#i already have a watermelon drag.... but apple.... is a different thought

[starcatcher-psywurm]

pondering my bloodmoon hatch.... apple baby....

[neopuppy]

Dive Into You: Part 4.(M)

Preview: “What brings you into confession today?”

Pastor Lee’s voice sounds through the small wooden booth around you. Uncomfortably shifting in your seat when the reality of confessing your sins to the one who brought them into this world settles.

“Pastor… what does the bible say about pre-marital sex with two brothers?”

“At the same time?!” Pastor Lee spits out abruptly, gagging on his words.

“Separately Pastor!”

Pairing: brothers Jeno/Haechan x female reader

Word Count: 4k

Genre: pwp, church boys AU, smut, love triangle, brothers nohyuck, a little angsty

Warning: sacrilegious themes, explicit language, master manipulator Haechan, innocent Jeno, corruption, cheating, religious innuendos

Smut Warning: dry humping, fingering, in public setting

Intro—>

Part 1–>

Part 2–>

Part 3–>

“Oh my gosh goodness, that woman is old enough to be his mother!” Your mother gasps, hand over her chest. Haechan strutting into mass with, quite frankly a woman old enough to be his mother. Scantily clad in a tight skimpy hardly there dress. Arm securely draped around her waist. Your jaw falls open following where he leads her into a pew. Both Mark and Jeno sharing looks, back and forth between you and Haechan. Mumbling whispers erupting throughout the crowd of church-goer’s gathered.

“Isn’t that woman just a bit too mature for Pastor Lee’s son?” A voice behind you whispers. Conversations sparking around faster. Pastor Lee awestruck at the podium, slack jawed similar to you and others questioning what Haechan is doing. Your mother scoffing eavesdropping in on everyone muffling their words.

“That is just disappointing. Such a promising young man, wasting his time with an old whore like that.” She lets out a sound in dismay. Never noticing how you hide your face behind the scripture for today's mass. If you muted everyone's speaking enough, sure enough, you’d be able to hear your heartbreaking this very moment. Blinking away hot tears threatening to pass over the rims of your eyes.

Your mother may have not noticed, but that didn’t mean the altar boys missed the way you sunk into your seat. Sadness taking over your features as Haechan relaxed in the pew across from you. Arm around this woman’s shoulders, large smirk displayed. Jeno and Mark gave you many warnings, too many. Your stubborn fault for not listening…always insisting to do things your way. Maybe this was how life worked? How could you have expected a guy like Haechan to want you for more than sex?

Your eyes lift to the ominous cross hung above the altar where you let Haechan commit sin with your body. This church becoming more like a place to drag your mind through hell than anything. Ah, but what was really the point in letting yourself get upset over this? He used you, like some brainless naive idiot you danced along to the pied pipers fiddle.

With a few rapid blinks you return to stare at the floor until this dragging mass ends. Catching Jeno’s gaze before you land on the dirty brown itchy carpet. His lips part open, surprised when your eyes lock on each other. The question passing through his mind all too obvious in his stare. A silent ‘are you ok?’ that you didn’t even deserve from him.. Forcing a smile, your eyes end on the floor, defeated. What if Jeno was the angel on your shoulder that you turned a muted ear to? Turning the volume up for the devil on your other side. Consequences, that’s what the bible was all about wasn’t it? Learning your lesson and living with the aftermath.

Eve bit into the apple of temptation, you were no different.

——————————————————————————

“Father Lee insisted we provide fruit along with baked goods. Health is wealth!” Your mother slaps an apple in your palm. Turning to greet approaching bodies with a shining bright small. Like a wire hanger was propped in her mouth.

“Watermelon! My favorite!” Mark’s brows wiggle, picking up a plate of vibrant fruit. “The fruit of salvation. You know fruit represents, pleasures.. overindulgence, temptation.”

Mark holds up a slice of bright red watermelon. Pale light in the bible room dimming it’s flavorful beauty. Admiring it as if it’s the best thing in the world. He takes a large bite, avoiding seeds. Juice spilling down his chin, speaking between chews- “Can’t always agree with the bible I guess.”

“That’s shocking coming from you..” you look at the apple in hand. Thumb rubbing over a bruise developed on the red yellow coating.

“Nothings perfect right? Only God is perfect. Look at that apple, bruised but still serves a purpose. Sort of like us, we have our flaws but we’re doing our best.” Mark shrugs, devouring the rest of his watermelon.

“You’re pretty logical when you’re not quoting Samael 6:66 all the time.” You smile, earning the jaw drop from Mark as expected.

“Now that is just blasphemous, you little harlot!” Mark scoffs. Damn finger waving about in front of your nose. “Jesus said..”

“Save the quote, I’m not seeing the gates of heaven anytime soon.” You quietly interrupt Mark. Setting down the apple with the other fruits. Some more pristine then others, none perfect. How could perfection be defined anyway..

“I’m pretty sure my invitation to the sky above got revoked years ago.” Perfection spoke up. Jeno standing by, catching the tail end of your conversation. Hands shoved into the pockets of his tight black jeans. Form hugging black t-shirt tucked in. Defined trimmed waist leading down to sculpted long legs. Physique of a God if you’d ever seen one.

“Gods for sure not the only perfect being..” you mumble under your breath. Mark and Jeno’s eyes both lifting to you curiously. Smiling, shrugging off a response. “Well I’m sure you redeemed yourself with all that bible camp stuff. God loves shit like that.”

“Does he now?” Jeno’s arms cross over his chest. Forehead wrinkling in surprise. Mark muttering into another bite of fruit how you needed to stop cursing all the time.

“He doesn’t communicate with me, but I’d imagi-…” Haechan’s loud laughter cuts your speech off. Entering the room with that woman old enough to be his mother. Pulling them closer to the table filled with coffee, pastries, fruits. Shifting side to side anxiously as they near, stomach bubbling in.. embarrassment? Was it because Mark and Jeno knew?..or could at least assume very well.

“Aw nono, you already changed out of your cute little altar boy get up? Wanted to introduce my girl to my cute innocent little brother. Now you just look like hot topic threw up on you or something.” Haechan pokes at Jeno. Smirk plastered across his face. Jeno’s ‘fuck off’ reply coming in like garbled words.

My girl?! My girl? All of a fucking sudden? Hag. Haechan wasn’t even sparing you a glance. If he was trying to make it clear there was nothing between the two of you- he didn’t need to try much harder. Accepting the situation the best to your abilities or not wasn’t going to stop the rush of tears attempting to streak down your face. A quick spin had you racing out of the church, Jeno’s neck snapping catching sight of your back exiting.

“You’re such a dick Haechan.” Shoving past his older brother, Jeno pushes past a few bodies. Running out of church behind you.

“I didn’t watch the porn because there was a watermelon in it…BUT there was a watermelon in it…” Mark’s eyes lift expecting to see you and Jeno. Too engrossed in his favorite snack. Haechan staring at him dumb founded.

“This is exactly why I don’t believe in God.” Haechan’s head shakes, teeth clicking. Nudging the woman at his side to agree with him. “He’s my distant cousin. Emphasis on distant.”

——————————————————————————-

“Hey! Wait up!” Jeno catches up to you easily. Long legs sprinting out faster than you were moving. Hand wrapping around your arm, revealing your wet tear stained face with a turn. His face instantly falling, chest moving up and down returning to a regular breathing pace.

“It’s ok..” hands lift covering your face. You should be accustomed to this sensation of embarrassment by now. Hunching in, sobbing harder the more it settles in. Humiliating deeper because it wasn’t some secret you could live with. Jeno knew exactly how easily you walked into his brothers trap.

His hands shook, staying still in the air near your head. Internally resisting the immediate urge to comfort you. Arms dropping, hands flopping down by his sides. Lips pursing annoyed he couldn’t bring himself to even touch you. The fact was- you weren’t interested in him. You were another broken girl, crying at his feet over Haechan. Ignoring the stinging pain in his chest, from watching you break down. From knowing why you were in such pain. Who knew either way, Jeno wasn’t going to admit it.

“I can.. take you home..”

His delicate rasp reaches your ears past muffled cries. Pouting, rubbing your palms across wet heated cheeks. Reminding yourself in the back of your mind how you probably looked like shit. The last way you’d prefer for Jeno to see you, not that it mattered.

“Don’t wanna go home..” you sigh into your hands, shoulders shaking trying to control yourself. “Dad’s home..”

Jeno looks around, eyes falling on his bike under a large tree. Shaded from the bright daytime sun. Mouth lifting to one side, he could take you to the diner? The book shop was closed on Sundays to prioritize mass.. or maybe..

“I got a place..” Jeno pulls your wrist. Sad face reveal causing another type of tight clench in his chest. “Come with me.”

Gently leading you toward his bike, unclasping the helmets attached along the back. The memory of riding attached to his back still drawing impure thoughts to your mind. No idea who you even were anymore. Riding around on the back of an attractive boys motorcycle. Losing your virginity in church of all places.

Arms circling around his flat stomach. Jeno smelled nice, clean and fresh. Nothing too strong, your nose tempted to dive in with a deep inhale. Opting to rest your chin on his broad upper back where it dipped down the middle. Not bothering to question where he was going to take you, grateful he even cared.

He cared.

“What is this place?” You cautiously stepped forward. Looking down the ledge of the cliff Jeno had brought you to. Setting the helmets back on the bar attached at the end of his bike.

“I guess I come here to get away.” He shrugs, moving to stand by your side. “Small town, not many places to go. It’s hard when you’ve lived here all your life, everyone thinks they know you..”

“Yea..” guilt gnaws away at your gut. You were no different from everyone else. Like your mother looking at Jeno with preconceived notions, judgement. “It’s hard when you’re the town pastor’s son, I can only imagine..”

“Pft.. cause he’s so innocent. Somehow brain washed everyone into forgetting he cheated, knocked up my mom while still married to Haechan’s..”

“Oh…” scuffing your boots nervously against dirt. Sparing glances Jeno’s way. Chiseled jaw having you ready to swoon like some sad teenager passing her crush in the hallway. Mind so far away distracted, screaming at yourself that Jeno’s trying to have a deep conversation with you. “I didn’t uh…know that about your dad.”

“He just lucked out my mom didn’t tell anyone about the church intern fresh out of high school that she filed divorce papers over..” Jeno says, removing his jacket. Holding it open for you with a questioning look. Your eyes widen, immediately caving in a moment of weakness. Allowing him to drape the material around your shoulders. Fresh scent engulfing your sense of smell.

“You’re really.. nice Jeno. Considering everything, I have to admit I expected you to be more like Haechan..” you express, pulling the jacket around yourself tighter.

“We aren’t that different, growing up together will do that. Someone has to be the scapegoat, unfortunately it’s always me. Typical younger sibling syndrome right?” Jeno rubs his exposed arm, muscle tank revealing bits of tattoo. You nod to his words, unable to picture Jeno and Haechan getting along like two loving brothers.

“Your tattoo… your dad doesn’t know about it right?” You inquire, returning to topic back to Jeno. Ready to forget his brothers existence, at least for the time being.

“Oh yea..he’d probably ship me off to Jerusalem, peace core or some shit.” Jeno laughs, pushing the loose cut off sleeve up. Further exposing the evil creature blaring into your vision.

“Why a demon?”

“Why not right? I lost my faith in religion when my dad kept coming up with new excuses for why his sins were forgiven. God isn’t real anyway.” Jeno finishes. Eyes narrowing, expecting a reaction from you.

“I think you’re right actually..” you nod, softly smiling. Awestruck eyes staring into yours, satisfied. “..I should probably get home. Didn’t even tell my mom I was leaving. She’s gonna be so pissed..”

“Ah yea..can’t have that. She’s pretty intense huh?” Jeno scratches his throat anxiously. The voice in the back of his mind yelling at him to do something now. “..I’ll take you home.”

You take languid drawn out steps together. Tension surging between your bodies like electric shocks. Jeno reaching for his helmet. Fingers hesitating to open the clasp.

“Can I ask you something?” he looks away, teeth digging at his bottom lip. Was that nerves?

“Of course” you promptly respond, bouncing on your toes.

“If Haechan..hadn’t.. I don’t know, gotten to you first..” Jeno cringes. Focusing his eyes on the ground. Ending his curiosity there, struggling with his hope that you’d ever like him.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow, moving in, closing the space between your bodies. Jeno’s eyes meet yours, giving away the intent behind his question. “..you..why are you asking? You don’t..”

“It’s nothing, forget it.” Jeno’s head shakes, realization hitting you. Guys like Jeno never gave you the time of day..

“Would you have?” Boldly your hand lands on his, pulling fingers away from the helmet. Still wearing his jacket, could you be more oblivious?

“I wanted to..” those words are all it takes. Pushing up on your toes, lips smashing on his. Fever like heat raising your confidence to go for it. Jeno’s been good to you- the cold demeanor a cover up for how painfully shy you make him.

Hands find your hips, pressing you against the seat of his bike. Ass digging into the warm leather, jacket falling from your shoulders. Jeno kissing you back needy, full of desperation, loud breaths passing through his nose. Finger nails scraping the material of your dress, gathering the fabric up. Skin rubbing on the sun kissed bike under you. He presses in, tongue flicking out, asking for permission to enter. Fisting the cotton shirt on his chest in a wrinkled mess. Mouth parting so fast, too fast. Wet tongues eagerly meeting, rolling against the roof of your mouth.

Jeno’s groans are hot, raspy and deep. Affecting you quickly, sinking back on the bike when his hips roll between your thighs. Hard on tenting angrily in tight jeans. Grinding against your soaking core.

“God I..” Jeno mumbles on your lips, lapping spit across your mouth. His own pouting out cutely, blood tinted lips shining in outdoor light. “I really…whoa..fuck..”

“Jeno..” your arms lift, wrapping around his neck. Bringing your bodies together impossibly close. Pained moan trapped in his throat, thrusting in anguish. Craving to bend you over on his bike, slap your ass and fuck you until you can’t even remember his brothers name.

Jeno’s thumb shoves between your wet mouth, tongue swirling around. Groaning louder with another crushing thrust. Cock screaming for release, working up a faster speed. Demanding movements bouncing you on the bike. Eyes falling shut sucking at his thumb, picturing the length prodding at your walls sitting heavy in your mouth instead. Both of you growing needier with each dry hump against each other. Calves finding Jeno’s hips, lifting yourself up writhing against the hard fabric of his worn jeans.

“You feel so good..fuck..” Jeno captures your upper lip, sucking harshly. Hips growing furious, thigh muscles flexing tightly. Dragging sweet panted moans out of you, thumb opening your mouth. Saliva drooling past both of your lips messily, chins coated in each other.

“Please..” you whimper, pleading. Unsure what you could be begging for. Jeno nods reassuringly, gripping the back of your neck. Hand falling from your mouth, finding space between your legs. Drenched underwear shoved aside, sliding long fingers up and down. Catching your wetness, palm covered, landing loudly on your mound. Jeno finding your clit, pressing down hard. Surprised scream releasing from your chest. Tongue covering your exposed neck, nipping at dips.

“Can I?” Jeno’s fingers prod your opening up entrance. Head nodding rapidly, eyes wide. Gliding past your convulsing walls. Groaned curses repeating from his lips, finding way deep inside of you. Slender pretty hands working you to a heightened pleasure. Jeno continuously licking around your jaw, catching parted lips in bites. Hard enough to leave you a swelling pained mess, lips pursing out asking for more.

He lets your neck go, face dropping, forehead hitting his shoulder. Tattoo coming to life so close up, licking the expanse inked skin. Jeno grits his teeth, whimpering with squeezed eyes. Hand squeezing your hip, fingers jabbing in and out. Thumb circling your clit with expertise, nothing innocent in his touches.

He squirms on your thigh, member begging to fuck you open. Resisting to need for himself, fully focused on getting you off. Enjoying the way your eyes roll, tongue hung out letting your mind succumb to his touches.

Your hips jump up, wriggling into the thrusts of his fingers. Reaching far deep within, hitting every delicious spot. Lips landing together in a bruising sloppy kiss, muffling strained moans. Jeno’s thumb pressing down just right on your clit, precise fingers hitting where you need him in repeated motions. Trembling around him, walls gripping tightly. Jeno’s motions slowing down, letting the climax high wash over you. Softly tracing kisses atop your burning cheeks, staggering down to your neck. Soft nips turning into hard bites, leaving marks of himself behind.

“I..” Jeno’s forehead rolls over yours, skin dragging against his. Nose nudging gently at you, nerves still clouding his sense. Hard breaths landing on your face, eyes finding yours, mind returning back to you. “I want.. I like you.. I need…..I want..to take you out, like…date out...”

You nod a bit too excited, nose hitting his. Jeno’s stressed words making you clench up around his fingers yet again. Another pained groan blended into a sigh sounding around you. “I want that so bad Jeno.. I really want you.”

—————————————————————————-

“What brings you in to confession today?”

Pastor Lee’s voice sounds through the small wooden booth around you. Uncomfortably shifting in your seat when the reality of confessing your sins to the one who brought them into this world settles.

“Pastor… what does the bible say about pre-marital sex with two brothers?”

“At the same time?!” Pastor Lee spits out abruptly, gagging on his spit.

“Separately Pastor!” You shriek out. Fingers stopping your lips, wondering if Pastor would recognize your voice. It’s not as if you spent time speaking to each other much..

“Well..” Pastor Lee’s throat clears, adjusting the collar tightening around his neck. “That’s..good to hear. Are you planning to wed one of these men?”

“Wed?! Like marry?” Your forehead creases, thinking it over. It was way too early to even consider such a thing. “I’m not pregnant pastor!”

“That’s…that’s good news my child.” Pastor audibly swallows. Sweat gathering at his hairline. “You..wish to know what the bible has to say about this?

“Am I going to hell if I choose to…have intercourse with both of them? I’ve only slept with one..”

“Only?” The pastor sounds flabbergasted. Gulping down another loud breath of air. “You won’t go to..hell over this. You need to repent for your mistakes none the less. God is good, and forgiving.”

“So, I’m not going to hell right?” Your frazzled tone sounds around the booth. Growing frustrated the longer he skirts around your questions.

“Yes my child, of course God does, but!-…”

“….God forgives all right? Like…God will love and forgive me even if I do happen to…somehow…you know..fornicate with uhm..” you chew on your thumb nail, catching yourself ready to say- ‘your sons’. “..siblings?”

Pastor Lee becomes frantic on the other side of the confessional booth. Fingers quickly turning through thin pages of his bible. Murmuring sounds of ‘uhm’ between, buying extra time to find an explainable excuse for why you absolutely should not do such a thing.

“Now my child.. yes God loves you, of course. I cannot say he would approve of you doing this! What about the brothers bond you could end up destroying?? That would be greed and lust! Those are sins child, sins!” Pastor Lee exasperates. Patting a handkerchief along his sweating forehead. Small towns hardly ever brought him confessions this extreme.

“Pastor, did you not have sex out of wedlock once too?.. more than once! With two different women! Does God approve of that?” You sit up straight. Hand slapping over your mouth after speedily replying. Shit, God probably didn’t care much for this conversation, that’s for damn sure..

“Child of God! now..” the pastor continues, avoiding your accusations. “Are you going to go through with this regardless of what excerpt from the bible I give you?”

“Yes father…I believe so..I really like this guy..” you timidly say. The thought that the pastor could have you in mind making your stomach turn.

“Well then..” with a heavy dissatisfied sigh, Pastor Lee continues. “Twenty hail Marys and Fifty our fathers should do it.”

“Fifty?!” your mouth falls open, disbelief stricken by the idea of sitting here for the next three hours repeating prayers.

“Make that seventy child. Ten for each seven deadly sin.”

You pause for a moment, hand on the door knob ready to exit. Mouth gaped considering asking what the bible says about losing your virginity in church. A minute of contemplation later, you decide it’s best to add another fifty hail Mary’s.

“Thank you so much Pastor Lee!”

——————————————————————————

It felt a little scary, but fun, getting ready for your date with Jeno. Of course you still wanted to leave an impression, even with his confession.

Repeating it in your mind over and over again: A. Date. With. Jeno.

Holy fucking shit. What alternative universe had you stumbled into moving to live here. Maybe the best way to get over someone really was by getting under someone else…younger brother and all. God had to be real if this was how your love life was playing out.

Walking up to Jeno, he was a complete vision. Black messy hair pointing different directions, as if he just ruffled it and said ‘good enough’. Leather jacket all too tight over his defined rippling biceps, like a second skin. Silver chain necklaces shining under the sunset across the orange red sky behind him. Hoops adorning his ears making the sparkle in his eyes come to life. The large steel ball chain necklace catching your eye against his pale thick neck. Imagining him on top of you coated in a sheen of sweat. Cold chains dangling down on your skin..

“Isn’t this… your brothers car?!?” Your eyes nearly bulge out of sockets asking the question. Drawn out of the quick fantasy you’d almost drifted into. The cherry black trans am practically glowing behind Jeno.

“It is, isn’t it..” Jeno’s smile lifts into his eyes. Fingers waving around a set of keys mid-air. “Who do you think Haechan learned how to pick pocket from? Still no match to the king.”

Jeno unlocks the car, opening up the passenger door for you. Surprising you first with his tattoos.. now this. Maybe he wasn’t the innocent cute younger brother you’d perceived him as all this time.

The engine sounded alive, Jeno pulling out of your driveway. Better looking than any heart throb you’d see on some terrible basic cable teen drama. Arm reaching around the space between your bodies. Other stretched in front of him. Long fingers attached to pretty veins flexing around the spinning steering wheel. All he had to do was grab your thigh to set you bursting up in flames. Stealing subtle looks at him picturing the tattoo adorning his perfectly sculpted shoulder.

“Haechan doesn’t know you borrowed his car I’m guessing? Won’t he be mad?” You wonder out loud. Jeno’s smile spreading into his cheeks. Eyes squinting under the low sun coming through the windshield. Relaxed in the drivers seat making way down the empty road. Arm closest to you splaying out, fingers wrapping around your exposed leg. Shivers shooting up your heat from where his large palm covers the majority of your visible mid-thigh.

“That’s the plan.”

Final—>

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[seacottons]

uni!au with ateez — [ part one ]

—[ san - performing arts ]

ironically, you met when you helped him after a taller male shoved him down whilst in a heated argument.

he burst out laughing when you asked if he was okay.

“don’t worry, we’re just practicing our lines!”

you quickly glanced up at the building and grimaced once taking sight of the gleaming silver ‘performing arts building’ plaque.

of course.

to say you were embarrassed was only scratching the surface.

you had no regrets, because the incident was the catalyst that formed your friendship and eventual relationship.

will never let you live that moment down.

“remember when you tried to save me from mingi?”

“i thought we promised not to bring that up again-”

“why can’t i? i was saved by an angel that day?”

san invites you to both his dance and theatre shows.

will appear to be very professional on stage, but you catch his eyes frantically darting to the crowd to try and spot you.

and once he does, he will repeatedly smile and wink in your direction.

you’re always early, so you manage to snag a seat in either front two rows.

likes when you bring him bouquets as a congratulation gift after his performances.

gets very loud backstage just to let everyone know you bought him a gift.

a huge show-off.

is very good at facial expressions.

you fall for every time he pretends he’s crying or hurt when you don’t give him attention.

he will imitate different characters and repeat after actors while you two watch movies together.

“it sounded sexier when i said it, right (y/n)?”

is a very clingy cuddle bug.

and a leech.

will always have his arms around you while walking at campus.

loves to give you back hugs.

is the type to wait outside for you until you finish class.

and takes you to the cafeteria afterwards for lunch.

embarrasses you in said cafeteria by spinning the lunch tray while waiting in line.

also likes to spin your phone just to freak you out.

also the type to excitedly text you about the donuts and coffee they’re giving away at the library’s breezeway.

likes to refer to you as ‘angel’.

will beg you join the different clubs he’s in.

and then brag about you to the others once you do.

will hype your choice of attire even if he’s already seen you earlier that day.

the type to also sneak you a latte in the middle of your class.

also the type to sneak in with you during your auditorium classes.

you regret it sometimes because he leaves no room for you to pay attention to your professor.

often times, so much so that you have to lightly pinch his side in protest.

“do you want me to fail this class?”

he likes to participate in the many events held at campus.

everyone knows him.

challenges you to dance offs in the middle of campus.

you refuse and push forward a startled mingi instead.

“mingi wants to have a turn this time!”

also likes to lay in your arms whilst you play with his hair.

“were you a cat in your previous life?”

he will then proceed to meow in your ear.

“i’ll take that as a yes.”

—[ hongjoong - fashion design ]

dating him would consist of always admiring his new projects.

supplying him with unhealthy amounts of coffee.

trying out new pieces he made.

offering to carry his overly large portfolio binder sometimes.

sitting down and listening to him rant about how his roomates fail to wash clothes properly.

he has a guide taped to the washing machine with the different symbols of clothing labels.

“no, san, you can’t use shampoo as detergent.”

“but seonghwa finished all the detergent!”

using seonghwa’s lint rollers to remove all the fabric fibers stuck on hongjoong’s clothes.

you scold him while cleaning the bleeding scratches on his fingers from his sewing needles and pins.

“don’t worry, it’s nothing i can’t handle.”

“but i don’t like seeing you get hurt, you bum.”

you bought him strawberry bandaids because he thought they were cute.

sometimes, when he has time, he’ll custom make clothes just for you.

he insists on having multiple matching outfits.

will ask you to model his work for his social media page.

thinks you look best in skirts.

you’ll be the source of comfort during presentation week.

he’ll be a wreck whilst making a new collection.

but you’re always there to pick him back up.

most of the time, you’re the source of his inspiration as well.

you insist he shouldn’t sit for hours writing essays or sketching numerous ideas for future work.

but he’s stubborn as a mule.

nights with him include binge watching fashion shows or cute cartoons.

or painting your nails.

you both enjoy coffee dates when you have time.

he tells you he wants to open a fashion line one day.

you’re trying to stand still as he plucks numerous pins into the dress you’re trying on.

“what do you think i should call it?”

“hj couture? does that sound too basic?”

he pauses momentarily before spooling the leftover red thread.

“(y/n). i’ll call the line (y/n).”

—[ wooyoung - culinary arts ]

invites you to his dorm and cooks for you.

his apartment always smells of warm spices and comforting meals.

pretends his roommates’ teasing doesn’t affect him, but the tips of ears always glow red.

will always bring over leftovers he made in class.

“i just thought you wanted to try this mille feuille.”

“which one is better? the salted rosemary loaf or the oregano and olive oil one?”

loves to bake and cook with you.

will make your birthday cake from scratch and will go all out decorating it.

has an annoying habit of taking pictures of you mid-bite.

“delete that right now.”

“but babe, you look so cute.”

“jung wooyoung!”

will wrestle with you as you attempt to take his phone away.

“okay, look! i swear i’ll delete it!”

he saves it in a hidden folder.

calls you his ‘cupcake’ or ‘sugarplum’.

teases you nonstop when you fail at something in the kitchen.

“babe! no! gentle folds! you pulverized those poor blueberries!”

“but the instructions say to mix!”

“the dough isn’t supposed to be blue!”

he’ll whine nonstop about how much he hates baking bread in class.

“do you know how abnoxiously long the fermentation process is!? i’m losing my mind.”

will wave and yell your name to catch your attention if he spots you nearby at campus.

you hear him every time.

he’s just that loud.

drags you to new restaurants just so you can rate them with him.

also drags you to go cutlery shopping.

accidentally dropped a plate in the store.

and when the employee came sauntering in the aisle suspiciously-

“(y/n) did it.”

once gave you food poisoning by accident.

you never wanted to eat scallops again.

you don’t mind his hands smelling like garlic or ginger most of the time.

or stained with spices.

“turmeric is a bitch.”

“woo, who wears white while cooking with turmeric anyway?”

will show off and brag about his knife skills.

demands to race with you to see who can chop the vegetables the quickest.

“you’re going down, (y/n).”

“uh- i don’t think i ever stood a chance to begin with.”

he lets you win sometimes though.

will beg you to visit him at his part time job at the cute cafe not too far by.

you always try to when you have the time.

and when he finds out you went to the rival cafe across the street one day..

“on a scale of 10 to 10, how bad is kang yeosang’s cooking?”

“what?”

“answer the question, (y/n).”

“woo, it’s 3 a.m.”

the next day, you explained that you were merely invited by your classmates to that particular cafe because one of them was a former employee there.

he childishly ignored you with crossed arms and a subtle pout.

“your jajangmyeon is much better. they didn’t even like the food there!”

he finally perks up with a large smile.

“wait, really?”

you think he looks endearing with his apron and chef’s hat.

will post cheesy captioned pictures of you after serving you delicately decorated plates of food.

‘two delicious meals for tonight, hehe.’

“gross. did you really have to say that?”

—[ jongho - kinesiology ]

you met him at the university gym and instantly clicked.

found yourself months later agreeing to go out with him.

a giant goofball.

sometimes makes faces at you while you exercise across the gym.

makes sure you watch him when he deadlifts.

loves when you hype him up.

opens all the jars for you.

and cuts all the fruit for you.

“why use a knife when you have my hands, love?”

you nearly choked on your saliva when he punched open the watermelon.

“can we ever just have a perfectly sliced watermelon!?”

“no- unless i break my arm one day.”

insists you jog with him around campus early in the morning.

likes to practice wrapping elastic tape on you.

you own half of his hoodies.

takes you to watch basketball matches.

then challenges you to a match when you go on dates to the park.

will persistently tease you about your poor aim.

and will absolutely not let you have the ball for more than a few seconds.

“stop cheating!”

“i’m not cheating! you just suck!”

joined you in some of your elective classes.

will also wear sleeveless shirts because he knows how flustered you get while his sculpted muscles are on display.

“what did professor kim just say?”

“what?” you tore your gaze from his biceps to glance at his face.

“are you staring at my arms again?” he snickers.

“no,” you say too quickly, face heating quite considerably.

despite his teasing, he’ll always baby you and take care of your needs.

has the cutest gummy smile.

you like to call him your gummy bear.

he hated the name at first, but grew to accept it over time.

likes to randomly pick you up.

sometimes will throw you over his shoulder.

has a habit of patting your thighs.

sometimes asks you to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

your eye bulged at the sight of a mop of ruby hair.

“don’t say anything.”

“you like apples so much you dyed your hair red?”

“i lost a bet.”

“you look cute though.”

you tugged at his tresses, smiling as you admired the shade against his tanned skin.

“baby?” you brushed his bangs away to display his forehead.

“hm?”

“you’re the apple of my eye.”

“i’m-,” he sucked on his teeth and pursed his lips, face scrunching in a mock grimace, “i’m going to throw up.”

[thehomierobbstark]

Eat Your Breakfast

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Reader [#TeamErikDon’tDateWhiteChicks]

Prompt: ….this shit mad weird but yall been accepting my lil odd ass fics n whatever so far so just go with it ig XD

A/N: Random lil shit I came up with the other morning.  I don’t like to eat breakfast (even though I love breakfast food… I just feel like its too much first thing in the morning) but if I had to be convinced, I wouldn’t mind this approach I suppose.

[Yall are lucky as FUWK. I was planning on semi ghosting until I could finish a couple more hybrid fics so I can post a few at once, but I ended up finishing this while I was at work so here you are]  Nods to @supersizemeplz to the style of writing I sampled a little bit in here. I don’t really know how to describe it, but if you’re familiar with her fics you’ll recognize it when you see it. Edit: She’s amazinggg and I love her please go read her fics if you haven’t!!

Warnings: At the bottom 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The early morning sunshine peeks through the blinds and into your bedroom, the warm rays caressing your cheek as you stir from your slumber.

You reach your arms out, stretching wildly and rolling around in the sheets for a moment, enjoying the soft cotton against your toes and the comfy fabric of the overlarge sweatshirt you’d slept in, quiet little moans escaping your lips as you sigh in content.

You’d slept amazing last night, finally getting a full nights rest after days of feeling restless and lethargic.  Every day you’d waited for the hours to tick by for the moment you could crawl back into your bed and try again.

You’d done everything you could think of to try and help; turned on the string lights and faux candles around your room for a subtle glow, lit your favorite lavender and vanilla scented candle to soothe your senses, even taking a luxurious bath routinely after work to relax your tired body.  Nothing seemed to be working the whole week, that is until Friday rolled around and he showed up.

Erik. The absolute love of your life.  He’d been swamped in work all week, unable to stop by and see you every night like he usually did.  He was over your place so often you almost wanted to ask why he didn’t just move in, but you didn’t want him to feel pressured into making a big decision like that based off your wants.

When the clock struck five on Friday evening he was finally free, and by 5:45 he was at your doorstop, a duffle packed with clothes for the weekend slung over his shoulder, and a bouquet of roses in his hand.  

You’d think by the way you’d enthusiastically hopped up into his arms and made him drop everything that you’d spent all night rolling around in those cotton sheets of yours, but you didn’t.

Instead, you’d spent it curled up in his lap, watching old reruns of Girlfriends while he massaged Tea Tree oil into your scalp, eventually drifting off into a deep sleep.

Last night was amazing.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you tuck your feet into your house slippers and stand up to stretch your legs, hearing about five different joints pop and lock in protest.

Erik always begged you to go to a chiropractor to get that looked at, but you refused, arguing that it’d been normal for you ever since you were about 12.  Besides, why go to a chiropractor when he was the best back breaker in town you knew?

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you wander out of the bedroom, your nose following the delicious scent of frying bacon and buttery biscuits just pulled from the oven.  You shuffle into the kitchen, seeing Erik over the skillet frying up an aromatic combination of veggies and meat for the omelettes he planned on making.

“Morning babygirl,” he calls to you over his shoulder, and you wonder how in the world he managed to hear you over all the noise he was making.

“Maybe if you didn’t drag your feet so much you’d actually be able to sneak up on a nigga one day.” He turns and looks at you, laughing at your scrunched up puzzled face at his comment.

You grunt off handedly, rolling your eyes and shuffling your ass on over to give him a good morning hug and kiss before standing off to the side to watch him cook.

You look over all the prepared food, basking in the intoxicating fumes of it all, and your stomach grumbles. More so in gas than in hunger.

“Uhh… who bout to eat all this?” you point a finger around at the spread, cocking an eyebrow.  

Erik had a huge appetite and could definitely eat about 3 servings all on his own, but you never ate anything before about 11:30 and he knew that. It was currently 8:00.

“Nah, you bout to eat some of this,” he answers, reading your mind again. “That not eating breakfast shit is not happening anymore. Go sit and wait for me.” He points with the spatula towards the dining table, already set up with plates and utensils.

You sigh, making your way on over to an empty chair like he’d ordered you.  While your nights rest was rejuvenating, you were not a morning person, and you didn’t have the energy to put up a fight.  Otherwise, you’d have oriented yourself in the direction of the bedroom and taken yourself right back to sleep, which would have probably resulted in you being dragged back anyway with a sore ass and your lips poked out.

You figured you’d pick the lesser of two evils and just go with it. What was he gonna do, force you to eat or something?

You plop down into the chair, making yourself comfortable and pouring some juice; apple for him and cran-pineapple for yourself.  It’s not long before Erik joins you at the table, setting a large plate with bacon, biscuits, a huge omelette and slices of fresh fruit around the edge.

He pulls out his own chair, leaving a significant amount of space between himself and the table.

“C’mere,” he motions you over with a couple fingers, patting his lap.

Already seeing where this was going, you sigh, ready to tell him that you were good with just juice.

“Look -”

“I asked you to come, I didn’t ask you to speak.  Bring your ass over here.”  He looks at you, unbothered, as your mouth drops open and your brows furrow.  

Meanie. He couldn’t just ask you like a normal person? He’s lucky you were in a cuddly mood, otherwise your verbal foot would be all up in his ass right now.

You push your chair out, grabbing your juice and semi stomping your way over to him. Fuck his apple juice.

He pulls you into his lap and takes your cup from you, putting it to his lips and drinking ALL OF IT, placing the empty cup onto the table.  

“Brat.”

You stare at the side of his face, trying to decide if you’ll be able to make a clean getaway to the bathroom if you smacked him in his shit right now and made a run for it.  

Before you could finish the thought, he shifts you in his lap, facing your body towards the table, his large frame hovering over you from behind.

Taking the fork and knife, he cuts a reasonably sized piece from the omelette, piercing it with the fork and holding it up to your mouth.  

“Open.”

OK. You were not about to be fed like a goddamn child, so this nigga can go on somewhere if he thought that was about to happen.

You didn’t even have a chance to react when he smacks you with an open palm hard on your exposed thigh, and your mouth opens wide in silent pain.  

Grabbing your jaw with one hand he gently places the food into your mouth, looking you into the eyes and daring you to spit it out.

You begrudgingly close your mouth, blowing a hard breath through your nostrils, chewing the food.  The entire time you stare daggers into his face, and he warns you that he’ll be smacking something else if you keep on staring at him like that.

You fix your face, finally swallowing the mouthful of food, and he pecks you on the lips, giving you a praise.

“Good girl.”

He repeats his actions with the knife and fork, aiming for the omelette again, and you grunt in protest, shaking your head.  He looks at you out the side of his eyes, waiting for your excuse, but instead you nod you head towards the back of the plate.

“The fruit? Please?” Your voice is small and sweet, and he complies, cutting a wedge of watermelon in half with his fork and feeding it to you.  If you were going to be forced to eat something this early, the least he could do was let you pick what you wanted.

This continues on and on, him joining in the feast too as he finishes most of the omelette and you the fruit, both of you sharing one of the biscuits and a piece of bacon together in comfortable silence.

Surprisingly, your stomach didn’t feel too full or upset, which was usually the response you’d get and why you never ate breakfast in the first place.  

If anything, you felt content and energized.  Perhaps a nice breakfast was just the thing you needed after a full nights rest.  

He’d poured some more juice in your cup and grabbed his own, sipping on it as his fingers played in the hair at the nape of your neck, your head resting on his shoulder and your legs spread out over his.

“How was your week, princess?” He asks you, and you can feel the deep timbre through his chest buzzing lightly on your own.  You snuggle into him more, moving impossibly closer and hugging his warm body tighter.

You look up at him, studying that gorgeous profile of his, eyes trailing over the soft angle of his jawline and the smile lines etched into the sides of his mouth, down to the soft tufts of hair around his chin you loved to scratch your fingers in.

All week this is what you’d been looking forward to, and it was finally here.

“It was perfect,” you tell him, and his eyes connect with yours, humming in satisfaction and leaning down to place a kiss onto your forehead.  

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you close your eyes and nuzzle your face into his neck, spending the rest of the morning wrapped up in each others arms and the feeling of your heart beat on top of his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Fluff, Humor

[fordanoia]

The Grunk Who Stole Summerween

Words: 1,700~ || CW: He’s a mean one || Merry Easter. Here’s my completely serious and all-inclusive Grinch AU primarily featuring Stan and Mabel.

In regards to THIS post from @a-million-chromatic-dreams pointing out the severe lack of a Grinch AU.

Every Townsperson Down in Gravity-Fallsville Liked Summerween a lot... But the Grunk, Who lived just north of Gravity-Fallsville, Did NOT! The Grunk hated Summerween! The whole Summerween season! Now, please don't ask why. I don’t want to come up with the reason.

Whatever the reason, he stood there on Summerween Eve, hating the townspeople.

“Listen to ‘em Gompers,” he said to his pet goat. “Carving their weird watermelons into jack-o-lanterns.” He gestured down to the town. “I can’t see it, but who even does that?!”

“Ba-a-a-a.” Gompers bleated in reply, chewing on a tin can.

“Right?!” Stan said back, vindicated. “It’s not even a squash. What’s next? Halloween in the Fall with Apple-o-lanterns? Ya can’t just make anything into a- oh, are ya kiddin’ me?” He said, spotting the young townspeople from afar scrambling up the mountainside to the makeshift shack. “I didn’t move this far away for visitors!”

He paused then. “Then again...” he said, “what better reason to punch a teenager in a face than them trespassing!” Stan realized. “I mean, it’s even completely legal! Probably!” With that, he turned inside to his house.

As the teenagers reached the door of his house, an extremely oversized boxing glove punched through the door, knocking the teens off of his step and down the hill.

The Grunk laughed, poking his head out the door. “See ya later, suckers!” He grinned. “Okay, you know what, Gompers - they wanna come bother me it’s only fair I go bother them. Let’s go.”

Meanwhile... down in the town was a little girl with her parents shopping, just so happened to be asking about the Grunkle atop the hill for her brother had decided to attempt going up there with the fellow teens without her parents’ knowledge.

“But why doesn’t he celebrate Summerween?” She asked, gesturing out. “It’s Halloween the Sequel! It’s great!!”

“Oh, sweetie,” her father said, “old people are just grumps like that sometimes.”

“But Old Man McGucket celebrates.” She pointed out.

Her parents only shrugged though, not giving much more reason to it.

Mabel frowned, thinking to herself as they went back out into the street. If an old man like Old Man McGucket could enjoy Summerween then why not the Grunk!

“It looks like someone needs a strong dose of Mabel to finally get into the Summerween spirit!” She proclaimed to herself, as her brother Dipper and the teens slowly rolled in a large snowball off behind her out of sight, a muffled group of screams in the distance.

With that Mabel set off.

It was at the market she spotted a figure near the watermelons in the back with a goat near him, and went in to investigate.

“Uh, are you writing ‘Happy Easter’ on those watermelons...?” She asked hesitantly.

The man jumped at the sound of her voice and turned, hastily pulling down a mask as he did so. “Uh... no. Pretty sure you just can’t read, kid.”

She began to point to different ones. “No, there’s one that says Happy Easter. That one says April Fools. Oh, cute!” She hopped up onto her tippy toes to grab one. “You drew a bunny on this one!”

“Those were like that when I got here.” The man said, crossing his arms, hiding the marker in his hand.

Mabel paused suspiciously. “Oh, huh. You forgot to give the bunny ears.” She said almost thoughtfully.

“Wait, what.” The man lifted the mask off his face to squint at the watermelon, revealing his face.

“I knew it!” Mabel shouted, pointing to him. “Old person face! You’re the Grunk!”

“Okay, okay.” The Grunk set the marker down and put his hands up placatingly. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions just y- Gompers, attack!!” He pointed to her suddenly.

The goat, bleated, charging to Mabel grabbing a mouthful of her sweater.

“Hey!” She tried to shake the goat off as it started tearing at the sweater. “You can’t eat this sweat-aH!” As she tried to shake the goat off, she upended herself into the large carton of melons, getting stuck.

“Hah!” The Grunk said, patting the goat on the head. “That’ll do goat, that’ll do.”

Mabel kicked her legs, twisting and trying to upend herself back out of the cart to no success.

“Now for me to walk away, completely without any consequences whatsoe-”

“Hey, you two there! What are you doing by the watermelons!” A shop employee far off yelled to them.

The Grunk looked over and gasped dramatically, pointing over the man’s shoulder. “The question is what are they doing to the boxes of cereal!”

The shop employee looked back over his shoulder, and The Grunk laughed, picking up Gompers and beginning to run while the man was distracted.

The goat jumped back out and bleated as it headbutted the crate where Mabel was trapped. If he left her behind she’d get in trouble. “Not my problem.” He said to Gompers, “come o- okay! Fine! Fine!” He pushed down on Gomper’s head as he made to ram at his knees.

“Come on, kid!” He said, pulling her out of the crate, “Time to scram!”

“Wait, really-” Mabel started, only to be interrupted.

“Wait a second!” The employee shouted, realizing he’d been tricked. “Stop right there!”

“Try and catch me, Jack!” Stan yelled back, before he ran off, carrying Mabel as Gompers ran off beside them. Once he’d gone out of the shop and down a street, he finally stopped, letting her down. “Ugh, my back.”

Mabel hopped up. “Wow, I didn’t think the Grunk could run like that.”

“You really are mouthy you know that.” He said. “And my name’s Stan, kid.”

“I’m Mabel.” She told him. “Hey! So, have you ever tried making a jack-o-melon with glitter? It’s pretty great.” Mabel encouraged, nudging his arm. “There’s no way you could get bored from a jack-o-melon like that!”

The Grunk grunted. “Oh, yeah, sure. Sounds real... great. I got a real busy schedule here though, so...” Then he flipped her hair over into her face.

Mabel sputtered as it got into her mouth, and pushed her hair away and back until she could see again. When she did though, the Grunke was already off like a shot.

“Hey!” She huffed, before chasing after him, but at the turn of the corner she couldn’t see him anymore.

Everyone always said the Grunk was a grump that didn’t care for the season or anybody, but... if that was the case then why’d he save her from the store employee. She bet he just needed a chance to really enjoy Summerween.

Mabel was going to give the Grunk the best Summerween of his life!

“Ah, a great day of ruining Summerween.” The Grunk sighed to himself, as he walked from the trash pile to his home with Gompers behind him. They’d ruined the watermelons, sabotaged all the Summerween signs, and even gotten stores to play Christmas music instead of the spooky classics!

“Now, it’s time to lay down and-”

“Hi!”

“Ahh!” The Grunk jumped, as he opened the door to a cheery and familiar little face. “Kid! What are you doing here?! Don’t you know not to break into other people’s houses?!”

“Yeah, I thought about that, but I asked my brother if this was technically a house or not and he said it wasn’t! I also didn’t have to break anything to get inside.” She pointed out.

“Look, kid-”

“It’s Mabel.”

He sighed. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m not buying your girl scout cookies or nothing.”

“You saved me from the grocery store law though, and I’m gonna make it up to you.” She said determinately. “By showing you how great Summerween is!!”

“No thanks. It’s a stupid holiday. We already have Halloween! What’s the point of Summerween?”

“Because it’s fun!”

The Grunk groaned. “I’ve had plenty of Summerween, I’m tired of it.” He made a face. “What? One time of year for free candy wasn’t enough for anyone?”

“You just haven’t had a good Summerween yet!” She pressed a flyer into his hands. “Bwop!”

He looked down to the flyer, which was already getting glitter on his hands, for a Summerween party. He scoffed. “A party, really?”

Mabel smiled, nodding her head. “It’s tomorrow night after trick or treating! Come down, and if I can’t show you how great Summerween is then I promise I’ll make sure nobody comes up to your shack for trick or treating again!”

He hesitated, with a crooked frown.

“There’ll be free food.” Mabel said sweetly, pleadingly looking to him.

“Ugh, okay fine. Fine, if it’ll get ya to leave me alone.”  

“Yay! You won’t regret it, I promise!” She assured him before bouncing out the door. “And if you don’t come by I’ll just come up here and make sure you don’t miss the party!” She continued as she went further out the door.

Stan was already regretting this.

It wasn’t enough that everyone looked at him like it was such a big deal for him to show up, and there was all mutterings about The Grunk at the party. He bit out a “What are you looking at?” to a particular couple that were staring at him, causing most of the eyes to go off of him.

However, though, now this Mabel girl was dragging him to all sorts of things. Between making his own jack-o-melon and horror movies and candy.

She was incessant about showing him everything there was to the party, and getting him to even try some god-awful punch that was made from some Pitt cola and whole chunks of watermelon. He didn’t think it even qualified as punch.

Plus her cheesy jokes and how she kept smiling up at him so genuinely and- oh no, he was actually starting to like the kid now.

“Stan! Stan!” Mabel held up a few different movies to him, waving them in front of his face with a wide grin. “Pick a movie.” She started waving them to his face. “They’ve all got teenagers running away screaming in them.”

He had to smile at that. “They do, huh? Okay, fine - just one movie then. That one with the zombies, pumpkin.” He said, pointing at one of the covers.

“When I run out of candy though, I’m out of here, ya hear?” The Grunk told her, a whole mountain of candy still present on the table.

[dramabus2-blog]

Comedian John Early Doesn't Love Working With Tahini - Grub Street

“I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after.” Photo: Scott Heins

Two years ago, actor and comedian John Early moved from New York to Los Angeles for a television show, and while the project fell through, he stayed and planted roots. Now, when you do see him over on this coast, it’s to tape his TBS show Search Party, in which he plays Elliott, or for various other projects, including next week’s Padma Puts on a Comedy Show at the Bell House, benefiting the Movement Voter Project. Though Early didn’t have as much opportunity to cook this week as he’d like (“I became obsessed with making pasta at a very young age”), he still found time for copious amounts of cold brew, homemade burgers with radicchio buns (“they are divine”), and pizza passing itself off as an hors d’oeuvre. Read all about it in this week’s Grub Street Diet.

Thursday, October 11 I like to start every day with a cold brew and a Propecia. The cold brew comes from Primrose, my neighborhood coffee shop while I’m in town shooting the zero-time Emmy nominated Search Party. It’s these temporary pillars of familiarity that create some much-needed structure amid the formlessness of my bicoastal lifestyle. #theunbearablelightnessofbicoastiality #bicoastalvisibility

For breakfast, my boyfriend and I salt some watermelon — just like my very southern dad does, except he’s never heard of Maldon™. I’m a little too proud of how meager this meal is. It’s no coincidence that this is my very first entry. My daily cold-brew-induced panic begins, and I find myself immediately paralyzed by the performative nature of the whole endeavor. Will I accurately represent myself as the passionate eater that I know myself to be? Will I bring attention to the restaurants and small businesses that truly need it? Is it braggy to talk about my boyfriend? It feels so transparent to include him (“I, too, am loved!”), but dishonest to leave him out!

Did I mention he’s an artist? We take the train into Tribeca and stop by the iconic the Compleat Sculptor to get him some modeling clay for a project. We are starving and a block away from Trader Joe’s, so we pick up some premade salads and a peanut-butter-cookie Lärabar. I can already feel the walls of my hard-earned gourmand identity crumbling around me. I vigorously shake my salad in its plastic container to dress it. I consider lying and saying that we were beckoned into “the most unpretentious red-sauce Italian place by its adorable elderly owner.” The salad explodes in my lap.

For dinner, we drunkenly pick at a tray of falafel toppings with our bare hands at a reception for a friend’s photography show. Damn.

Friday, October 12 I get another cold brew from Primrose and take a Propecia. My boyfriend makes me a smoothie of frozen berries, banana, green apple, and kale for breakfast, and I wonder, Is it 1998? I keep it to myself because the smoothie is truly good, and ultimately I resent diet trends that look down on them.

I pace around the apartment rehearsing what I’m going to say on a very confrontational call that I have to make at the end of the day. I willfully enter into conflict about once every 400 years. A truck could be driving on the wrong side of the road, barreling toward me, and I would not honk. I am so nervous that I forget to eat lunch (so chic), and around 3 p.m. I throw together all that is left of our groceries: a Monsanto apple and banana, and some curried chicken salad that I bought on the previous day’s Trader Joe’s trip but didn’t mention here because of y’all’s relentless judgment.

I make the call. No one dies. I go to Roman’s in Fort Greene with my boyfriend to $elf $oothe. It’s worth the goddamn bill — perfect Martinis, orange wine, gorgeous fava-bean purée, radicchio with anchovy and Parmesan, tortelli with a butter and sage sauce, chicken al diavolo, panna cotta, and chocolate sorbet. I swear to god Keri Russell is eating at the bar just like us. I’ve heard rumors that she lives in this area. It’s definitely not her, but for that split second I feel that life in New York can feel as good as an episode of Felicity.

Saturday, October 13 I am hungover. I pop a Propecia and drag my gay ass to Primrose for a cold brew on my way to shoot a short film by a friend from college. When I get to set, I eat a truly exquisite whole-wheat everything bagel with cream cheese. It helps a lot even though I’m trying to “cut back on grain.”

The catering on set is Frito pie with vegan chili, chicken-salad sliders, and other such church-camp delights. The thematic cohesiveness of the meal is a little oppressive, but I soldier on.

After the shoot, my boyfriend and I go to a play called Slash by Leah Hennessey and Emily Allan (of Zhe Zhe glory) at MX Gallery. The show is astonishing and perfect, and we ride our cultural high to Kiki’s, a Greek restaurant in Chinatown. We have lemony potatoes, smoky eggplant dip, orange-peel sausage, lamb fricassée, and a waitstaff that doesn’t care for my jokes.

Sunday, October 14 I chomp down on a Propecia and head to Primrose where my boyfriend and I collect a free cold brew, having loyally filled our card with the required nine stamps. I playfully tell the cashier that I wish there was a little more ceremony — a siren, confetti, etc. She, too, doesn’t care for my jokes, and my boyfriend generously reassures me on the walk home that she’s probably a Pratt freshman consumed by her new life in Brooklyn.

We get some groceries and make burgers with pepperoncini, avocado, caramelized onions, mayo, Dijon, and radicchio buns (LOL). I laugh out loud, but they are divine. If you can pull off a radicchio leaf without tearing it, it’s very cuplike. And Goddamn it, reader, I swear if you caught me on a different week you’d be shocked by my cooking. I started early. What’s nice about being a gay boy is, before you become cripplingly self-aware about your gayness, you have no shame just following your mom around the kitchen and asking her questions.

In the afternoon, we go to the premiere of Can You Ever Forgive Me, thanks to tickets from queen Dolly Wells, who is in the movie and is characteristically genius in it. While sitting BEHIND JUDGE JUDY AND IN FRONT OF JOEL GREY (!!!!!), we eat popcorn and a couple of bourbon-flavored chocolates. At the after-party, we piece together a free dinner of mediocre mushroom and prosciutto cut-up pizza (“flatbread”) hors d’oeuvres, and marvel at the grace with which Judge Judy interfaces with her adoring public.

Monday, October 15 The usual cold brew cut with Propecia. I have to work today, but only for a couple of hours starting at 4 p.m. My schedule is so easy breezy this season that I wonder if I’m like Valerie Cherish slowly being phased out of Room and Bored. But I’m secretly loving the domesticity. I pick up some groceries and make some lunch for my boyfriend and me. A baby-kale salad with sunflower seeds and a tahini, olive oil, lemon zest, and juice dressing. I’m so bad at “working with” tahini. Why is it always so fucking chunky? I thought I added enough water to smooth it out. Maybe the citrus curdled it? I can feel the ghost of Kate Berlant, my comedy partner and undisputed tahini queen, cackling over my shoulder as I whisk to no avail. The salad is still pretty good — the flavors are all there, gang! — and I serve it with some scrambled eggs and a side of grilled preserved artichokes.

I go to Search Party to take some sort of photo that will be used as a prop in the show. I get to my trailer and am horrified to find no costume, but sweatpants, a hoodie, and big boxers. This can only mean one thing: partial nudity. I react to the horror by eating half of one of those god-awful RXBARs and some Earl Grey tea with almond milk. I imagine this is what Carey Mulligan does when she’s “feeling peckish.” As usual with this show, the partial nudity is truly worth the joke. I am made up like a cherub, my body is oiled, and I pose with a lyre. It’s extremely funny, and I also leave feeling a stronger sense of connection to Anne Geddes, which is frankly something I’ve been after my entire Goddamn life.

For dinner, we order (“We … we! I’m still getting used to saying it!”) some Neapolitan-style pizza — one with soppressata, the other a classic margherita — from a place that truly does not need my help. My boyfriend makes a salad with the leftover radicchio and a vinaigrette with minced pepperoncini and the juice from the jar. It’s really major.

Tuesday, October 16 I should mention that I’ve been trying to make my own cold brew recently to avoid spending so much money and using so much plastic. I can’t figure out the right grind though, so I throw back a Propecia and once again head to Primrose. Love brazenly making choices like these in the face of recent climate science!

I come home, and while absolutely soaring on cold brew, I see that there’s a 50 percent off sale on the Criterion Collection website. A mere two feet away from my boyfriend, I order six titles that I will never watch and a $30 Blu-ray player off of Amazon Prime, and I don’t tell him because I know this behavior is unhinged. This is why cold brew is bad. Once, while drinking one during a meeting, I told an executive that I was the “Robyn of comedy” with zero irony.

I go to Pequeña for a late lunch after my manic purchase. I love Pequeña so much. They have mastered the frozen margarita, so much so that I order one even though I have therapy immediately after. I also get my favorite menu items: the pork burrito and the chicken soup.

Their margarita truly packs a punch, and I put on a great show for my therapist (that’s what therapy is for, right?). I meet the great Nicole Spiezio in Madison Square Park. We share a weed gummy because we are going to see A Simple Favor starring Blake Lively and everyone’s favorite Scrappy Little Nobody, Anna Kendrick (or as my boyfriend calls her “Anna Kendricks”). We eat at Shake Shack, naturally. I eat a double Shack Burger with fries and order my cheese sauce on the side. We get to the theater for the 7:45 showing, and the edible kicks in right as we receive the news that the screening is sold out. Maybe it’s the edible, but the stakes feel so high that I feel like we’re in Argo, which I’ve never seen. We get in a cab and head to the Kips Bay AMC to try to make it in time for the 7:55 showing, but there is only one seat left. I beg the woman at the box office, “Is there anything you can do?” She looks at me like I’m crazy — obviously, there is nothing she can do. We are stuck in Kips Bay, high as hell, but still wanting to hang. We are beckoned into the most unpretentious Mexican place by its adorable elderly owner. Everyone in the restaurant seems to be on straight Tinder dates that aren’t going well. I drink a tequila on the rocks.

I go back home and eat frozen raspberries while relaying this story to my boyfriend. It does not land.

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Source: http://www.grubstreet.com/2018/10/comedian-john-early-grub-street-diet.html