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loversmantra · 4 months

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FREE FALLIN' LOVE ADDICT!

synopsis. satoru's fingers look their best soaking wet.

content. gojo satoru x cisfem!reader. smut. minors do not interact. lowkey... househusband satoru and his working wife. making out. fingering. cum eating. drooling. size difference. not explicitly stated but this definitely reads as sub!satoru. foul language. "gojo satoru has the biggest praise kink in existence," i say from the top of my hill. he's kinda pathetic in this tbh but so am i so it's fine.

title from poplar st by glass animals

wc. 2.3k

message from noe. this started as something very different, very wholesome... then it became this. i was fighting demons. sorry. also this is lowkey my first time doing smut be nice to me pls. anyways @neptuneblue dis one is for you twiiin

satoru’s hands are much bigger than yours.

you’ve known this for a long time, of course. as a teen, he never missed an opportunity to remind you you were smaller than him: whether that be by holding something out of your reach or using that creature of an appendage to cover your entire face and muffle your complaints.

he didn’t outgrow his antics. his hands did, however, get even bigger.

but it’s one thing to know, to have the theoretic knowledge of it in the back of your mind. it’s another to have indisputable proof of it: his huge hand wrapped around your own, both warming it and dwarfing it.

satoru’s had his hands on you since the day you first met. rough, teasing — and later loving. soft. and you’re thinking about them a lot these days. you’re thinking of his hands everywhere.

his longs fingers wrapped around your throat. snug around your waist, tight on your hips. deep inside you. you’re thinking about it, a lot.

the wonderful contrast of cherry red flush on his cheeks, down his neck, down his heaving chest. the heat of his breath on your lips, crazed, feverish, delirious. wide smile, all teeth, as he puts his fingers on his tongue and sucks. baby blues rolling back, away from the conscious world and into something he keeps on a tight, tight leash. he’s so beautiful when he gets like this. you want him.

you’re thinking about it so much, these days. you’re thinking about him.

you’re thinking today might be the boiling point.

you’re thinking satoru looks way too good in this outfit… and his hand is just so much bigger than yours.

your workday ended with a text from your beloved, urging you to hurry home, because he had a lil’ surprise for you. knowing satoru, you were fully expecting to find him laying on the bed naked and oiled up, but the sight you were greeted with when you arrived home was very different — though no less delectable.

the "surprise" itself: satoru in the kitchen, preparing dinner for you. he turned to face you when the door closed softly.

and while this might seem strange to anyone — anyone except you — when paired with his text telling you to hurry, you knew exactly where his intentions lied. you’ve been experiencing him long enough.

he wanted to seduce you. and fuck him, it worked.

not like you needed much help there: you’ve been thinking about jumping his bones, among other things, twenty-four seven, for days. you’re wrapped around his finger. head over heels. thoroughly whipped.

but to be fair, who could blame you?

briefly, you pondered. how wonderful it is, you thought, to have this man taking care you after a long day. how wonderful it is, to be loved by such a cosmic being. to come home and find the house clean. to come home and smell dinner cooking.

you pondered — but not for long. something else drew your attention away from his loving acts of service.

black slacks stretched around his toned legs, glorious ass on full display — you could have bitten him right there. his pristine white shirt was tight on his torso, showing off his rippling muscles as he expertly chopped vegetables. his sleeves — struggling to keep his biceps in check, it almost seemed — were rolled up to his elbows. displaying his hands and forearms perfectly. damn him.

to top it all off: an apron tight around his slim waist. picture perfect househusband.

he looked good. good enough to eat.

and you could tell he thought the same of you in your tailored suit. you saw his eyes darken from all the way across the room.

this was all part of his plan, of course.

he smiled. washed his hands, didn’t wipe away the droplets. he raked his eyes all over you, dark, wanting.

“hi, baby,” he purred.

you took off your shoes hastily, hurried to his side, pushed him against the counter and pushed your lips against his…

…to end up here, dress shirt wide open, tongue down his throat, arms pinned to the kitchen island by his large, large hands. his poor apron forgotten across the room.

there isn’t an inch of free space between the two of you — satoru simply refuses to let you drift away. you can feel his impatience all over him, little whines escaping his lips that you drink eagerly, narrow hips pressed to the furniture as if to give himself relief. you won’t have it, you refuse. his relief will be you or nothing.

“how was your day, satoru?” you smile against him.

he returns it, body shivering at his name falling from your lips. his hot mouth trails down to your shoulder, to leave no part of you untouched, untasted. “missed you,” he whispers with a push of his hips against you.

“hm, is that it?”

a hand leaves yours to flatten on your belly — he pushes you down easily and takes his rightful place, right on top of you. white hair tickles your skin as he makes his way back up until… “yeah,” he grins, eyes so dark you can barely breathe. his smile is all teeth. “that’s it.”

without your permission your thighs move to rub against one another. it doesn’t escape him. you try to turn your head away, to flee from his teasing. he follows. he always does.

“look at me, pretty,” he bites into your neck. “you want something from me?”

you do — you want his fingers knuckles deep inside you. and the absolute best part is, you know how bad he wants it, too, to see you come undone with his touch. you see it, you feel it in his every move. the need.

you feel it in the tight grip his hand has on your own, on your waist to keep you pressed against the marble. in the very, very slight tremor of his thighs close to yours, kept tightly under his control. in the tensing, untensing of his every muscle — restraint he’s giving his all to maintain. in the glorious pink of his cheeks, the sweat already accumulating on his flawless skin. he wants it. he wants you to ask for it.

but your satoru’s been quite spoiled lately. he’s gotten used to getting his way every time, little prince. it wouldn’t hurt him to work for it. you want to make him work for it.

you don’t answer him. instead, you keep him busy with your tongue tracing his lips, one hand trailing your nails down the soft hair of his undercut — earning you another full body shiver — while with the other you unbuckle your belt on your own.

it’s easy, after that, to shove your hand under your panties. satoru pushes himself off you, to better watch.

you make a show of it, just for him. making sure to really coat your fingers with your slick. two tight circles on your clit aren’t enough to relieve the pressure, but you trust him to come around and take care of it — he’s so good at taking care of you. you throw your head back with a soft whine, arch yourself into him, and in the hot air you share with him your hand comes back up, fingers glistening.

he looks jealous. already, he’s moving — moving to take your hand in his and taste — but you won’t have it. before he can do anything about it, you pop your fingers into your mouth, sucking yourself off them.

satoru’s eyebrows knit briefly, but his smile widens. his breaths are reduced to pathetic, shallow pants. if you push him a little more, will you get him drooling, tongue hanging out like a puppy? you bet you could. but today isn’t the day to find out. you want his fucking fingers.

he doesn’t let you think about it any longer. “can i?” he rasps, leaning down. his tongue runs over his teeth.

you don’t think about it. you nod your head, and he dives.

licking into your mouth desperately, moaning like he's having the time of his life. it’s so easy to meet him halfway, to suck his tongue in your mouth, to swallow all his little whimpers — so good, baby, fuck — you want it all, so you take it all.

he only stops to rest against your mouth and whine, “you taste so good, i wish you could eat yourself out.”

he catches you completely off guard. you have no answer to that, so brilliantly, you say, “huh?”

he noses at your cheek and explains, “i want to eat your cum straight from your mouth.”

and that’s enough of that — you’ve run out of patience. you think you’ve wrecked him enough, in any case, to hear such things spewing out of his mouth. you feel him throbbing. you are, too.

“can’t have that, angel,” you pant against him. “but you can make me cum.”

you can feel his smile. “i thought you’d never ask.”

his fingers slide down your body, under your pants, taking the same route yours did. only it’s much harder for him — they’re much bigger.

satoru wastes no time. the stretch is immediate, big finger pushing into you slowly. your hand knitted in his hair tugs him down to you. his moan is even louder than yours.

he stays there for a moment, savoring it, licking at your lips, your neck, the underside of your jaw — moaning like an animal in heat, like he could cry from the relief your hot walls hugging his fingers bring.

cherry red on his cheeks, down his neck and the glimpse of his heaving chest his shirt gives you. hot pants fanning your lips. crazed. feverish. delirious. wide smile, canines glimmering in the light. oh, you’ve been waiting for this. you want more of him, you need more of him. your hands move against your will, almost tearing open his clothing. a huff of laughter warms your cheek.

but your love is as impatient as you.

a second finger pumps into you, slow and steady. you mewl, and with your encouragement satoru rises on his elbow to increase the pace.

“feel good, sweetheart?” he pants.

you couldn’t keep quiet if you tried.

“yeah,” you smile. “i feel fucking good.”

then you sink your teeth straight into his neck and delight at the wild buck of his hips, the sinful cry he gifts you.

his entire body moves with him. his hips grind into you, shameless, desperate, following his hand’s movement — and so does his tongue, fucking into your mouth like he wants you everywhere, wants to be inside you everywhere, wants to bury himself into you. drool drops down his chin. you drink it.

every beautiful sound that comes from him, every whimper, every harsh breath, every high-pitched moan is rewarded with a soft murmur of yours — so good, angel, so good for me, so good! his pace increases, his bicep is bulging, his back tenses, his eyes cross, he’s so close, you’ve got him right where you want him.

the pressure in your lower belly grows stronger with every expert stroke. he touches everywhere, a tender caress pumped into you by the strengths of his arm and pelvis together. mimicked perfectly by his tongue tugging at your lips, stroking your own, invading your mouth. you feel it grow, grow, until—

you come undone right there on his hand, in your pants, with a loud cry of his name, digging his nails into his shoulders — in retaliation, and partly to stave of his own orgasm, you’re sure of it, his bites the soft flesh of your neck, a wail dying in the back of his throat.

you come down together, chests rising and falling against one another, hot breaths warming the air around you. he’s still throbbing against your thighs, fingers slowed to shallow thrusting, as if he couldn’t bear to let the moment end just yet. you force him to still by smothering his hand with your thighs.

satoru makes his way back to your lips, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and a singular bite on your cheek, one you answer with a giggle.

“that was a good one, baby,” he says against your mouth. “how many more can i give you?”

“depends. how many more can you take?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he smiles. his hand resurfaces from your underwear, soaked, glistening. he takes a moment to rub his fingers together, admire the slick, the feel of it all over his skin. you take the time he gives you to admire him.

he’s so beautiful, when he gets like this.

his hand rises, heading for his face. your gut clenches, thighs rubbing together in anticipation, a deep breath filling your lungs—

his tongue lolls out and his soaked fingers come to take their rightful place right onto it. his lips close around his hand. his cheeks hollow as he sucks.

baby blues rolling to the back of his head, satoru trembles, wracked with a full body shudder and a moan so sinfully loud you swear it echoes against the walls. his throbbing cock rubs on your thigh.

he allows himself one, two, three finger-deep thrusts into his mouth, practically fucking himself, gagging on his own hand, putting on the most wonderful show for you. just to make sure there’s not a droplet left.

then his fingers leave his mouth with a loud pop! and he looks back down at you. crazed. feverish. delirious. eyes so dark you can barely breathe.

looking good enough to eat.

later on, after a lot more cum from both parties and a well-deserved bath, you rush into the kitchen, praying your apartment isn’t about to burn down. satoru was, after all, supposed to be making you dinner.

when you lean over the countertops, you find that the stove was never on.

#☆ — by noe #❥ — satoru #☆ — close the door #☽ — jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen smut

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superblysubpar · 3 months

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<- part four | part six -> | series masterlist

chapter summary: Steve and you are working late.

the song: Cinema by Harry Styles

2,236 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / brief descriptions of injury/blood | my blog is 18+

AN: I cannot believe there’s only four chapters left to share of this! Thanks for being here and your continued support of this story 💛Also, no hate to the peaches smelling community, I love that smell just as much as Steve Harrington, just for the purposes of this fic we hate it, of course.

Hawkins, Indiana - the past

“Yeah? Well, you’d know all about stupid, Harrington.”

And then you pushed off, the call of your name drowned out by the wind rushing past your ears.

It was quick, you blinked and you were already halfway down, stomach swooping as you dropped lower and lower too fast, the gravel no longer a looming, far off thing, but almost right in front of you. Some part of you registered the shout of your name, still sounding close, which would be impossible, unless-

His bike was next to yours, his cheeks pink as you risked a glance over and shouted, “What the hell are you-”

Steve swore, said your name, and then you both hit gravel. Rocks and dirt kicked up and hit your bare legs like little knives slicing through your skin that made you yelp. Your handle bars shook, your grip loosening against your will and that was all it took for the destroyer to take you out.

Something stung, something snapped, something really, really hurt, and you were blinking up at the bright blue, cloudless Summer sky, breathing hard as hot tears started to pour out over your cheeks.

“St-Steve,” you hiccupped, trying to hold in the real tears that threatened to make you start sobbing and the gravel next to you crunched as he scrambled over and you gasped for a deeper breath, “I…I think I…my ankle hurts.”

His voice was strained, heated, and tight, “I told you, look, now you’re hurt and…” he stopped though, seeing the tears on your cheeks and how your eyes went wide when they looked up at him. Bright red, and matting his hair down against his skin, a big gash on Steve’s forehead was bleeding.

“What?” He blinked at you.

Your mouth fell open, gesturing to it, “Steve, you don’t feel that? Are you okay?”

He pressed his fingers to his forehead and winced and your body filled with rage, more tears spilling out of you as you yelled.

“Why’d you come after me!”

Steve blinked at your volume, his lips pulling down in a hard frown as his own voice raised.

“You were gonna get hurt so I-”

“What, you had to get hurt too then?”

Steve shook his head, looking away from you and gingerly reaching out to prop your leg up on his thigh, bloody knuckles and shredded skin on his palms as he curled his fingers around your calf. He looked up the hill to make sure someone was getting help. He laughed, looking back at you with a cold gaze.

“Are you seriously making this a competition, right now? While your ankle is sprained or worse and my head is bleeding? Seriously?”

“Well, why the hell else would you come after me? You just couldn’t let me be the winner, right Harrington? Couldn’t let the stupid girl show you up in front of all your friends, huh?”

Steve blinked at you, gaze roaming over your face before he shook his head.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Hawkins, Indiana - Friday

Eddie sits across from you in silence, brown eyes blinking rapidly.

“How are we doing over here?” The waitress asks, refilling your coffee mugs, eying the silent boy.

“Oh we’re fine. He’s just processing something, can I get a slice of the lemon pie?”

“Su-“

“You - can you have what?” Eddie asks, shocked. He waves his hands in the air, his head shakes from side to side, dark brown waves whipping over his face as he loudly declares with a broad gesture of his hands, “Nope. No. You did not share a milkshake with Steve Harrington!”

“Wanna say it a little louder, I think there’s a few people over in Chicago who only got ever other word!” You hiss at him, leaning forward.

Eddie laughs, scoffs, into his coffee mug but sets it down before he can even take a sip. He narrows his eyes at you and leans on his folded arms on the table. “Sweetheart, I was sort of joking last night. I thought this would be funny, maybe you’d come around to seeing he’s not as much of an asshole as you’ve convinced yourself he is, but overall, I was gonna sit back and enjoy the show of you two going at it like you always do. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with the guy and make googly eyes and play footsie at the diner!”

“First of all,” you growl, but then smile as the waitress drops off the pie. You wait till she’s out of ear shot to continue, “The only reason I was at this diner, with Steve, was because of you-“

“Details,” he waves you off, sipping his coffee with an eye roll.

“-And I’m not in love with him. I…” you trail off, fork stabbing the pie as you force out, “I hate him.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods, pursing his lips and squinting his eyes, sarcasm dripping from the word.

“I do!” You shout, then glance around and lower your voice. “I do. I hate him. I hate how he flirts with anything that giggles and smells like peaches. I hate how he drums on the counter when he has a song stuck in his head and whistles while he restocks the shelves. I hate how he always manages to have some sort of food on his chin or cheek or lips. I hate that he’s a cocky,” you cut a huge chunk of the pie with the side of your fork as you emphasize, “Stubborn,” you stab the bite, “Winning obsessed, thinks he’s never wrong, jerk.”

Your eyes close around the bite of the pie, tart lemon and sweet crust on your tongue hard to swallow because he’s right.

It’s good.

And as the sour and sweet dessert rolls over your tastebuds, you know you don’t hate him. You don’t hate how he flirts, you hate that it’s with anyone but you. You don’t hate that he drums or whistles, you hate that you don’t always know the song, and it has you wondering what he listens to - or worse, you do know the song, and of course you like it. You hate that when he gets food on his face, you just want to lick it off. You hate that because he’s just as stubborn and winning obsessed as you, you always have someone to challenge you - to make you try harder, do better.

Your eyes open to find Eddie staring at you with raised eyebrows and folded hands.

“How’s that taste of reality pie going over?”

You groan, hands over your eyes as you speak softly, “I don’t want to like him, Eddie. I don’t. I can’t.”

“You do,” Eddie corrects just as softly. He pulls at one of your hands, tugging it off of your face so he can look you in the eyes as he asks, “Why can’t you like him? A real reason this time.”

Your fork picks at the pie crust, lip worried between your teeth as you think of all the reasons you don’t like Steve.

There aren’t many - not real reasons at least.

Eddie sighs, “Look,” he waves his hands in front of him, “I’m not saying you’ve created this personal vendetta against a guy who was twelve and didn’t want to lose face in front of his friends, but,” he leans forward and shrugs, “Steve Harrington is not a twelve year old idiot anymore. And what’s he actually done that’s been so bad?”

He lets his words sink in and he taps the table after a minute, joking, “Just don’t sleep with the guy till Sunday, for me, please?”

But that’s it, isn’t it?

As Eddie heads over to the counter to pay, the reminder of the bet makes the lemon in your stomach sour, any sweetness overpowered.

Maybe it was all just a game to Steve still. Maybe your walls had been genuinely crumbling, but maybe that was just because Steve Harrington had expert precision on delivering his blows to it.

You haven’t looked him in the eye the entire shift.

It was bad enough, that when you got dropped off by Eddie, you hopped out of his van wearing a cherry red sundress and only gave a short smile to him when he said hi. A ‘fine’ when he asked how your head was.

You’d nodded as you slipped the green vest over your dress, intently listening while Robin filled you in on everything the pair accomplished all morning.

He worked harder than he has ever for Keith, so you and him wouldn’t have much to do other than deal with the late night shipment arriving.

But you found things to do.

The front window displays were cleaned, windows thoroughly scrubbed, then reset. The dollar rental bin reorganized, new movies added to fill the gaps. You dusted shelves, you filed paperwork that had already been filed. And every time he tried to ask you a question, to talk, you gave bare minimum answers, keeping your eyes off of him.

Maybe, last night, you were only wearing his sweatshirt because it was the first thing you saw, a coincidence. Maybe, you were awake when he kissed your cheek, and you really didn’t like it. Maybe…

Maybe he’s read this entire week completely wrong.

Maybe you’re really never going to give him a chance.

He swallows, restocking candy, fingers lingering on the M&M’s, desperate for comfort food, to over analyze and annoy Robin about this all night and make her tell him it’s fine. Plenty of fish in the sea. Just keep being yourself.

Steve grabs the phone and looks over at you walking down the horror aisle, checking things on a clipboard he’s already checked.

“Hey,” he calls out.

You ignore him.

He huffs as he leans onto the counter, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, watching you as he loudly says, “Yeah, hi, this is Steve Harrington. I’m calling in regards to my manager, maybe you know her?”

You look up at him for the first time the entire shift, frowning. He keeps going.

“Yeah, she seems to not have come into work today? This girl who won’t look me in the eyes and barely speaks to me has replaced her and I’d do anything to get the real her back, even if she’s yelling at me about her precious Red Vines.”

You roll your eyes and walk past the counter, into the back room.

Steve frowns at the open door, slamming the phone down as he does. He stomps into the semi-office-semi-break room to find you starting to run the coffee pot through a cleaning cycle.

“That’s it!” He stands with his hands on his hips as your shoulders jump. “What did I do this time?”

“What?” You spin to face him, crossing your arms over your dress, which only serves to torture him with the way it emphasizes the low cut of it.

“What do you mean what? You know what I’m talking about! You won’t look me in the eye, you won’t talk to me! Baby, what could I have possibly done in the time you were sleeping or before you got here to upset you?”

“I-“

Steve steps closer to you, running a hand through his hair, before talking loudly with his hand hitting his palm to emphasize each point, “I worked my ass off all morning to impress you, like an idiot! I-I thought, last night…” He waves his hands around, shaking the thought away as he continues to get closer, to only speak louder, “I deserve the cold shoulder most days, I get it, you hate me, for whatever reason, but after last night, I’d like to think that-“

“What you deserve, is nothing,” you scoff, taking your own step closer, skin too warm in the badly ventilated back room, skin already sticky with sweat.

“Excuse me?” He asks, incredulous.

It’s too hot back here. Your chest heaves, he watches a bead of sweat travel down your throat.

“You don’t deserve anything just because you did your job, congratulations by the way, on being a normal, functioning human being,” you add sarcastically before continuing, “And you especially don’t deserve anything because you were a little worried about me last night, Harrington!”

“A little? A little?! Honey, I’ve never been more scared in my life!” He shouts, hands gesturing to your forehead while you have the nerve to scowl harder at his words.

“Oh, I’m sure, Steve, that a cut to my forehead is the most scared you’ve ever been. It has nothing to do with the big three hundred dollar question hanging in the air does it?!”

Your bodies are close together, both of you glaring at each other as your voices only get louder. There’s a buzz in the room, a hum, like your bodies are charged, ready to strike.

“The bet?! That’s what you’re upset about? When are you going to get it in your stubborn-“

“I’m not stubborn! You’re stubborn!”

Steve scoffs, eyes looking at your lips as the tips of his shoes touch yours, “Seriously? You’re unbelievable, I…I…”

“I hate you!” You shove at his chest, blinking rapidly at how close his nose is to yours.

He yells, not that angry, “I despise you!”

“I detes-“

His lips collide with yours, swallowing the words you don’t really mean.

Steve Harrington is kissing you.

And you’re kissing him back.

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sunlightmurdock · 11 months

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Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

#jake smut #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin fic #jake seresin #Glen powell #Jake hangman Seresin #top gun: maverick

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lvnleah · 2 months

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004. | the secret’s out

word count: 2k

find the masterlist here!

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November 16th 2023 | 20 weeks pregnant.

When you and Leah had been given the rare chance to have an evening away together, you knew you couldn’t say no.

Usually, weekends and overnight stays took place during the offseason but because Leah was out with her ACL it meant that you had a rare opportunity to go away for the night.

With you now being twenty weeks pregnant, your bump was fairly large and noticeable. You and Leah spent a few hours researching different places close to your house but still far enough away to spend the evening away.

You wanted to be close to home because of your hyperemesis gravidarum. It had been five weeks since you’d received your diagnosis and you had things under control.

You were keeping your diet bland and eating small but every few hours like your doctor had suggested. It was starting to settle down but the nausea and tiredness remained, luckily you hadn’t been hospitalised yet.

Leah had found a little cottage that was in a coastal town a few hours away from your house in St Albans. The photos looked perfect, it was a little cottage settled up in the hills that overlooked the beach with its own stairs leading down to the sand.

You and Leah instantly booked it before packing an overnight bag. The next day you and Leah had your twenty-week ultrasound where your doctor wrote down the gender of your baby.

A few days prior, you’d both agreed to give the paper to Lia who was then going to sort out a box of things in either the colour blue or pink for you and Leah to find out. It just so happened that it worked out with the night away and that you and Leah were going to be able to have your gender revealed on the beach.

Lia had dropped the box off before you and Leah set off on the drive to the cottage, it was hard for you both to not open the box on the drive there. It was a three-hour drive, you spent the first two catch up on the sleep you’d lost out on, but during the last hour, you still found it hard to not think about the tiny box.

You both found it even harder when you had to go the whole day without opening it. Leah had surprised you with a spa day, something you hadn’t had in a while.

At the spa, Leah insisted on spoiling you with treatments tailored to your pregnancy. You indulged in a gentle prenatal massage, which melted away the stress you'd been carrying in your lower back.

Leah, meanwhile, enjoyed a deep-tissue massage and some time in the sauna. You couldn’t deny that you were jealous that she got to use the sauna and you didn’t.

For a moment, the constant nausea and fatigue that had plagued you seemed to disappear, replaced by a sense of calm. You and Leah floated between treatments, holding hands and exchanging smiles, the anticipation of the evening's reveal simmering beneath the surface.

After your time at the spa, Leah drove you both to a little café overlooking the sea. The weather was perfect, clear skies with a gentle breeze that carried the scent of saltwater. You sat by the window, picking at a simple but satisfying meal of toast and soup, while Leah had a classic ham sandwich. She kept glancing out towards the beach, her knee bouncing with restless energy.

“Are you sure we can’t just open the box now?” Leah asked impatiently.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No way. It’ll be worth the wait.”

After lunch, you took a stroll along the shoreline. The sand was cool beneath your feet, as Leah walked beside you, occasionally picking up interesting shells or stones, her arm securely around your waist.

When the sun began to set, you and Leah returned to the cottage to freshen up. As you changed into a comfortable dress that flattered your growing bump, you noticed Leah pacing around the living room, the small box clutched tightly in her hands.

“Ready?” she asked, her voice tinged with excitement as she held out her free hand to you.

“Ready,” you replied, taking her hand and following her out to the private staircase leading down to the beach.

The sand was soft and cool beneath your bare feet as you found a spot just beyond the reach of the waves. Leah set the box down on a blanket she had spread out, and the two of you sat side by side, the anticipation almost tangible in the air around you.

Sitting on the blanket, you and Leah took a moment to savour the anticipation before opening the box. You both exchanged nervous smiles, your hands tightly clasped together.

Leah looked at you, her eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and tenderness. “You know, no matter what, I’m so grateful to be doing this with you,” she said softly. “Our little one is going to be so lucky to have you as a mum.”

You squeezed her hand, feeling a lump in your throat. “I’m grateful too. You’ve been amazing through everything, and I can’t wait to see you with our baby. They’re going to have the best Mumma.”

She leaned in and kissed your forehead, her touch gentle and reassuring. “Are you ready?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside you. “I’m ready.”

Leah nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Okay, let’s do this. On the count of three?”

You nodded, and together you counted down. “One… two… three…”

With the sun setting behind you, Leah finally opened the box. Inside was a cluster of things, their colour hidden by a layer of tissue paper. She carefully peeled the tissue away, her breath catching in her throat.

When the tissue paper was pulled away an assortment of different things in the colour blue were revealed, and a wave of emotion washed over you. Your breath caught in your throat, and tears of joy sprang to your eyes. The realisation that you were having a boy felt both surreal and deeply moving.

Leah's arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you into a tight embrace. You could feel her heart pounding against your own, both of you overwhelmed by emotion

Your hand instinctively went to your belly, and you whispered, "A boy. We’re having a boy."

Leah pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, “Our little boy,” she echoed, before pulling you into her lips.

“Oh my god,” you whispered as you both pulled back, “We're having a baby boy.”

Leah nodded, “A boy,” she repeated, “I can’t believe it. Oh my god.”

As you and Leah walked back to the cottage, the excitement of discovering you were having a baby boy left you both giddy. It felt like Christmas Eve, the air buzzing with the thrill of the news and the dreams of your future.

Inside the cottage, you wasted no time heading to bed, eager to unwind from the day’s emotions. You changed into your pyjamas, and Leah, still beaming, joined you under the covers.

She nestled close, resting her head gently against your growing bump. “I still can’t believe it,” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. “Our little boy.”

You smiled, running your fingers through her hair. “I know. I keep imagining what he’ll be like, what we’ll name him…”

You gasped, your hand flying to your belly. “Leah! I think I just felt him kick.”

Leah’s eyes widened, and she sat up immediately, placing her hand where yours rested. “Really? Was it strong?”

“Not very, but I felt it,” you said as a smile spread across your face. “Here, place your hand there.”

For the next few minutes, you both waited in eager anticipation. Leah kept her hand still, her face a mix of concentration and excitement. You tried to stay as relaxed as possible, hoping your son would give his moms another kick.

“I can’t feel anything yet,” Leah whispered, her brow furrowing.

You shifted slightly, giving your bump a gentle pat. “Come on, little guy, just one more kick for Mumma.”

Then it happened.

A stronger, unmistakable kick. Leah’s eyes widened in excitement and shock as she felt it too. “Oh my God, I felt it! I felt him kick!” she exclaimed, her voice hushed but filled with excitement.

You both broke into laughter, overwhelmed by the sheer joy of sharing this first with each other. Leah hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“He’s already making sure we know he’s going to be a footballer,” she said softly, her voice choking with emotion.

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

For the rest of the night, you lay there together, Leah’s hand never leaving your bump. Now and then, your baby boy would strike a kick against Leah’s hand sending you both into fits of laughter.

The night of discovering you were having a baby boy left you and Leah in a whirl of excitement, making sleep elusive. The thrill of the first kick and the anticipation of your baby’s arrival filled your thoughts, and you spent hours talking and dreaming about the future.

A few days later, once back home, you hosted a small gender reveal party for your closest family and friends. The living room was decorated with blue and pink streamers, and a large black balloon filled with confetti hovered in the centre.

Leah’s parents, Jacob, her cousins, grandma and uncle, Keira and most of her Arsenal teammates gathered around, their faces glowing with anticipation.

Leah held your hand as you both stood beside the balloon, her smile infectious. “Ready?” she asked, squeezing your hand gently.

“Ready,” you replied, sharing a quick, excited glance with her.

“Alright!” Leah shouted, “It’s time to pop this balloon!”

“I just want to say, thank you all for being here today and showing our bubba so much love!” You said, smiling as your hand rested on your bump. “They’re truly going to be spoiled and I can’t wait for you to find out if they’re a boy or girl!”

Leah smiled, “Can we get a countdown?”

With everyone counting down, Leah handed you a pin. You took a deep breath and popped the balloon, releasing a shower of blue confetti into the air. Cheers and applause erupted from the room, and you and Leah laughed, caught in a joyful embrace.

Amanda cried tears of happiness, Jacob jumped up and down before hugging Leah, and your friends clapped and cheered. Amongst the excitement, you caught a glimpse of Leah’s eyes. They were filled with tears as she tried her hardest to hold them back.

Later that evening, after everyone had left and the last piece of confetti had been swept away, you and Leah cuddled on the couch, wrapping yourselves in a cosy blanket. Leah’s arm draped around you, her fingers gently tracing circles on your belly as you settled into the warm cocoon of your shared happiness.

You sighed contentedly, leaning into Leah. “Today was perfect. I loved seeing everyone’s reactions.”

Leah chuckled, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “Jacob’s face when he saw the blue confetti was priceless. He looked so happy.”

You laughed, nodding. “And your mums reaction! She was so overjoyed. I think she’s already planning all the things she’s going to buy for him.”

Leah grinned, her expression softening. “I loved how everyone was so supportive and happy for us. It made everything feel even more real.”

You nestled closer. “I can’t wait to see our little boy surrounded by so much love. He’s going to have the best family.”

Leah’s hand rested protectively over your bump. “He really will,” she said softly, her voice tinged with emotion. “And he’s going to have the best parents.”

You looked up at her, your heart swelling with affection. “We’re pretty lucky, aren’t we?”

Leah nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We are but I think I’m the luckiest,” she smiled, “I love you, pretty girl.”

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liked by bethmead and 104,563 others

leahwilliamsonn baby williamson coming April 2024 👶🏻🤍 so proud of my wife 🫶🏻

—

y/n.williamson excited to be a Mumma with you ❤️

view 10 replies liked by 207 others

bethmead_ Auntie Beffy can’t wait 👶🏻❤️

view 2 replies liked by 104 others

lionesses Congrats! We can’t wait to meet them!

view 5 replies liked by 187 others

liawaelti congrats, so much love 👶🏻🥰

view 3 replies liked by 178 others

keirawalsh I’ll teach them how to ride a bike x

view 12 replies liked by 189 others

kyracooneyx I’ll baby sit!

view 8 replies liked by 123 others

mbaker1971 Can’t wait for the bubba to arrive ❤️

view 13 replies liked by 156 others

jenbeattie auntie jenny 😍

view 6 replies liked by 144 others

viviannemiedema baby williamson 😍👶🏻

view 7 replies liked by 111 others

jacobwilliamson10 little spurs fan on the way!

view 15 replies liked by 199 others

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longwuzhere · 3 months

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My Adventures with Superman Season 2 Easter Eggs

Welcome to another week of My Adventures with Superman! My hunch about the what happened last week was true and things are not going too well for the gang...

My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 2 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 3 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 3 post is here

Spoilers if you haven't seen the episode

To start things off we meet Kara on Earth! I talked more about her here. Shes's dressed similarly to Android 18 when she, 17, and 16 drive to Goku's house in episode 147 of Dragon Ball Z. While watching the episode I was wondering why does Kara's hair look so familiar? Then it hit me. Kara's got Sakuya Kumashiro's hair from Tenchi in Tokyo!

Shout out to recent DC characters enjoy ice cream for the first time like Wonder Woman in the live action movie and Justice League animated movie, and the new DC Super Hero Girls cartoon. As a mint chocolate chip ice cream fan, good first choice of ice cream to enjoy!

Perry puts Clark and Lois on a new beat for the Metropolis "Most Eligible Single" contest because Superman was chosen to be one of the five up for that title. Cat Grant self-invites herself to join the duo to figure out who Superman is through his love life. Lois is sweating bullets at this point. At the contest we meet the potential people for winning the title, Hank Henshaw, Chandi Gupta, Byrna Brilyant, and Silver St. Cloud. I talked more about Hank Henshaw here. We see a darker more bigoted side to him this time around. Will we see him get his cyborg body and become Cyborg Superman in this season or season 3? Who knows. Season 3 is confirmed though.

Dr. Byrna Brilyant is a very deep DC universe cut dating back to 1946, the golden age of comics. Back then Byrna Brilyant was an enemy to Wonder Woman going by the moniker, Blue Snowman.

Byrna in the 1940s makes her first appearance in Sensation Comics #59 (1946) [W: Joye Hummel, P&I: H.G. Peter], where she was a teacher who's father created this compound called blue ice, after his death, she uses it as a way to extort this town after freezing it over for monetary gain.

Byrna makes another appearance in 2010 in Power Girl #7 (2010) [W Justin Gray & Jimmy Palmiotti, P&I: Amanda Conner, C: Paul Mounts, L: John J. Hill] where Dr. Mid-Nite and Power Girl are trying to stop Byrna from committing a robbery but the main bad guy, Vartox shoots a seduction musk rifle at Power Girl but the smell knocks out Dr. Mid-Nite and it works on Byrna, but not Power Girl. This all makes more sense if you read the comic.

Byrna's next appearance post-New 52 was in Superman/Wonder Woman #4 (2014) [W: Charles Soule, P: Paulo Siqueira, I&C: Hi-Fi, L: Carlos M. Mangual] where we see Wonder Woman and Hessia battling the Blue Snowman robots.

Byrna's latest appearance post-DC Rebirth is in DC: Love is a Battlefield #1 (2021) [W: Crystal Fraiser, P&I: Juan Gedeon, C:Ulises Arreola, L: Marshal Dillion, where Byrna is now gender fluid after interrupting a date between Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor. Good on Wonder Woman for letting them go and hoping the realization there is a word for what Byrna was feeling would make them feel much better. So going forward if we meet Byrna again, I'll be referring to them with they/them pronouns, but if its New 52 continuity and before, Byrna will be referred to with she/her pronouns with the continuities to help clarify the pronoun usages.

Chadi Gupta is also another deep cut from the DC universe because she's reference to her comic counterpart from Justice League Europe.

Chandi makes her first appearance in Justice League Europe #47 (1993) [W: Gerard Joes, P: Ron Randall, I: Randy Elliot, C: Gene D'Angelo, L: Willie Schubert] where she's escaping her family and comes across the the JLE and wants to join them. Her energy projection and construct creation powers came in handy for the JLE in issue 50 where she and the rest of the JLE were able to fend off Sonar's attack and that earned her a spot on Justice League Europe as the superhero Maya.

Silver St. Cloud is probably one of the more prominent characters from the DC universe who showed up in MAwS. She got into the pop culture zeitgeist through the Gotham tv show when it aired.

Silver St. Cloud makes her first appearance in Detective Comics #470 (1977) [W: Steven Engleheart, P: Walter Simonson, I: Al Milgrom, C: Jerry Serpe, L: Ben Oda] where she meets Bruce Wayne at a party on his yacht. She eventually becomes one of Bruce Wayne's more prominent love interests and one of the few who were suspecting Bruce to be Batman thanks to his constant disappearing.

She shows up in post-new 52 in the maybe possibly out of cotinuity anthology, Legends of the Dark Knight (2014) digital comics, specifically as a cameo in issue #50, Dr. Quinn's Diagnosis [W: Jim Zub, P&I: Niel Googe, C: Kathryn Layno, L: Saida Temofonte], where Batman is getting psychoanalyzed by Harley Quinn.

If you want to read a comic with a fun appearance of Silver St. Cloud give Batman/Elmer Fudd Special #1 (2017) [W: Tom King, P&I: Lee Weeks, C: Lovern Kindzierski, L: Deron Bennet] a read cuz goddamn is it noir AF and beautifully drawn (a while back DC superheroes crossed over with Looney Tunes characters and its very good. They have also done it with Hanna Barbera characters as well. Give those a read too! They're all fun!)!

The charity that MAwS Silver mentions was first mentioned in Superman #152 (1967) [W: Bill Finger, P&I: Al Plastino] where Superman is accepting a clock medallion for a charity event. In the comics Silver St. Cloud isn't usually working for charities, shes mostly a Gotham socialite.

At the event, the MC (who gives off Funky Flashman vibes imo), asked if anyone has questions and the first to jump on that was George Taylor of the Metropolis Star. I talked about the Metropolis Star here, but for George Taylor...

he actually makes his first appearance here in Action Comics #1 (1938) [W: Jerry Seigel, P&I: Joe Shuster, C: Strauss Engraving Company] where he is the editor-in-chief of the Daily Star.

In the silver age, George Taylor makes his first appearance in Superman #366 (1981) [W: Bob Eozakis, P: Kurt Schaffenberger, I: Frank Chiaramonte, C: Adrienne Roy, L: John Costanza] where he assigns Perry White on the Superboy scoop to see if he's active in Metropolis. In post-Crisis on Infinite continuity, George makes a cameo appearance in Adventures of Superman #451 (1989) [W,P,&I: Jerry Ordway, C: Glenn Whitmoore, L: Albert DeGuzman] where we see George's office door.

In the New 52 continuity, George Taylor makes his first appearance in Action Comics #8 (2012) [W: Grant Morrison, P: Rags Morales, I: Rick Bryant, C: Brad Anderson, L: Pat Brosseau] as editor-in-chief for the Daily Star where in the comic he's proud of Clark and encourages him to take the job at the Daily Planet.

Kara and Jimmy make it into the studio where Lois, Superman, and Cat Grant are and Kara confronts Superman showing off that she's the one in the armor. She is on a two-way radio communications with someone named Primus. Whether that is Brainiac's designation when Kara is on the field or its a different character all together, there is a Primus in the DC universe, not just in the Transformers universe. Btw this isn't Kara's first time siding with an evil faction, she was part of Darkseid's Female Furies in the 2004 Superman/Batman series, specifically in issue #11. You might have also seen it happen in the Superman/Batman: Apocalypse animated movie too.

Primus aka Pren makes his first appearance in Green Lantern #141 (1981) [W: Marv Wolfman, P&I: Joe Stanton, C: Carl Gafford, L: John Costanza] where he is the leader of the alien group, the Omega Men from the Vega star system. They jump Hal when he and Carol Ferris were on vacation thinking Hal is part of the Citadel, an extraterrestrial empire that is conquering the star system the Omega Men are in.

Primus/Pren NuParr makes his New 52 first appearance in Deathstroke #9 (2012), but gets a more prominent role in the Omega Man limited series from 2015 [panel from The Omega Men #1 (2015) W: Tom King, P&I: Barnaby Bagenda, C: Romulo Farjardo Jr., L: Pat Brosseau]. In this continuity, the Citadel is now a corporation that was exploiting Krypton's destruction by by selling stabilized planet cores to other worlds. This comes at a cost where the Vega star system is enslaved by them and those who resisted we killed and the survivors formed the Omega Men.

And with that another episodes Easter eggs and references are done! Come back next week to see what episode 6's Easter eggs and references are! In case you missed it: