Authors Note: This is a complete re-write of a story I started in 2005 when I was 11. Needless to say because of my age and inexperience with writing, love, and life in general, the whole thing was pretty terrible. Imagine writing sex scenes when you don't even know how sex works. Lmao. Anyway, over a decade later (and with a renewed love of all things Titanic), I wanted to give writing a proper Jack and Rose story another go. If there's much interest, I'll carry on.

Enjoy!

The young couple laughed uproariously as they felt the bitter April chill bite their flesh; a welcome contrast after how stifling the boiler rooms had been. Jack unlaced their hands to clumsily slam the heavy door behind them as they ran onto the deck before hearing it ricochet open again behind him, earning more gleeful laughter from Rose. He laughed again before finding her hand and swinging her playfully, her giggle cutting through the velvet darkness of the North Atlantic night sky like a silver ribbon.

"Did you see those guys faces?!" came Jack's choked laughter as he tugged Rose's hand closer, snaking his arms around her waist.

The evening had been full of exhilaration and excitement: from escaping Cal's vulture of a manservant, losing themselves to unspeakable heights of passion below decks, to having just evaded stewards sent to look for them in the cargo hold; Rose felt alive – revived. Jack Dawson had saved her life both physically and metaphorically: he had set her free from her gilded cage, he had given her a reason to go on; he had breathed his life and vivacity and passion into her: fanning the dimming flames in her soul and saving her broken spirit with his love.

Love.

"Did you see the-"

She loved this man. She loved him.

Rose gently brought a finger to his lips to silence him, as if staking her claim. He stopped mid-sentence and instead tightened his grip around her waist protectively, giving her his full attention. Her hand then moved from his silky lips to cup one side of his face, cherishing him, as she gazed into those beautiful, soul-searching eyes she'd come to know so well. He was such a beautiful man - and his charisma, charm, and gentle nature only added to his physical appeal. She felt incredibly grateful for him in that moment: he truly was her saviour, and she found herself wondering how she could have ever gotten so lucky.

She'd known Jack Dawson for little over forty-eight hours, yet the impact he'd had on her and the trajectory of her life, she knew, was irreversible and absolute. After being initially reluctant to accept her own feelings, even going as far as to shun him earlier that day in the gymnasium, Rose now felt a sense of welcome acknowledgement wash over her entire being: she was deeply in love.

As she saw the utter adoration reflecting in his eyes, she knew right then that she didn't want to live without him; couldn't live without him. The magnetism and inspiration she felt in his presence, the safety and reassurance she felt in his embrace, the devastating passion and devotion she felt in his kiss: life as she knew it was never going to be the same.

She realised her decision was already made.

"When this ship docks," she told him, without a fragment of doubt in her conviction, "I'm getting off with you."

His jaw dropped, eyes widening in a combination of wonder and disbelief, almost afraid his ears had just deceived him. Here was Rose DeWitt-Bukater, in all her brilliant, self-governing, determined glory - so unspeakably beautiful - giving up everything she'd ever known, all for him.

"This is crazy," he almost laughed again, that gorgeous lopsided grin gracing his features.

She let out a blissful laugh at his candid reaction: no overstated sonnet, no excessive declaration of his love; just three simple words that were so endearingly, unapologetically Jack – just the kind of thing she'd needed and wanted to hear. Suddenly, she couldn't remember how she had lived seventeen long years in this mortal coil without knowledge of his existence; it was as if she had suddenly been awoken from a dreamless slumber: Jack Dawson was now the centre of her universe and she couldn't remember a life before him.

"I know! It doesn't make any sense!"

She gazed at his lips, already feeling too much time had passed since she'd last felt them against her own, running her manicured nails through the silky golden strands at the nape of his neck. The next five words she spoke were full of certainty – no more whimsical tones that he might misinterpret as her not being fully invested – and as she looked deeply into his eyes she knew he could hear the sincerity in her voice as she said them:

"That's why I trust it."

The way he looked at her in that moment almost made her knees buckle: never before had a man's eyes ever stared at her with such intense, unbridled love.

Every fibre of his being screamed his returned devotion to her: he was astounded. His hot gaze made the journey from her eyes to her lips - now ever so slightly chapped by the cold air – several times, silently letting her know exactly what he wanted. Her own body craved the same thing and primal passion took over as they collided in a hungry kiss, their lips fighting for dominance. Jack pulled her closer to him, crushing her soft torso against his as they panted softly into each other's mouths. He could feel her heartbeat pounding against his in the gossamer-thin dress she was wearing; the feeling intoxicating, neither of them able to get quite close enough.

Rose didn't care who watched their heated exchange, didn't care whether their fervent, uninhibited display of intense passion was considered inappropriate or improper. One person and one person only occupied her mind and heart, and it was the ministrations of his hands and lips that were keeping her mind a whirling blur – as they had been doing all night – earlier on the bow at sunset and moments before in the Renault. She felt a pang of butterflies in her abdomen at the fresh memories settling in her mind: he'd been so gentle with her; his worldly knowledge gifting her wave after wave of ecstasy so divine she was sure she'd experienced heaven itself. Countless minutes later, breathless and on unsteady feet, their scorched lips finally separated. They gazed into each other's eyes in wonder, their noses touching slightly, knowing grins spreading across their flushed faces.

They laughed again, softly this time, Jack's eyes sparkling as he grinned and brought a hand to lovingly trace her porcelain jawline delicately with his calloused, artist fingers. Rose never wanted to feel any other hands on her for as long as she lived.

"Oh Rose," he sighed, his eyes portraying nothing but complete adoration, "Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me..." both hands were cupping her face now, their mouths inches apart once more, but she couldn't help missing the intimate closeness of his arms around her waist – she noticed the lack of contact was almost amplified: all she could feel was the space where Jack's arms were supposed to be. Absentmindedly, she shivered, the bitter sea air feeling like daggers on the exposed flesh of her forearms.

Jack immediately looked down at her, concerned, mentally scolding himself for not thinking to lend her the overcoat he was wearing. He was cold himself, but at least he had layers on, as opposed to Rose who had just the lightweight chiffon dress to shield her from the piercing Atlantic winds. She wasn't even wearing a corset - something he'd been grateful for when undressing her earlier in the Renault, but now for the sake of her warmth wished she had on.

He instinctively brought his arms around her, firmly rubbing her goose-pimpled arms in an attempt to warm her.

"Shit, Rose, you must be freezing!" he fretted. "Let's get inside, huh?"

Rose welcomed the familiar feeling of his arm around her waist as he began to lead them across the deck and up the stairs towards the bridge. She sighed against his body happily – thinking about how natural and normal and right it felt for Jack to be holding her so intimately.

"You kept me warm, Jack." she shrugged, turning to face him, a mischevious glisten in her eyes.

He blushed at the double meaning; grinning that wide, crooked grin as she closed the distance between them and kissed him.

It was a kiss of admission, of realisation; of excitement and hope for the future – for their future. Together. He deepened the kiss, his tongue parting her lips gently as he leant back against the outside wall of the first-class entrance, tugging her closer to him and resting his hands above the sash on her dress. She smiled against his mouth, snaking her hands up his shirt and grasping his suspenders, using them to pull him even closer to her.

Rose sighed against his lips, never wanting the night to end. She glanced at the sign that read 'First Class Entrance' and felt a pang of dread and apprehension, realising they were both prolonging the inevitable by not returning.

"Jack, I have to tell mother and Cal the engagement is off."

Sensing her unease, he tightened his grip around her waist. "Rose, you don't need to do this by yourself," he looked at her, his eyes piercing her soul with love and support. "You jump, I jump, remember?"