ereardonlibrary

[ereardonlibrary]

In Six Years: Chapter 2

[Bob Floyd x Reader; Jake Seresin x Reader]

Summary: Six years ago, you watched your husband Bob Floyd leave for a mission he would never return from. After a failed mission left Bob as missing in action and pronounced dead, you struggled to move on. So how are you supposed to react when you get the call that after all this time, Bob is alive and on a flight home to California to meet you? And how are you possibly going to tell him that you had started to move on – with his best friend and former teammate Jake Seresin? 

Pairing: Bob Floyd x wife!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Warnings: References to war, death, smut

A/N: This is inspired by Homeland, but with a twist!

Word count: 1K

Masterlist here

The first time Jake kissed you, you pushed him away. 

Well, actually you shoved him. Hard. He was built like a fucking Ram truck, and still he reeled back from your touch. 

You gasped. “Oh my God, I’m sorry.” 

He rubbed one hand across his broad chest, your fingerprints tattooing themselves across his capillaries. “No, it’s OK. I’m sorry, I just thought—”

“No, you were right.” And then you rushed forward, tossing your arms around his neck, kissing him back. This time, he kissed you and you felt it everywhere. Your legs wound themselves around his thick hips. You felt him, hard, against your core as he walked you backwards, pressing you against the back of the couch, your moans filling his mouth as he grinded his cock against the soft fabric of your dress where it had ridden up. “Jake,” you murmured. 

“Yeah baby?” 

“I need you.” 

You had known Jake for years. Almost as long as you had known Bob. You had known him before the two of you got married. He was a side figure in most of your memories: Bob’s twenty-fifth birthday at the beach, that one couple's trip to Santa Monica when Jake was still married to Sally, practically every Sunday barbecue when the squadron was in town. 

So somehow it didn’t feel weird or wrong the first time Jake laid his hand on your thigh. It didn’t feel that strange when he held your hand outside the restaurant, or when he offered to come inside and make you a cup of coffee. 

It didn’t feel wrong as his strong hands unbuttoned the front of your dress, exposing your breasts. It wasn’t wrong when his head bent and he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, making you cry out into the empty room. 

It wasn’t wrong when you pushed his pants down, taking his length into your hand, practically weeping as he plunged into your folds, tearing you open, filling a space that had been abandoned for five years. 

There was something so terribly familiar as Jake pressed into you over and over, your breasts slapping against his bare, toned chest, the way he nuzzled his head into your neck, how he came inside of you as your walls pulsed with pleasure, his arms wrapped tightly around your bare body. 

Jake fit into your life. He took the puzzle pieces and he put them back together, one by one. He filled the void that had been left with Bob’s absence. He protected you. He loved you. 

He had told you as much. 

After ten months of dating, he let it slip. “I love you, Y/N.”

You whirled around, shocked. Jake stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing his flightsuit, hair tightly cropped, a bundle of flowers under one arm. “I—”

“It’s OK,” he said, crossing the room and placing the flowers on the counter. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know. I thought I wasn’t going to fall in love again after my divorce. But then you happened. And it’s like all of the shit that I went through with Sally just disappeared. Maybe it was even worth it. Because loving you is like finding shore after treading water. You saved me, baby. You’re the only thing that makes sense.” 

“I love you too,” you said, without hesitation. His green eyes glittered. And as you stepped forward, moving to kiss him, the sparkle of your wedding ring in the dim of the kitchen light reflected a halo across Jake’s chest, right over his heart. 

***

“Fuck fuck fuck. Oh my God, I think I’m having a heart attack.” 

“Sit down.” Jake’s warm hands pressed hard on your shoulders, practically shoving you into the couch. He sat on the ottoman facing you, legs wide. “You’re panicking.” 

“Of course I’m panicking. My husband just came back from the dead. How do you think he’s going to feel when he finds out I’m fucking his friend?” 

Jake grimaced. “Baby, we’re—”

“It doesn’t matter,” you interjected. “All he’s going to see is that I didn’t wait for him. All he’s going to think is that he was out there for six years, stuck as a POW, and I just moved on without a care in the world.”

“We both know that’s not true.” 

“It doesn’t matter what’s true or not. What matters is optics. From his perspective, I cheated. I dishonored my marriage.” You shook your head, tears falling down your cheeks. “How the fuck is this happening right now?” 

“Maybe if you just took a nap you’d feel better.” 

“He’s coming home tomorrow,” you said, standing up. “I need you to get all of your things out tonight. Right now.” 

“You’re not serious?” Jake had practically lived with you the last two months. 

“I’m very fucking serious. Everything has to go. I don’t want Bob to ever know you were here.”

“He’s going to find out.” 

“How?”

Jake stood up. “Wait. Fuck. Are you breaking up with me?” 

Your eyes widened. “Jake. I’m married. Married. My husband, presumed dead, has just come back from the fucking grave. You think I have time to date right now?” 

“So what, everything we said, it was all a lie? You didn’t mean any of it?” 

“I meant it,” you whispered. “But I meant what I said to him, too. And that happened first.” 

“So it means more then?” he asked. “He met you first, so he has dibs.” 

“He made me his wife, so yes, he has fucking dibs.” 

“I’d make you my wife today if he weren’t here!” Jake bellowed. The silence that followed his outburst threatened to swallow you whole. “Fuck, I’m sorry. This is just the weirdest situation and I don’t even know how to react.” 

“If you really love me,” you murmured, “then you’ll go. And you’ll just have to hope that one day I’ll come back.” 

“I waited years, Y/N,” Jake said softly. “I waited for you for years.”

“So what? You can’t wait any longer?” 

Jake grabbed his duffle bag from the counter. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. I’m done waiting.” 

With that, he walked out the door. You had a feeling you wouldn’t see him again.

Tag list:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @zablife @callsign-magnolia @shanimallina87 @hunterthecharmer @katiedid-3 @teacupsandtopgun @kmc1989 @phoenix-rising-starbird-one @dizzybee03 @double-j @desert-fern @djs8891 @th3-oncoming-storm @sio-ina-bottle @na-ta-sh-aa @hopip99 @teacupsandtopgun @xoxabs88xox

[ereardonlibrary]

In Six Years Ch. 2 preview

Jake fit into your life. He took the puzzle pieces and he put them back together, one by one. He filled the void that had been left with Bob’s absence. He protected you. He loved you. 

He had told you as much. 

After ten months of dating, he let it slip. “I love you, Y/N.”

You whirled around, shocked. Jake stood in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing his flightsuit, hair tightly cropped, a bundle of flowers under one arm. “I—”

“It’s OK,” he said, crossing the room and placing the flowers on the counter. “You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know. I thought I wasn’t going to fall in love again after my divorce. But then you happened. And it’s like all of the shit that I went through with Sally just disappeared. Maybe it was even worth it. Because loving you is like finding shore after treading water. You saved me, baby. You’re the only thing that makes sense.” 

“I love you too,” you said, without hesitation. His green eyes glittered. And as you stepped forward, moving to kiss him, the sparkle of your wedding ring in the dim of the kitchen light reflected a halo across Jake’s chest, right over his heart.

Masterlist here

Tag list: @bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @zablife @callsign-magnolia @shanimallina87 @hunterthecharmer @katiedid-3 @teacupsandtopgun @kmc1989 @phoenix-rising-starbird-one @dizzybee03 @double-j @desert-fern @djs8891 @th3-oncoming-storm @sio-ina-bottle @na-ta-sh-aa

[ereardonlibrary]

In Six Years: Chapter 1

[Bob Floyd x Reader; Jake Seresin x Reader]

Summary: Six years ago, you watched your husband Bob Floyd leave for a mission he would never return from. After a failed mission left Bob as missing in action and pronounced dead, you struggled to move on. So how are you supposed to react when you get the call that after all this time, Bob is alive and on a flight home to California to meet you? And how are you possibly going to tell him that you had started to move on – with his best friend and former teammate Jake Seresin? 

Pairing: Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Warnings: References to war, death

A/N: This is inspired by Homeland, but with a twist!

Word count: 2.2K

Your knees shook as you stepped out of the car, onto the hot pavement. 

California was too hot. You and Bob had always agreed on that. But when his assignment came — San Diego — the two of you picked up from Newport and left the East Coast behind. It wasn’t easy, but it didn’t matter because you had each other. All you had ever needed was Bob. 

And then he was gone. 

Jake offered to drive, but you said no. Your fingertips clung to the steering wheel, hot, like they were pasted on. 

Inside the building, air conditioning cooled the sweat that had formed on your upper lip, back of your legs, inside your dress along your spine. 

What did someone wear to see the man they had believed was dead for the better part of a decade? 

You settled on a blue dress, one that Bob had always loved. If you closed your eyes tightly, you could remember his fingers tugging down the zipper on the back after a heated exchange that led to sex in the hallway, right there on the carpeted floor. 

That was a long time ago. That was a lifetime ago, quite literally. The lifetime that Bob had lived. The lifetime you had lived with Bob. 

The one where you made plans: get married, buy a house, have kids. 

Only the first two came true. 

He was gone for the big things. Your thirtieth birthday. Your promotion to vice president at the firm. The first gray hair that popped up on your right side, and the first time your knees cracked when you stood up from the yoga mat. He was gone for a long time the first time you let Jake into the house as anyone other than a friend, a teammate of your husband’s. 

He was gone for five years the first time you let Jake kiss you. 

You were a ghost, wandering the hallways of the Navy building, searching for another ghost. A man you had long believed to be dead. A man you had loved and treasured and mourned. A man whose headshot still stood on your side of the bed. A man whose ring still sat on your finger. 

“Mrs. Floyd?” A voice shook you from your thoughts. 

You looked up. He was handsome. Older, a gentleman well in his sixties. His uniform was tightly pressed. You wondered if his wife did it for him; his ring finger was adorned with a dull gold band that showed its age in use. Bob had worn a similar one. 

He wore a similar one. 

Or at least, you assumed he did. Maybe they took it. Maybe he had to use it for something, to barter, to patch something metallic. You didn’t know what had happened in the last six years. You had gone from knowing everything about him, what he ate for breakfast and what type of underwear he bought and if he needed a cup of coffee simply by the way he walked, to assuming he was dead, to realizing that you were about to welcome home a stranger.

“I’m Mrs. Floyd.” It was a croak. How long had it been since you had said that? Some people asked if you wanted to go back to your maiden name, after a few years had passed, after they closed his case. But you never did. That name was the last thing tying you to him. 

“Captain Floyd’s plane has just landed. I can take you into the waiting area now.” 

The two of you walked in silence through the narrow, sterile hallway. He opened a plain door to reveal what looked like an airport gate: a few rows of blue fabric chairs that sat back-to-back, and a wall of windows overlooking the tarmac. There was a jet bridge that connected to an internal door, and a short ramp that ascended into the main area. 

You were the only two people in the room. 

He nodded, and walked toward the door. “I’ll give you your privacy.” 

A part of you wished he would stay. Someone else to grip to. Reality. You sat down, then stood back up. But then your breakfast threatened to reverse up your esophagus and you sat back down, cradling your head into your hands. 

There was a buzzing in your ears, so loud it was a symphony. Blood pooled in the inner channels and pulsed and danced and you closed your eyes, letting it drown you and surround you. 

And then it stopped. His voice broke through the music your body created out of fear. 

“Sweetheart.” 

You looked up. Six feet away, Bob stood wearing service dress whites, his hat held softly in his hands. He had aged, far more than six years. There were wrinkles tugging at the corners of his eyes, and his soft brown hair was cut short, a whisper of gray peering through some of the strands. Most of all, you could see it in his eyes. How the time had taken its toll on him. Time, and everything else. Things you couldn’t even begin to fathom.

It was just the two of you, in the empty room. So large and unfamiliar. Something uncomfortable clung to the air as you and Bob stepped closer, closing the gap. 

It was no longer familiar. 

There were all of the things you’d have to relearn about each other. What he smelled like fresh out of the shower, and which shoe he tied first, and where you left your keys to the car, and what type of take out order you preferred after a long work day. Small things that had once felt like a habit. 

Up close, he was unfamiliar. From afar, he was Bob. Your Bob. But up close, this man, he was a stranger. 

He placed his hat down on the empty chair to your left, and then straightened. You lifted one hand to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, a tear rolling down gently. When he opened his eyes, those enormous blue eyes, you felt it. The familiar fission of memories threading themselves together. Learning, melding, growing. He was becoming yours again. 

“Bobby,” you whispered. 

“It’s me,” he murmured, his thick voice as gravely and familiar as ever. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I am so, so sorry.”

“Oh, my God,” you gasped. He was real. His touch was real. And without hesitation, you leaned in, felt his arms wrap around you. He was thin, much thinner than before. He had lost muscle mass. 

It felt strange, and also like coming home. The only person who hugged you now was Jake, and he fit in a way that Bob didn’t. He was shorter, wider, different. 

Bob sagged in your arms. 

For the longest time, you had thought home was where you put your purse down, or the living room couch you begged Bob to buy even though it was too expensive. You had thought it was a place. 

Bob knew that home was you.

***

The drive was quiet, punctured by the occasional question. Bob was a quiet man. He had always been quiet. But now, the quiet was almost all consuming. It threatened to swallow the car, and the two of you, whole. 

“The house looks the same,” Bob said as you parked the car. He paused. “Did you learn how to mow?”

“Um, no,” you said quietly. “Someone does it for me.” 

Bob frowned. “Waste of money. I’ll do it.” 

Inside, you watched as he slipped off his shoes at the front door. How long had it taken you to put away his shoes from the shoe rack after he went missing? To clear out his side of the closet, his half of the bathroom sink? To act like he was actually gone, instead of just on base. 

You watched as Bob floated from room to room. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. How he felt. Did it feel the same? Or was it like returning to your childhood home after you’ve flown the nest? 

“Bobby, I—”

“Come here,” he said at the same time. The two of you sunk into the white linen couch. It felt uncomfortable and awkward. There were new lines around his eyes, a grit to his fingertips, the smell of a different shampoo than you were used to. The couch sagged in ways that you were unfamiliar with. 

“I bought Cheerios,” you said. 

Bob smiled. “Wow, Cheerios. I haven’t thought about those in a long time.” 

You stood up, pacing toward the kitchen. “And milk. And the good salami from the butcher over on Bunker Street, and the jumbo organic blueberries even though you always said they were too expensive. But we can afford them now, so…”

Bob swiveled on the couch. “We can?”

You smiled. “I got a promotion, Bobby. Two years ago. VP.” 

He practically leapt from the couch. “Baby, what? That’s amazing!” 

“No more bargain hunting for cheap toilet paper.” 

“I’m so proud of you.” 

“I’m proud of you.” It slipped out. Bob’s face drained white. 

He took a step back, out of the kitchen. “I, uh, I’m going to take a shower I think.”

You nodded. “I bought you new stuff, it’s all in there.” 

“Thanks.” 

The moment he left, you could breathe again. There was something heavy, uncomfortable in the air between the two of you. The easy familiarity of marriage, of knowing someone so well they were an extension of yourself, was gone. 

And in its place, was a stranger. 

Bob was in there a long time. You didn’t want to know how long he had gone without a shower, or basic necessities like that. You had long ago vowed not to get caught up in all of the things that he was suffering with. It was too heartbreaking. 

After an hour, you were worried. You inched open the bathroom door. “Bobby?”

It was met by silence. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door.

Bob sat on the ground in a pair of tight white briefs, his back against the cabinet. The shower wasn’t even running. The room was free of any mist or humidity. 

He looked up. “It’s like I’ve forgotten what to do,” he whispered. 

Without hesitation, you crossed the room, leaning in to turn on the shower. Bob’s eyes watched you intently as you stepped back, one hand dragging the zipper of your dress down to your waist. With a hitched breath, you slid the blue dress down, exposing your breasts, and then the lacy fabric of your panties as the dress fell to the ground. His eyes widened as you traced a fingertip along the waist of the panties, dragging them down and flicking them off gently. 

“Come here.” You held out a hand and he took it, standing up. You reached out, fingers skimming his waist as Bob’s breath caught, and you tugged his briefs down, watching him spring free. 

How many times, since he was gone, had you thought about Bob naked? The gentle way he would lay you down against the mattress, the feel of his cock inside of you, his breath in your ear as he begged you to cum for him.

And now here he was, standing in front of you, naked. But he wasn’t hard. You didn’t expect him to be. Not after everything. 

It wasn’t why you undressed him. Instead, you pulled open the shower door, guiding him in, and then following. You positioned Bob into the stream of warm, not hot, water. Rubbed your hands together with shampoo, running your fingers gently through his locks as he closed his eyes. You sucked in a gasp as he turned and you slid a bar of soap over the expanse of his back, thick raised scars where he had been beaten. Gone was his smooth, freckled back. Instead, it was a 3D painting: flesh raised and then diving into long crevices. It took everything you had to pretend they didn’t exist. To simply wash your husband, let the water fall over his head as his eyes closed, let your hands hold him and steady him and care for him in all the ways you had dreamed of doing for six long years. 

After, you helped Bob dry off. He stood at the edge of the bed the two of you had shared. It was a queen. Two months before he left, you had said how much you wanted a king bed. To have some space from him in the night when he snored or tossed his arm onto your side. But mattresses were expensive. And then he deployed and was missing. And suddenly the queen was too big. You spent more nights than you could count sleeping on the couch in the living room. Because at least then, you didn’t have to contend with Bob’s side of the bed. The emptiness. 

“Come here,” you whispered, peeling back the comforter, sliding in between the layers. Hesitantly, Bob mimicked your movements. He laid straight as a pin on his side of the bed, barely moving. You leaned over, pressing one hand to his head, stroking his hair. 

“Can I ask you a question?” he whispered. 

“Of course.”

“Whose electric razor is that in the bathroom?”

Your heart stopped. 

Tag list:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @zablife @callsign-magnolia @shanimallina87 @hunterthecharmer @katiedid-3 @teacupsandtopgun @kmc1989 @phoenix-rising-starbird-one @dizzybee03 @double-j @desert-fern @djs8891 @th3-oncoming-storm @sio-ina-bottle

[ereardonlibrary]

In Six Years: Prologue [Bob Floyd x Reader; Jake Seresin x Reader]

Summary: Six years ago, you watched your husband Bob Floyd leave for a mission he would never return from. After a failed mission left Bob as missing in action and pronounced dead, you struggled to move on. So how are you supposed to react when you get the call that after all this time, Bob is alive and on a flight home to California to meet you? And how are you possibly going to tell him that you had started to move on – with his best friend and former teammate Jake Seresin? 

Pairing: Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Warnings: References to war, death

A/N: This is inspired by Homeland, but with a twist!

Six years, four months and twelve days. 

That’s how long it had been since you last spoke to Bob. 

The last time you heard his voice, the last time he said your name, the last time you felt comfortable in the house that the two of you had built together. 

The last time he was alive. 

Six years feels like nothing. It’s an eternity. Every second is a lifetime. Every minute is a drop in the bucket. Time flexes and morphs and squeezes and nothing is real and nothing matters. Days trickled by and eventually you had to change the calendar. It took everything in your soul to take the one from the fridge, that he had won at the State Fair that year, that he had laughed so hard about because it was Brady Bunch themed and hoe retro was that, and put it in a brown banker’s box with the rest of his life. Packaged neatly away in the office he never came home to, in a house he still technically owned, in a city he had been a temporary guest in, with a woman he called his wife. 

Six years had passed since you had seen Bob alive. And then, one day, that day, the phone rang. 

“Hello?” 

“Y/N?” Your throat squeezed shut as your eyes flew open. There was only one person in the entire world with that voice – that perfect mix of gravel and sunshine and intensity. 

And he was fucking dead. You had buried him. You had cried for him. You had mourned him. Bob was dead. 

Except he wasn’t. Except it was his voice on the phone. His voice telling you that he was alive. He was on a plane, back to California. That he had escaped the sand and the dust and the war and his captives. 

A response died on your lips. Your fingertips shook as the phone fell to the ground. 

A large, tanned hand picked it up. Your eyes pivoted upward, from the scratchy jute rug to the perfectly shiny shoes, up the expanse of his brown slacks to his muscular torso to his green eyes. 

Jake put both of his hands on your knees. “Baby? What is it?”

Tag list: @zablife @sio-ina-bottle @clancycucumber230 @bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @callsign-magnolia

[ereardonlibrary]

New fic inspo???

Summary: Six years ago, you watched your husband Bob Floyd leave for a mission he would never return from. After a failed mission left Bob as missing in action and pronounced dead, you struggled to move on. So how are you supposed to react when you get the call that after all this time, Bob is alive and on a flight home to California to meet you? And how are you possibly going to tell him that you had started to move on – with his best friend and former teammate Jake Seresin? 

Pairing: Bob Floyd x F!Reader

[ereardonlibrary]

Homecoming Ch. 4 teaser [Jake Seresin x Reader]

Near the front of the bar, Jake held out a hand and you grabbed it as he dragged you through the throng of people, the two of you quickly expelled out onto the street. The stillness of the night air was such a relief from the crowded club and you stood on the sidewalk gulping in thick, sweet fresh air for so long you didn’t even realize you were still holding Jake’s hand when he cleared his throat. Your fingers dropped from his suddenly. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime.” 

“I’m sorry I called, I just didn’t know what to do and Colin wasn’t answering and—”

“Sparky.” Jake’s hand reached out, thumb pressed against your cheek. His skin was rough and warm. “I’m glad you called me. Always call me.”

His eyes were so fucking green. He was the kind of person who looked at you and truly saw you. His gaze was so intense it almost hurt. Or maybe that was the five spicy margaritas coming back to haunt you.

[ereardonlibrary]

hey i have my age on profile can you please unblock me?

my blog clearly states that blank blogs will be blocked.

[ereardonlibrary]

Blog update

Hi all! As you might have guessed by my slowdown in activity over the last few months, I've decided to go on a writing hiatus.

This has been driven by a multitude of things including low engagement on my fics, as well as overall writers block and lack of motivation.

Unfortunately, this means my active WIPs are on hold indefinitely (such as Before I Knew). Sorry to any readers out there!

In the meantime, I may pop on here occasionally, so if there's something you've written and would like me to read, please DM me or tag me, I'll make sure to engage. I am trying to focus on my writing in my personal life as I near my 31st birthday since I haven't progressed much with my goal I set myself for this year. We're also getting a puppy in the new year and trying to start a family.

All that to say -- thanks to all who have engaged with my work over the last 2+ years. Hoping to be back to writing at a normal cadence sometime soon! xx

Tagging some mutuals for awareness:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @clancycucumber230 @horseshoegirl @dizzybee03 @fairyheart @gigisimsonmars @joaquinwhorres @thedroneranger @gretagerwigsmuse @goldenseresinretriever @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @sio-ina-bottle @sometimesanalice @seresinhangmanjake @teacupsandtopgun @writercole @palepeanutponyshoe @callsign-magnolia

[ereardonlibrary]

Hi,

I am unable to see any story posts of yours. I have my age on my profile?

[ereardonlibrary]

Summary: After four years of marriage, you find out that your husband, Bradley Bradshaw, has cheated on you with your best friend. 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader 

WC: 1.4K

Warnings: Cheating, slight smut, reference to pregnancy, alcohol. Sorry to all my Bradley girls this one is gonna hurt!

You woke up in a sweat, eyes flying open, hand stretching out to the other side of the bed. 

And where you had expected the warmth of your husband, instead you found the cold emptiness of sheets that hadn’t been laid on in days. 

You laid back, eyes brimming with tears. 

In the living room, only ten feet away, separated by a thin door, Bradley laid on the couch with his eyes focused on the spinning fan on the ceiling. He felt sick to his stomach. There was a knot that had buried itself deep into his stomach and wouldn’t unfurl, no matter what he did. Bring you sandwiches at work, flowers before dinner, kisses when you least expected it. He lived with doubt and fear riddled in his very bones. Every time your phone buzzed or you checked the screen, he felt every muscle in his body tense. And then you’d turn to him with the sweetest smile in the world. And his heart shattered into pieces again. 

You were the love of his life. And you were about to be the one that got away. 

***

It was a mistake. Or at least, that’s what Bradley told himself. The first time he saw her out, it had been an accident. He was at the mall, searching through Sephora and trying to find the lipstick you had sent him to buy. Bradley was too big for small aisles, and he knocked into someone, then went sputtering the other way into a display case of perfumes, brown eyes wide as he held his breath, waiting to hear bottles crash to the ground. Instead, a hand shot out, righting the triangular shaped bottle that was rocking and saving it from cascading to the ground. 

“Shit!” he muttered. 

June looked up, eyes wide. “Bradley?” 

He grinned. “Hey there.” He had known June as long as he had known you. The two of you were a packaged deal. She was there the first night the two of you met, on the other side of the bar, egging you on. She was standing on your other side of the altar as the two of you kissed in the drizzle that unexpectedly rainy Saturday in June. And here she was, saving Bradley’s ass in a Sephora. 

She cocked her head. “Y/N sent you on errands?” 

He nodded. “I’m on a quest for,” he paused, looking down at his phone, “Charlotte Tilbury Pillow Talk.” 

She smiled. “Follow me.” 

The Sephora trip turned into an impromptu lunch that parted with a friendly hug. When Bradley got home, you praised him for finding everything and even picking out a gift – a new perfume from Jo Malone – and he didn’t have the heart to tell you that June had chosen it.

A week later, when he saw her struggling with a case of seltzer water in the grocery store parking lot, he lifted it out of her arms with ease and she smiled at him in a way that made Bradley feel fuzzy around the edges. And so when she touched his arm he let his mind wander for a moment. How long had it been since you had looked at him like that? Like he was your savior. 

They went on like that, running into each other here and there. Del Mar was a small town. You and Bradley had chosen to buy your first house there to get out of San Diego, away from the crowds and the hustle. You liked quiet, a good book on a Friday night with a glass of wine and a blanket over your toes. It was Bradley who wanted more – more lights, more energy, more attention. 

So when you went out of town for work to New York, Bradley found himself nursing a beer at the local pub. And when June sat down to his right, it wasn’t long before they were five drinks deep and she was pulling him on the dance floor. 

And before Bradley knew it, his hand was wrapped around her neck and her eyes were screaming fuck me, and he leaned down and tasted her. 

They fucked in the car, fast and dirty, Bradley’s head hitting the window of the side door, his pants barely unbuckled as his cock slammed into her and she moaned beneath him like a porn star. He was drunk, and with his eyes closed he could almost forget that it wasn’t you. But then she ran her fingers down his cheek – you kept yours short, most nurses do – and sighed so breathy he almost stilled inside of her before she wrapped her legs around his waist, milking him to completion by rolling her hips with a gasp. 

They vowed to never speak of it again. But everywhere he went, Bradley felt like June would be there. He ignored her calls the rest of the week you were gone. And when you called, tired after a full day of medical seminars, he forced himself to swallow the truth that threatened to burst from his lips. 

“I love you,” you whispered into the phone. 

Bradley choked back a sob. “I love you too, baby.” 

***

You didn’t know. At least, you didn’t think you knew. It was just a hunch, a suspicion. 

The first clue was when you got home from New York. The house was spotless. Normally, Bradley was a slob. A jersey hung over empty dining room chairs, tupperware piled in the sink, beard trimmings along the granite countertops in the bathroom. This time it looked like a forensic team had swooped in. 

And then the way he looked at you. Sad, soulful eyes. Usually, Bradley greeted you like a dog at the door. Eager, blissfully ignorant. 

This time, there was something hovering beyond the watery irises. 

And when you called June to ask if she thought you had any reason to worry, there was the sharp inhale on her end of the line. You had heard that inhale before. Sophomore year at Vanderbilt. Your roommate had cheated with your boyfriend of two months. And when you asked her why there was a condom in her trash can, she sucked in a breath, eyes darting around the room, refusing to make contact with your own. And then the next time you saw her with your boyfriend in tow at the dining hall, you knew. The way they looked at each other. There were secrets hiding in plain sight. 

So you invited June to dinner. And when she showed up in a dowdy dress, luscious hair pulled back into a bun, you felt your stomach drop to your toes. And when Bradley wouldn’t meet her eyes, you knew. 

***

You promised." Bradley's eyes filled with tears. He went to touch you, but you stumbled back, out of his reach. "I only asked you one thing. Not to break my heart. But you did it anyway. And with her."

"I never meant to hurt you," he said, the strain in his voice evident. His voice, normally so deep, was raspy, as if he was gasping for air in the desert. "Baby. I love you. I fucked up and I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter anymore, Bradley," you whispered.

He frowned. "Of course it matters. You matter. It all matters."

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. Bradley felt his heart plummet in his chest, stretching for his feet, shattering every rib bone along the way as it cascaded out of his chest. He had never hurt anyone the way he had hurt you. "It doesn't, because it's over."

"You can't just say it's over," he replied. "I asked you to marry me. You said yes. We got married, Y/N. You can't just call quits on that because of one small thing."

"One small thing?" He winced as your voice rose. "You fucked her, Bradley. My best friend in the whole world. You fucked her and you lied to me about it."

"I don't know what to tell you other than I am so sorry. I regret it with every fiber of my being. I hate myself for it. Is that what you wanted? Will knowing that make you happy? That I hate who I've become? That I hate the person who could do that to you?"

"Well I hate him too," you said, the anger whipping through your teeth. "I hate you, Bradley Bradshaw. I wish we had never met."

"Don't say that. Baby, I love you. You're my wife and I love you."

"We're leaving. Don't bother trying to come after us."

"We?" Bradley's brown eyes squinted.

"I'm pregnant."

A/N: Yes, another blurb with this bc I'm angsty tonight!!

[ereardonlibrary]

Send me angsty asks pls and thx trying to get some creative inspo flowing

[ereardonlibrary]

Hi, I know this might be weird but I can't see past chapter 5 of your "before I knew" series. I absolutely adore it and I would really like to finish it. Do you know what the problem is?

It’s very clear in my blog bio I block all ageless, underage, spam likers and those who don’t interact with content. I don’t appreciate people trying to read my work and disregarding the rules of my blog.

[ereardonlibrary]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Twenty

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Jake and Bob finally talk; Jake makes a startling statement and Ducky's water breaks

WC: 1K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You sat on the couch wearing a dress that stretched over your mountain of a stomach, feet swinging. “Come on, Cowboy!” you yelled out. “This isn’t the Miss Texas pageant!” 

Jake appeared from the doorway, running a hand through his hair. He had on a pair of jeans and a thin cashmere polo tucked in at the waist. He looked nervous. 

“Are you ready?” he nodded. “Help me up, please.” 

Jake held out his hands and lifted you gently as you groaned. “You alright baby?” he whispered. 

“I’m enormous,” you complained. “And she’s kicking my ribs like she’s getting paid for it.” 

“Maybe we have a soccer star on our hands,” he replied, placing one hand on your belly. 

You looked up. “I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is to me that tonight goes well.” 

Jake sighed. “I’m well aware of what’s at stake, Y/N.” 

You frowned. “Why do you say it like that?” 

“Let’s just go,” he said, grabbing his truck keys from the table near the door. 

“No. Tell me what you meant.” 

Jake groaned. “I’m really not in the mood for this.” 

“Well neither am I, but here we are.” You were being stubborn and you knew it. It was one of your less attractive traits, as your mother always said. 

“You want to know the truth?” Jake whirled around to face you. “That’s my baby in there. But I know for a goddamn fact that you’ll pick your family over me if it comes down to it. And that if for some reason Floyd and I can’t figure this out, you’ll pick him over me. And I’m not going to get to be a part of my kid’s life. Not in the way that I want to be.” 

It took you a moment to reply. And just as you opened your mouth to speak, Jake cut you off. 

“Let’s go,” he said quietly. “We’re going to be late.” 

***

The drive was silent, punctuated only by the sounds of your scraggly breath as the truck ricketed over potholes. Jake kept both hands on the wheel, gripping it hard. 

You were quiet as he pulled into a parking space, Bob’s truck already parked across the way. When you went to slip your hands into Jake’s, he shifted just enough out of the way. 

Inside, Bob sat at a corner table wearing a linen shirt, a look of disgruntled discomfort across his face. He stood up when he spotted you, reaching out to kiss your cheek. “Ducky.” He straightened. “Hangman.” 

“Floyd.” 

“Call each other by your first names,” you demanded, plopping down into the chair and taking a sip of ice water. “Please.” 

“Jake,” Bob bit out.

“Bob.” 

“There. Was that so hard?” You winced as the baby kicked, hard, against what may or may not have been the remaining shred of a spleen. 

“Are you alright?” Bob asked quietly. 

You looked up and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” You cut him off. “Can the two of you just talk please? So I can go home and put on my pajamas.” 

“If you want I’ll take you home now.” Jake offered. 

“Jesus fuck,” you grumbled and they both looked up, startled. “Talk to each other. Now.” You crossed your arms over your chest, resting them on your belly. 

Jake sighed while Bob leaned back. 

Finally, Jake said, “I called Joe the other day. After what happened at the restaurant.” 

Bob frowned. You did, too. “Who is Joe?” 

“Dakota’s husband,” they replied in unison. 

“Asked how he was doing. How Blake was. He’s in the third grade now.” 

“I know that,” Bob bit out. “He’s my godson.” 

Jake hung his head. “Listen, Bob, I’m trying here. Do you know how many times I woke up that first year after the accident in the middle of the night drenched in sweat? How many times I wondered if it would have been better if it was me in her seat. What if I had just gone down instead.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m about to be a father. And it’s made me do a lot of thinking. I’m not saying it was right, or that I don’t regret it. But maybe there was a reason I wasn’t the one who we lost out there. Maybe this is what I was meant to do and be. And I think I owe our daughter, Y/N’s and mine, everything I can give to her. And that means being a father who isn’t constantly haunted by ghosts.” 

The air was still. In front of you, your spaghetti was getting cold, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Jake and Bob as they sat across from each other in silence. 

“Tell me the truth,” Bob said, gravely voice barely above a whisper. “Do you love my sister?” 

“Yes.” It was automatic. Your heart jumped into your throat. “I love her. I’m in love with her. I’d do anything for her.” 

“So marry her.” 

“Bobby!” you slapped his upper arm. “You shut up.” 

“I’m serious,” he said. “Marry her and provide a good life for her.” 

“Happily.” 

Your eyes went wide. “What?” 

Jake turned to you. “I know you’re scared and that’s OK. But when you’re ready, I’ll be here. Because I’m ready for this. All of this.” 

Your heart started beating fast. You felt the air tighten around you as your reached out to grab the edge of the table. 

“Ducky?” 

“Baby? Are you alright?” 

“I think, I’m—”

The rush of liquid from beneath your dress stopped you mid sentence. You looked up. 

“I think I’m in labor.” 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @bobfloydsbabe @bobfloydssunnies @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @xomrsalliej4787xo @xoxabs88xox @spinning-away @myfaveficrecs @withahappyrefrain

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[ereardonlibrary]

"The way I loved you." Bradley shook his head. "It was real."

"You say that now that it's over."

"I said it then, too. You just never listened."

"You only loved me the way you wanted," you replied. "Not the way I needed."

"What can I do to change it?" he begged. "What could I have done differently?"

"What does it matter? It's done. It's over."

"Don't say that," he whispered. "It's not over. It can't be."

You pulled your hand away, feeling the warmth slip away. Your eyes met his. "It's been over for a while, Bradley. The difference is, you're just now seeing it. But I've known for a long time."

[In the same universe as this angsty post!]

[ereardonlibrary]

Colors [Rhett Abbott x Reader]

Summary: Life with Rhett started as a rainbow and nosedived into darkness after a catastrophic loss. Will you ever be able to see in color again?

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Reader

Warnings: References to stillbirth and unhappy relationships

WC: 1.2K

A/N: This was written quickly without proofing so apols for any errors! xx

Rhett’s eyes caught yours across the room. 

That dark, smoldering slate blue that melted the moment your eyes met. For a second, you were throttled back to five years ago, the first time the two of you caught eyes. 

How the smoke had filled the dimly lit back room of the bar, and you pushed your way through the throng of people to a pocket of air, only to stumble on the edge of a pool stick that someone had laid on the ground, large hands catching you just as you were about to fall. 

The way his voice felt like velvet unraveling against your skin. He said his name, and you said yours, too. And somehow, in the middle of the bar, with all of the voices and the sound of shattering glass and the dull beat of the old stereo system, the two of you were alone on a desert island. Just his fingertips on your arm, his small pink lips turned up in a cheeky grin, hair curled around the edge of a cowboy hat as your blood raced through your veins. 

And the moment the two of you broke apart, the noise started again, swelling, unbearable. It swallowed you whole, and Rhett too, and you were once again lost in the crowd. 

But later, once the crowd had died down, you widened your eyes over the orange light of the end of the cigarette. His hands in his pockets, his jaw sharp as the knife in your boots as he appeared on the fringe of your vision. 

He wanted to leave together. And you should have known better, but that was never your strong suit. 

He fucked as good as he looked, the cold metal of his belt buckle digging into the back of your thigh where he had pushed his pants down, your hands spread out on the dusty hood of the old Ford truck your daddy had bought you, Rhett’s hands tight across your tits as he groaned into your ear. And when he came inside of you, you let him. Because in that moment, he was paradise on earth. 

From that moment on, there was no going back. Your life had splintered into two eras. There was before Rhett and with Rhett. 

Later you would find there was a third era. After Rhett. 

In your life with Rhett, things took on a patina in your mind's eye. The way he would twirl your hair around his finger as the two of you bumped down the dirty road going over the speed limit, windows open, air whipping at your face. There was an antique quality in the way your memories of Rhett played over in your mind: how he would scurry out of bed in the cold mornings and bring you coffee in bed. The way he smelled after a day on the ranch. The first time you two spent Christmas together, unwrapping gifts in front of the fire, and later, unwrapping each other in the darkened bedroom you shared. 

Not unlike the orange of the cigarette tip that night you first met, the sky was flooded with dulled citrus smears the first time Rhett said he loved you. You remembered every single second that felt like a lifetime before you replied that you loved him, too. You remembered the relief on his face when you said it back. The way his lips felt against yours. Somehow different. Like you owned a part of him. 

He had taken a part of you, too. 

But then days stretched in the haze of tropical glow began to dim. And your lives were no longer sunsets or sunrises, only the darkness that enveloped the witching hour. Gone was the sweet whisper of wind at dusk. Instead, it had been replaced by the oppressive blanket of silence that held stillness in the early hours of the morning. 

Gone was the laughter that had permeated the walls of the small apartment the two of you rented above a neighbor’s garage. Instead, it was replaced by fights. Starting small, but growing. Like the bags beneath your eyes. Like the number of times Rhett stopped at the liquor store after work. 

And then, the line turned pink. And so did the second one. And you cried, an unknown feeling crawling into your gut. And so did Rhett as he held the onesie you had bought down at the flea market in his rough, calloused hands. 

For a while, the rosy hue was back. Maybe it was the walls of the nursery after you painted them dusty pink once the ultrasound confirmed it was a girl. But there was something else, too. It was the way Rhett looked at you. Like you were coming up for air after a tough swim. Like around you, he could finally breathe. 

The twilight that had settled over the two of you before had never been as dark as the midnights that sat on your shoulders the day you stood above the world’s smallest coffin. Watched as they lowered it into the ground, practically a shoebox. Felt the Earth cave in as dirt was shoved on top of your heart, buried ten feet in the ground as you drove away and left a piece of you back there under the oak tree. 

You wilted in the darkness, rarely coming up for fresh air. Rhett tried, but he couldn’t stay. He was sucked down by it, absorbing your toxins, sacrificing himself. 

You watched him walk away in the middle of the day, sun high in the sky, but it was still dark inside from your chair by the window. 

You heard the rumors about him and the Olivares girl. What they did at the bar. The same bar where the two of you had first met. 

And finally, one day you woke up and the air wasn’t heavy with particulates. Instead, sunlight flooded your eyes. It was a new kind of light. Gone were the pastels of sunset. This was brighter. It practically burned. 

You let it burn you. A part of you wanted it to. 

But instead, you grabbed your phone to call him. Because he was the only one who understood what it was like to live in black and white and suddenly see color. He had done it once before, the night he met you. 

Your eyes caught his across the room. He stood, that familiar gait. The hat molded to his hairline, the way his jeans clung against him tightly, the pink lips that had kissed you and told you stories and whispered to you in your darkest moments. 

It was bright. So bright it practically stung. And then Rhett took one step closer, and the lights faded. It was just him, standing in front of you, in living and breathing color. 

He held out his hand, the skin warped by the sun, veins bulging against bone, nails greased with dirt. You felt him across every inch of your palm as you returned the gesture. 

And then he smiled and the world burst into shards of crystal rainbows all around, illuminating everything around you. 

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Rhett closed his eyes, but all he could see was color. 

[ereardonlibrary]

New fic inspo???

Summary: Six years ago, you watched your husband Bob Floyd leave for a mission he would never return from. After a failed mission left Bob as missing in action and pronounced dead, you struggled to move on. So how are you supposed to react when you get the call that after all this time, Bob is alive and on a flight home to California to meet you? And how are you possibly going to tell him that you had started to move on – with his best friend and former teammate Jake Seresin? 

Pairing: Bob Floyd x F!Reader