Happy Belated Valentine's/Singles Awareness Day! Sorry this was late…and…I am exactly five days late for the one year anniversary for "I'll See It when I Believe It." Haha, oh time makes fools of us all…

So here's a mini assortment of drabbles based on the shades of red.

Important: This little piece will kick off the drabble/one-shot series I promised after the end of ISIWIBI. Also, if you want a scenario written out or a prompt of some kind, feel free to request! I'll be happy to write something out for you. (I can't guarantee it'll go as you had planned/imagined or even if it'll be very good, but I'll give it my best!) Also, these are extras that take place any time after the 18th chapter of ISIWIBI, including scenarios after the epilogue in no set order.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but a laptop and certain plot elements.

Pink (Counterpart to Overprotective Dads from my "Better Late than Never" HiJack Week drabbles)

That was a rather lovely shade Hiccup's cheeks just turned. Too bad it was wholly overshadowed by the irritated glare shot in Jack's direction.

Despite that, the Guardian laughed, far too familiar with the look and far too smug by the knowledge that by the end of the night, his cute boyfriend would still be cuddled up next to him beneath warm bed sheets.

(You know…unless Hiccup locked him out. Again.)

But then those eyes of green sharpened and the next sound to dribble from Jack's lips were a nervous sort of chortle that sounded far too strained and far too uneasy as he trailed off.

Hiccup sighed. "'Frost Flower,' Jack?" The brunet's expression crumpled, caught between incredulity and mortification. "'Frost Flower?!'"

The Winter Spirit sniffed. "What? I thought it was cute." The tint of rouge deepened and Jack really couldn't stay miffed very long as he witnessed embarrassment override most of Hiccup's aggravation. It was fun watching the play of emotions across his dry-humored teen. "Very fitting, for my cute boyfriend," he added with a smirk lingering on his lips.

It was also a rather interesting transition from red and flustered to caustic and callous. "Okay, A: I'm not cute—don't you dare say otherwise." Jack's mouth promptly fell shut. "And B: That wasn't my point."

The Ice Spirit reclined in his position, stretching out languidly on the middle of the teen's bed. "Well then, what was your point?"

"Y-you—!" Hiccup sucked in a breath; no, no, his father was across the hall sleeping. Just because his boyfriend decided to be this aggravating this late at night, that did not warrant his father to come bursting in through his doors at the commotion. So he'd best make his argument as adroit as possible: "You did that on purpose," Hiccup accused.

Jack didn't even bother to feign an innocent expression. "Did what?" Apparently, he had gotten too used to Hiccup being none-the-wiser about the stark contrast between his telltale expressions and his tone.

"Jack…" the brunet gritted out. "You intentionally left those flowers there for my dad to find…didn't you?"

Well, no point in hiding it now; not that he was trying very hard. "And what if I did?" Jack sat up, challenging blue gaze aimed straight at the teen.

Hiccup, on the whole, was unimpressed. "I don't know about you, but I think I'd have kind of a hard time explaining to my dad that I'm dating Jack Frost."

The Guardian raised a brow. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"Uh, YES?" A bubble of frustration rose to his throat at the bland stare he received. Hiccup groaned. "Jack, what if he takes this seriously? What if he demands to meet you—"

"Okay, first off," the Winter Spirit countered, "I am serious." When it came to Hiccup, he always was. That resolute stare was proof of that. "Second, I think he's too much in shock to try and interrogate you."

The bubble was subsequently popped by the spike of guilt. Hiccup didn't quite mean it like that. "And what do I tell him once he does?" Still, that didn't mean that he still wasn't irritated by the gesture. The teen scoffed. "That the Spirit of Winter staked a claim on me?"

Something darkened in those eyes of blue as the demand, "Didn't I?" fell from his mouth.

The brunet hated the silence that followed as he floundered for the right words to say.

Hiccup wanted to ask, 'What has gotten into you?' He really did. But Hiccup recognized that defensive little flare in those cool, glacial irises. Hiccup had a feeling that this little stunt bore more behind it than the Guardian's usual antics. Now that it was confirmed, the teen was at a bit of a loss. A part of him definitely wanted to protest—the idea of being owned was definitely unsettling…but he really didn't want to delve into that mess right now. Not when he knew there was a difference in what Jack was saying and what Jack really meant. Not when there was a sulking Winter Spirit right before him and not when Hiccup was a sucker when it came to dealing with the Guardian's distress.

The brunet conceded with a sigh. "And you felt the need to not-so-subtly inform my dad of that?" he prodded. And just because he knew it was probably the right thing to do, Hiccup edged closer to him.

"Not…just your dad," came the quiet admittance. "I mean, it's only proper if he knew, right? But ah—"

This? Again? Hiccup sighed and expectedly felt that guilt steadily mount. Still, an inkling of worry pervaded him, as it always did when this topic came about. Then again, that didn't stop Hiccup from remaking, "Oh please, no one's just waiting around the corner to sweep me off my feet when I least expect it." Really. The thought itself was laughable.

Against himself, Jack snickered. "Oh what, I don't count?"

And there came that dry humor he had been expecting to hear all night. "Yes, I was hopeless against your irresistible charms." Despite the saturated sarcasm, the light pink of his face told Jack that maybe there was a grain of truth to be told. "Besides…we're already dating so you kinda already…have me."

"And I intent to have you for as long as I can…and I'd prefer not to take any chances." Hiccup was fairly sure it was Jack that made the first move since one moment he had been looking right at him and now he found himself pressed flush against a frost-streaked hoodie. But he wasn't complaining. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with lavishing affection to my Frost Flower, is there?" Not when he welcomed that embrace. Not when it eased a bit of the bitterness away.

Jack knew.

Hiccup knew.

One day, (tomorrow or decades down some desolate devastating road) maybe they wouldn't be able hold like each other like this; that one day, their love would merely fade as a Once upon a time that never really met its Happily ever after. Maybe one day, they'd find each other in the arms of another—and it was very likely for one and absolutely certain for another. Time was merciless in that sense and such was the reality between a mortal boy and an immortal spirit.

Or maybe it wouldn't.

Maybe they'd stay like this, their hearts dancing away to the same rhythms of the same sweet melody as it did now, blithe and beautiful all at once, an intricate and simple song composed of contented sighs, giddy laughter, the messy shuffling of sheets and bated breaths, and three little words that held all the meaning in the world.

Yes…maybe they would. But Hiccup wasn't really willing to take any chances either. And besides…it was…actually really sweet, getting that bouquet. A little cheesy, quite romantic, and very Jack.

Speaking of which, said Ice Spirit was already grinning quite widely (the cheeky little—) before Hiccup could even voice out his obvious response.

"Nothing…too extravagant. Please," the brunet implored.

Jack couldn't keep the grin off his face even if he tried. "Sorry, can't promise that." And just because he knew he could, he pulled the irritated teen into a kiss. And because Hiccup was feeling rather forgiving at that moment, he succumbed to another (and another, and another).

Thus, the latter part of the night was spent showing Hiccup just how grateful Jack was.

The next morning, as Stoick Haddock backed his car out of the garage to start the new work day, he was met with…quite an unusual sight. Very unusual. Actually, downright shocking and perplexing: the whole exterior of his house caked in a dense layer frost ferns. In the shape of hearts.

Hours later, Jack spent the better part of that night begging Hiccup to be let back in.

Rose

People have compared love to a rose. It was both a mockery and accurate to a certain degree.

Has one ever noticed how ugly a rose truly is?

Valencia did.

The menacing splendor that beguiles the unaware, the thorns that drive into the oblivious, and the candied scent of temptation that masks the scent of poison so well—they are not lost to her. This was a truth that she long carried, merrily stowed in the back of her mind, leaving to froth and ferment like delicious wine laced with venom.

And in her long life, she found that love was unique in its own way of expression: never good, nor bad, nor pure, nor wholly tainted; love thrives, dies, and lives once more in different hearts, different souls. Love keeps secrets, pays the price for the lies that bonds the two together that strengthens and weakens with time and action, in what is done and not, in what is remembered and what is forgotten. Love is simple, love is complex, love is acceptance, love is prejudice, love is sacrifice, love is gain, and love—is so greatly exaggerated.

Because she finds that love is like this too.

Between a mortal boy and a spirit of ice, a simple and beautiful bliss between them through years of laughs, tears, arguments, kisses, and misses, the love-light in their eyes do not dim, and so she finds there is hope. Hope, such a marvelous little word, four lettered and holds so much depth and despair, much like her own convoluted truth—her own horrifying masterpiece. Betwixt the complexities, behind the distortions, beneath the tangles and knots of black silk and red threads, there was a lovely simplicity there—pure and wonderful. Of happiness shared, affections and passions passed through simple phrases, a touch of warmth, a chilling thrill, a bond dotted with stumbles and scrapes and soaring flights, never perfect, always beautiful.

And joy bursts forth like supernovas in the void-less universe.

Because it was love and it was there, thriving in this world of distrust and heartbreak, budding like stubborn weeds beneath cold concrete, pushing to meet the sun's rays and kiss the skies. It was simple: it was believing, it was accepting, it was sacrifice, it was so simple. A forgotten tune, its words misplace after years of cadenzas and dissonance, a pretty melody of simple joys and sweet emotions that made one's heart flutter with the ceaseless and endless cadence of love. And it lives—it truly does—within the very core of all Cupid's lost and lonely gallery of hearts.

So she learns to laugh again, pouring her bliss and blessings to this one fated pair, petals of flora and frost dancing beneath her feet, her song echoing through every heart wonderfully and irrevocably snared by her thorns:

"Cherish this ecstasy*

From this moment on;

Through every second's frenzy

As darkness fades to dawn.

Light, as far as eyes have seen

Have lifted this truth above:

That you have always been

And will always be loved."

Scarlet

Autumn can be a callous season, a painful reminder of the days slipping past, winds brewing and flinging fate down diverging directions; life drains from the earth, hollowing out the sweetness of summer, a chaotic fall from the summit of one equinox to the other.

But not to Jack.

To Jack, Autumn was gentle rains and thundering storms keeping time with a heartbeat; the regal and earthy palettes of cascading leaves and the midday breezes that cradled each fiery fragment to its final bed; a kiss blown to the winds itself and knowing that wherever he was, it would carry his affections and return it to his love.

It was freckled cheeks, pinked by blustery days and afternoons sweeping through forests and woods, painting the world in hues of gold and scarlet. It was green eyes, bright and inquisitive, warm and sly as dry-as-leaves-humor tumbled from his lips, lips chapped from busying teeth and wintry kisses from an icy counterpart.

It was the victim of a surprise attack with ice and snow nipping at his heels—the disruption of a quiet day of tedious tasks that November noon in favor of dodging the icy blasts of sleet and snow: a whole hour's worth of fall leaves still needed to be painted, now embraced in Winter—

—Much like the Spirit caught in the final and first season's grip.

"Jack, what have I told you about attacking me out of nowhere?"

"What have I told you about running?"

"When you're being attacked, that's kinda instinct."

"When you're Winter, it's kinda instinct to follow."

There was an airy laugh from the boy beneath him, looking breathtaking and at home among the fallen foliage, crowned by speckles of fall's loveliest shades. "You know, there are other ways of getting my attention."

"Yeah," the boy of Winter murmured, inches before capturing his lips. "But this was the most fun."

"Chasing me?"

There was a laugh at that. "Nope." It wasn't a chase, not anymore. Not when this came to them so naturally, embrace of two seasons, meeting somewhere in between. And they both knew it.

"Was it necessary for you to ruin my leaves?"

"No." His lips curled to a smirk. "That was for fun."

An irritated flash of green eyes were the last he had seen before the slightest press of lips against his own were felt, a teasing phantom of affection; what followed was Jack sprawled against the forest floor, the boy gone from beneath him, Autumn melting into the air with a haughty chuckle.

Jack shook his head; maybe it was a chase after all. But still, he smiled, feeling the warmth tingle from his lips, warming his heart.

Yes, he was very much in love with Autumn.

Now if only his precious love would quit being so stingy about leaves.

.

Winter can be a cruel season; he had known that as a child. Ice and rime plagued his nightmares in the earliest years of adolescence, the bitter chills sinking into his bones and the resounding loneliness of the season aching his heart at skies of gray and nights of howling darkness.

But not to Hiccup. Not anymore.

To Hiccup, it was shrieks of delight come the wondrous morning to find the earth blanketed by a loving layer of snow; the intricate patterns of frost left by a gentle touch across the earth, a greeting, a confident reminder of its seasonal rule; a snowflake or two kissing his cheeks, the cold nipping his nose, and warm smiles that melted his heart despite the flurry of flakes that trailed after him in every step.

It was icy hands that gripped him tight with the intention of never letting go. It was fun and laughter reserved for all those who believed and the silent moments of awe from those who had forgotten and rediscovered. It was eyes of blue, honest and beautiful, that had long since eased painful memories for years of love and joy.

It was an expected (yet unexpected) nuisance during the looming end of Autumn, forcing the startled Spirit to give into the chase, winds and fall leaves making for a telltale trail for the boy of ice to follow, a whole hour's work of the forest now abandoned to Winter's possession—

—Much like his heart.

Maybe the other saw it, maybe not, but he slowed his pace, allowing his winds to carry him adrift, right before the playful impact that pushed them to leafy grounds.

"Jack, what have I told you about attacking me out of nowhere?"

"What have I told you about running?"

"When you're being attacked, that's kinda instinct."

"When you're Winter, it's kinda instinct to follow."

And really, after all these years, there was still that innocence and earnestness in those eyes of blue that clenched at his heart with the accompaniment of that tired, old phrase. "You know, there are other ways of getting my attention."

"Yeah," the boy of Winter murmured, inches before capturing his lips. "But this was the most fun."

The Spirit of Autumn turned away. "Chasing me?"

There was a laugh at that. "Nope." It wasn't a chase, not anymore. Not when this came to them so naturally, embrace of two seasons, meeting somewhere in between. And they both knew it.

Still, the decorated ground was reminder enough to deter his advances. "Was it necessary for you to ruin my leaves?"

"No." Winter's lips curled to a smirk. "That was for fun."

And really, some things never changed. He gave him a dry look, one that the other was quite familiar with already before Autumn sealed their mouths in a kiss, light, teasing, and playful, a hint of a promise before he faded to the skies, a haughty chuckle thrown to the wind. Work came first—play came later. But he's always make time for love.

And he knew Jack would come after him and they'd repeat this cycle again and again, happily, wonderfully.

Yes, he was very much in love with Winter.

Now if only his dear lover would quit messing with his season.

.

Some years, Winter would come early, freezing chills and snowstorms creeping earlier in the calendar. Some years, the trees retained their beautiful shade long into the holiday seasons. It was a playful tug-of-war between two perspectives, a seemingly petty argument between lovers between clashing ideals of design.

But over the years, there would be this miraculous calm betwixt the two seasons, frost intermingling with the streaks of red and gold of forests, something like a moment of truce, a kiss on the cheek as an apology before the other grudgingly conceded.

And to many, it was incredible, a sense of elation, adrift in hazy skies and fall leaves.

For years this was so, winds of change meeting with snowstorms and ice, bringing an essence of sheer and simple loveliness to the year's end. It never failed to arrive, a promised encounter, a fated union, a phenomenon of absolute adulation and infallible rapture after all these years.

Because after all these years…they were still in love.

Lust

It perhaps began with the unease that mingled in the air, a soft anxiousness that dripped across fervid and tender actions from stolen moments into the night.

"Don't stop."

Eyes of ice widened. "Wh-what?" A stutter. A gulp. Doubtful look. Wishful thinking.

Eyes of summer's end held a resolute gaze before mouths met again in heat and longing.

The teen pulled away, murmuring a command that resonated through the Guardian's very core.

"Don't stop."

Perhaps it was with the way his grip trembled with desperation against pinked flesh that made the teen's mouth gasp in delight and pain, the way his lips and teeth bore marks down and across his face, neck, and chest, wherever it could reach, wandering to blemish his own brand of perfection to his lover.

"A-ah…" Eyes close, fingers clench, bodies writhe.

Above him, Winter stills, entranced by the display.

Perhaps it was the way the ice enclosed around them in possessive passion, the hues of frost and fire melding together and melting into the sensations of love, ardor, and worship that shamed the shades of starlight.

Greedy eyes absorb everything. Every shiver, every gasp, every reaction he could possibly evoke.

An exploration, an experiment, a discovery, a first.

It was sloppy, with awkward touches and inexperienced hands, searching aimlessly against expanses of flesh, curious and drunkenly exhilarated by the novel thrum of adrenaline and a stronger dose of a dizzying drug called lust dancing down their veins.

There was a gasp, shared between lips, teeth, tongue swallowed by the baritone or a groan drifting to the heated night air. Shame and humiliation were drowned by out by the mounting ache of desire, a mutual zeal ravaging through their bodies.

He bit his lip. "O-oh Gods…"

He stopped. "Are you—do you want me to—"

Grip tightened on the other's shoulder, a shuddering breath exhaled to the air. "I'm fine…" A whimper. "Slowly…" he amends.

And the Guardian complies, drowning in the feeling of tight heat and each quavering note his lover emits as they clumsily built a rhythm.

In the back of Hiccup's mind, amongst the tangles of frenzied kisses and teasing tongues that slid against his skin and the way his legs wrapped around Jack's hips to keep him close as each thrust burned pleasantly through his body, gently, roughly, hasty, and torturously slow enough to let his sanity dangle by tiny spider-threads—

It subsequently blanked.

Vision blurred. Eyes shut. Mouths open.

A total eclipse of white.

There was a muffled cry, Jack swallowing Hiccup's scream as the younger slipped further and further into the Guardian's hold, something primal, something impassioned and animalistic, utterly subdued by daunting devotion and avaricious affection.

There was a gentle smile from Jack, met with a light kiss from the sixteen year old boy.

Hiccup held him close, heart to heart, each beat a lullaby to the other.

I gave Valencia a drabble, considering it was her holiday after all haha ^^;

*= Cherish this Ecstasy: based on the essay by the same name by David James Duncan. It's a wonderful piece and though a little odd sounding at first, it is one of the most profound essays I have ever read.

So uh…ta-dah?

(sinks back slowly into the abyss)