Anonymous asked:

💞 Rose and her husband (who isn't Jake) please. And maybe the nightmare is about her past Huntsclan life? Or you can write about a plot you like as well. Thank you again for doing this. You have breathed air into this little fandom.

Could be read as continuation to this drabble or as a stand alone!

Also, if you think these drabbles are cute, you should check out my full length fics! But, honestly, I love doing these. It's shaken loose too many plot bunnies to consider and it's given me a chance to explore so many things.

And, also, last point, you are killing my shipper heart but I will do this, for you.

💞 Post-nightmare cuddles. Warnings: none?

Rose bolted awake, hand on her chest, heaving for breath. The world slowly sorted itself around her, dark shapes emerging in the darkness. But not the shapes that were coming to get her. That was the armoire in the corner of the room. Those were the sheer white curtains, softly swaying in the breeze from their ocean front room. They were on the tenth floor. This was her honeymoon. There was no danger.

Next to her, her husband's hand touched her thigh. He knew her well enough to know that she would need the strength of his embrace but to know that she wouldn't need him to sneak up on her.

"Are you okay? Was it the dream again?" Duke asked.

Duke, who was as noble and perfect as his named suggested. Duke, who had that deep baritone voice that she could just melt into. Rose relaxed back down against the pillow, feeling her spine start to lengthen out as she got comfortable on the hotel mattress. There was no danger here but … But she felt like there was.

"Yeah," she heard herself stay, because there was nothing that she didn't tell Duke. "It was the dream again, but, it was a little different this time, too."

It was always a little different. It was like a continuation of the scene that she had originally started with or it was a different perspective on the same journey. It was always The Dream. It was a dream that she and Duke knew too well. She wondered what it would be like for him, to fall in love with someone who didn't wake up every night and who woke up screaming most nights.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I … was so angry. I was so, so, angry. I wanted to kill, Duke! I wanted to … I wanted to kill."

"Was it the same boy?"

"Yeah."

It was always the same boy. It was the same boy that she would combat, on the rare times that she would see a face. Most of the time, it was the feeling of anger, the blood lust. It was a series of images. Hands that she knew were hers, holding a weapon dripping with blood. The empty abandon at looking at small body - her own body as a child - laying in an empty room, knowing it was hungry, knowing that it had to get angry before it could stand. She would wake up, swearing that there would be a bruise on her person that would never appear, because in her dream, she had been so beaten that she had watched herself cough up blood. On the rare occasions the dream was kind, she was standing on a deck, watching herself float away, filled with such a profound sadness that she would wake with tears in her eyes.

"What happened this time?"

"I was floating. I was leaving. I … knew that I was never going to go back."

Duke's arm tightened around her waist, his large hand stroking up and down her ribcage, in a way that brought comfort and goosebumps to her.

"It's just a dream."

It was Rose's mantra, although she'd been plagued by the dream since she was fifteen. It was better, coming from Duke's mouth, more believable.

"Say it again," she begged, sliding all the way down the pillows to face him in the dark, watching the shadows rearrange to take the shape of his face. "Say it again."

"It was just a dream," Duke assured her. "It was all a dream."

"Tell me the real thing," Rose pleaded.

"I love you," Duke assured her.

"I love you too," Rose answered his real thing with her true thing, and then she kissed him.