(💭Request💭: Jack Frost X Fem!Reader)
⚠️Warning: This fic contains explicit descriptions of oral sex, erotic intimacy, and graphic sexual themes.‼️
There’s something feral about the way Jack Frost looks up at you—ice-crystal eyes glazed with hunger, lips already slick from his trail down your body. His silver hair clings to his forehead, strands damp with the heat radiating between you both. You feel his breath before you feel his mouth, cool like winter air against the burning heat of your skin.
He’s a mess—sloppy and unashamed, groaning against you like he’s starving, like every sigh and tremble from you is his reward. Jack doesn’t rush. He lingers. Teases. Worships. His fingers grip your thighs with reverent desperation, keeping you open for him like he never wants to let go.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmurs against your skin, voice wrecked and breathless. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
You don’t even get to respond before he’s back on you, determined and eager, like he wants to drown in you. And when it finally happens—when the tension inside you snaps and you cry out, hips bucking—he groans like it’s his release too. He doesn’t stop. Not until your legs shake, your voice is hoarse, and his face is completely soaked in the evidence of your unraveling.
He pulls back only slightly, lips swollen, chin glistening, and smiles like a wicked boy who’s just gotten everything he’s ever wanted. “Wanna see if I can make you do that again.”
You can barely catch your breath, still trembling from the high he just pulled out of you, and yet Jack’s already moving—pressing kisses up your inner thighs, soft and slow, as if to coax your soul back into your body. His fingers trail up your sides, featherlight, like snowflakes melting on contact. Every nerve in you is awake now, overstimulated and aching for more.
“Still with me?” His voice cracked like ice over fire. Mischievous. Gentle. Worshipful.
You nod weakly, and that’s all the permission he needs. Jack rises up over you, bracing himself with one hand while the other slides into yours, interlocking fingers like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. He looks at you like you hung the moon—like he could melt right here just from seeing you like this, undone and trusting beneath him.
“I love when you fall apart for me,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours—cold at first, still damp with you, then warm as he deepens the kiss, slow and consuming. “But I need to feel you again. Need to know it wasn’t just a dream.”
There’s that flicker of vulnerability in him—underneath all that cocky charm and playful arrogance, Jack is still a spirit aching to be seen, to be believed in. And here you are, giving him all of you, again and again. His hips press against yours, teasing, barely there. The heat between you rises again—frantic and sweet. But this time, it’s slower. Deeper. He wants to savor you now, not devour you.
“You’re gonna let me stay here?” He muttered against your lips. “With you? Just like this?”
As you nod, breath shaky but sure, Jack groans into your mouth, voice thick with want. “Then I’m not stopping. Not tonight.”
The rhythm between you shifts—less desperate now, more like a promise. Every touch, every movement, is slow and intentional. Jack’s body molds to yours like he was made to fit there, his breaths syncing with yours as he rocks into you, deeper each time, like he’s carving his name into your very soul.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispering your name like a prayer. “You don’t even know what you do to me,” he breathed, voice raw. “You make me feel real. Like I belong.”
Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails grazing his scalp. You tug gently, guiding him back to meet your gaze. His eyes—wide and shining like winter stars—lock with yours, and that moment stretches into something sacred. No teasing smirk. No flirtation. Just honesty.
“I want to be good for you,” he sighed. “Not just like this. Always.”
And when the two of you finally fall apart together, it’s not just bodies—it’s a release of everything you’ve been holding in. Fear. Longing. Hope.
Later, the air is cooler again, your bodies tangled beneath a blanket Jack summoned with a lazy flick of frost. The quiet isn’t awkward. It’s safe. Comfortable. He lies beside you on his side, fingers brushing your arm in gentle strokes, watching you like you might vanish.
“I should probably be off messing with snowstorms or making the moon jealous,” he jokes quietly, lips tugging into a tired smile. “But this? Right here? I think I like this better.”
You smile back, soft and sleepy. “You’re staying?”
“Obviously.” He nudges his cold nose against yours, smug. “I’m your frostbite now, babe. You’re stuck with me.”
You snort and smack his chest lightly, but he catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, surprisingly tender. Then he tucks your head under his chin and wraps himself around you like you’re his favorite season.
Outside, frost crawls along the windows in delicate swirls—his magic curling outward, painting the world in quiet silver. Inside, Jack just holds you. Protective. Gentle. His fingers tracing idle patterns against your skin, like he’s still trying to memorize you even in sleep.
You fall asleep to the rhythm of his breathing and the soft promise he murmurs into your hair: “I’ll guard your dreams tonight. Always.”
