DISCLAIMER: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).
NOTE: Noting back that this has been posted on my tumblr (under the name puckering-gustin). With that said, I'm re-posting it again on FFNET because I figured why not place it all together in a one giant collection? Some of you who don't (or aren't active) on Tumblr can check it out, and those of you who does can keep up on whatever piece I've written that you might've missed. I'm mainly re-posting all of the prompts, so.
NOTE #2: I'm sorry that the first few prompts/one-shots are going to be angsty. I know. I suck.
ALSO: not all prompts are connected. Each will stand as one-shot(s), unless I say otherwise.
Here you go. Enjoy.
Posted on: Mar 19
Plot: Merida's room was the only room he ever entered without having to feel like he's rushing out the next morning. And maybe, he didn't have to.
"Stay," she said, eyes half-open, glassy but blue all the same, and Jack swore his breath caught in his throat. Under the blanket of the night, her slightly flushed cheeks weren't noticeable, but her freckles stood where her knuckles laid and her fingers intertwined with his pale ones ― she wasn't tugging on his hand, but she wasn't letting it go either.
He watched her.
"You're drunk," he noted dumbly, pointing it out ― because wasn't she? That was why he was here, tucking her in the familiar bed ― and he'd been here, hadn't he? In fact, hers was the only room he entered and actually slept. Just slept. Like that. The first time was because she dragged him to watch Captain America online (she was the biggest fan of Chris Evans, like ever) and he fell asleep first, and he was quite surprised to find out he wasn't kicked out immediately after that.
In fact, if he recalled correctly, he woke up the next morning with her cheeks on his biceps and her laptop stored by the bedside table, and she looked calm that morning. Younger. He also remembered sneaking quietly as to not to disturb her, because he knew better.
The second time he slept in here because he was so tired that evening and he went straight into her room (he didn't know why) and while he was listening to her ranting about a girl she really disliked at work, he fell asleep. And she let him. He woke up about three in the morning to find her sleeping on the couch, and while trying to wake her up and putting her into her own bed, he fell asleep there too.
The third time he was there was because he caught her awake during a night storm, wrapped up in blankets, shoulders actually shaking, while the lightnings met the earth outside. He came in, and she remembered her snapping her attention at him sharply. He made her some Hot Cocoa, talked about his sister and the next thing he knew ― she was sound asleep. He couldn't reason that time on why hadn't he just walked away, on why he just decided he'd sleep there.
But when he woke up the next morning, he was almost shock to realise that she didn't snap his neck off when her sleepy eyes met his. She just grumbled out something about how he hogged most of the bed, pressed her face onto the pillow and reminded him that he had work to attend to. He was tempted to reach out and brushed off her hair, but he kept his fingers all to himself and kept his distance.
The fourth time it happened was because he had a bad day, and she just accepted his presence there. She asked him about what was wrong, but he was already drifting when she spoke, and he woke up the next morning with a hot breakfast and friends by the table.
The sixth accidental time he found himself waking up in her room, she was still asleep, and she was facing him ― and he counted her freckles and she threw him a pillow when he teasingly told her she snored (which she didn't. Not really). The seventh time he wounded there, he slept till afternoon until she had to shake him awake because someone was coming over, and he needed to look "presentable".
But during all those moments, they never really establish anything between them. Merida and him. But it was only because… Well, because Jack was Jack. He and committed relationship weren't in the best of terms, and Merida was― she was someone he knew for quite a while now. And of course he knew about her feelings for him, and maybe it was wrong for him on his part to still "lead her on", but… Jack sighed.
He didn't want to let go of her.
"I'm not that drunk," she murmured, and let him go anyway ― her hands clutching onto one pillow while she buried her face into it, mumbling out. "I can still see ye," she whispered, now pressing the side of her cheek against the fabric, her shoulders dropped, and her eyes content, looking at him.
He snorted out a chuckle and climbed on the bed, one knee pressing onto the mattress as his fingers stretched out, up to her wild mane of hair. "You can, can't you?" He whispered back, keeping a smile. He thought, if someone was offering, he'd have this moment. And he'll keep it, if he could. "God, you're a perfect mess."
"Perfect?" she snorted, then kind of slurred; she was looking at him in the way that suggested her vision wasn't really clear, but then she smiled, like she knew he was there, and she didn't entirely hate that fact. "Stay, Jack."
"Stay?" Do you really want me to?
She gave him a hopeful smile, and he thought about how they both are holding their breath. She pressed her cheek further against the pillow ― her favourite pillow, he noticed ― and nodded. "Ay. Why not?"
And then, because she was a little tipsy, she might be giggling and her face was a little pink and she said, "Tell me somethin' I don't know, Jack."
He pondered over this, and came closer ― because at this point of the conversation, it seemed as though she's whispering everything out; one secret after another, like a coloured whisper you'll get once in a blue moon. "Tell you what?" He said under his breath, looking at her closely. "What do you wanna know?"
"Anythin'." She told back, a hush.
"Well," he stared at her, for a very long while ― a century, perhaps ― and sighed, before he smiled again. "I don't know much," he started, careful, gentle and slow. He met her eyes, "But I know you have 84 freckles scattered all over your cheeks, up to your nose. You have a scar behind your elbow when you fell at age eight because you lost your balance while you were trying to shoot. You broke your leg when you were eleven because you lost your footing while you're climbing up a tree. You remember that because you said it was the most infuriating moments you had with your mother pre-teen, but she never failed to make you your favourite porridge anyway, even though she was still nursing your one-year-old brothers."
He paused, but only briefly. "I never told anyone this, but I love it when you scrunch up your nose like this," he demonstrated it, and failed miserably, causing both of them to chock out pathetic chuckles. Her eyes twinkle when he caught it again. "I think it's cute, and you don't do it to just anyone ― so when you did it to me… I like it. You hate literature and staying indoors because it reminded you of all those years stuck inside of your house before you made amends with your mother. You don't like Skittles much, but you love M&Ms, and you always stole mine ― so I always bought extra."
He grinned at this, and she chuckled too. He held his breath again, and his smile faltered, just slightly. "You're very opinionated, and you never back out from a fight, and you're so stubborn, but also brave. You laugh at the silliest things, but I love it when you do. It's hard for you to cry, but you do that too ― and I hate when I'm the reason behind it."
He didn't realise her hands slipping into his until she's squeezed it, and when he looked up, she was wearing a smile. A rueful one, but it's genuine and there's a linger of happiness there, he's sure. "You never like the storms, but you love the mornings, unless you drank too much the night before. You don't listen to music much, but you listen to Daughtry sometimes, and you never admit it, but you love it when your family calls you from Scotland."
He ran his thumb over her knuckles now, suddenly his stomach clenching when a sudden, harsh realisation finally dawned over him. He wanted her.
He wanted to stay.
"I admit, I'm probably the most ignorant person you'll ever meet, and there's a lot of things I don't know." He drew a shaky breath in, daring himself to meet her hazy gaze. "But I know I want you, Merida, and yeah, I'm a little scared, but this thing has been eating me every time I realised that when I wake up in this bed, you're still not with me. I want you Merida. And if I were to be honest with you, these are the only things I'm absolutely sure of."
He probably should've expected it when she rolled her eyes and drawled, "Ye daft prick."
He chuckled then, ducking his head slightly, his thumb still counting the distance between the mountains of her knuckles, and the hollow parts in between. She looked at him, and slowly, repeated: "Stay, Jack."
"Okay," he whispered back, breathing a smile. "Okay."
So, he did.
…
The next morning, the first thing he did was captured her lips in his and tackled her to the bed until he had her admitted that he was her boyfriend. And when her fingers found his ribs and stayed there, with her lips touching his jaw, and his mouth on her pulse ― he knew there were going to be more things added into the things he's absolutely sure of. And being here, with her, was definitely one of them.
