had worked on for so long in his meaty fist. "What the hell, [Y/N]?"