Collection. (NOT MINE)

8

Type: FLUFFY, suggestive, but not straight up smut, and A VERY LITTLE BIT OF angst, VERY LITTLE (we all know life isn’t all butterflies and rainbows), ALSO, this is a ONE SHOT!

Warning: Slight cursing (haha, wow, right), mentions of miscarriage (sorry for spoiler), besides that LOTS OF CUTE SHIT SO PREPARE YOUR HEART

Summary: Her husband finally returns home after a month away at work.

A/N: Hello all, I was having writers block with my other stuff, so I stopped trying to force it, and instead wrote this. I imagined Hoseok as the husband, but I didn’t use names so you all can imagine whoever appears in your dreams. I love it. It’s mushy, but beautiful, so pls pls pls enjoy, and maybe let me know who you saw fit for the role!



The faintest sound of the front door closing had me lifting my head. I had laid down an hour ago, a whole hour ago, but I had tossed and turned, my body refusing to relax. I let my head fall back against the pillow and waited…and listened. I felt my body flush, my face and neck becoming hot from excitement.

My husband was home.

I focused my ears on the sounds coming from the kitchen now - I could just tell that that was where he was. Cabinets were opening and closing as he was probably getting something to drink, or maybe he was grabbing a snack. I sighed, my patience already thin, as it’d been almost a month since he’d been home. I wanted him to come up, so I could fake waking up to the gentle sounds of him closing the door, placing his bags down, changing, then crawling into bed with me. But I knew he probably assumed I was already asleep, and I didn’t want him to know I’d developed some unhealthy sleeping habits after he left, either.

I rolled ever on my side to face where he’d lay in a moment. I splayed my hand out to brush it against the cold sheets there. Now that he was in the house, the weight of how much I really missed him was hitting me. I wanted to cry, to jump up and run to him, to hold him and kiss him. I didn’t, though, one because I was cozy and warm under the covers of our bed, and two because he would come up sooner or later and I’d get him then.

I smiled to myself at this thought.

My sweet husband.

We married when I was 21, him 25. That was two years ago, and we were just as fresh as the night of our honeymoon in Amsterdam. His company paid, as they knew we were gonna face hell when we returned to the reality of his life and what mine would become in the process of us becoming one.

Those were fond memories, though. Normal memories of any newly married couple. We walked the streets and visited sites and drank expensive wine and listened to musicians play their instruments on the brick streets and ate pancakes and sausage and pies and we had sex…lots of it.

He impregnated me there, and our first child would’ve been born the following March had I not miscarried in July.

I bit my cheek remembering.   

It was a bad time for us. I miscarried while he was away at work. That was the worst call I’d ever had to make. I can still hear how he wailed over the phone to me, how I couldn’t even comfort him because I was sobbing too hard myself.

He had to keep himself together for work. He couldn’t just take off because he was sad. At the time, he had been away for a two weeks. When he returned, I had been taking a shower, so he joined me without any words. At first, I thought he wanted me, but then he grabbed onto me, pulled me into him and cried into the top of my shoulder. I remember I began to cry, too, and we held each other, and he mumbled apologies into my skin and I ran my hands across his back, kneading my fingertips into the muscles.