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eoieopda · 2 months

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insomniac | ljh (m)

there are certainly worse ways to tire yourself out.

summary: it’s 2:00 am, and you can’t turn your brain off. thankfully, your boyfriend knows just how to scramble it. pairing: lee jihoon x reader au: established relationship type: one-shot (smut) word count: 5.2k rating: 18+ cw: reader is afab but no pronouns are used; reader has insomnia (unspecified re: prof. diagnosed or self-diagnosed); there’s a sentence about reader taking “an inadvisable amount of melatonin gummies” — don’t do this! — but they’re not impaired in any way; reader’s internal monologue is kind of angsty/self-deprecating at times; blonde!woozi has his hair in a bun, which is a warning in and of itself; completely unedited because my perfectionism has killed every wip i’ve attempted for months. ✰ minors do not have my consent to interact with me and/or my work. smut warnings: big dick lee jihoon™️, nipple stim, v fingering, unprotected p in v penetration, wee bit of aftercare. there are a total of six (6) orgasms in here because i believe in going big from home, incl. nipple stim & a-spot orgasms. a/n: i haven’t written anything in forever, due in large part to the fact that i’m exhausted but can never fucking sleep. i truly hope this isn’t incoherent garbage. 😵‍💫 dedicated to my fellow woozi-simping insomniac, @sailorrhansol. may we eventually rest in peace. multi permanent taglist. seventeen permanent taglist.

You should be asleep.

With the day you’ve had, you should’ve drifted off the second your body hit the sheets; and you should’ve stayed that way — unmoving, unconscious — for several hours, at minimum.

If the week’s worth of sleep debt wasn’t exhausting enough in and of itself, every single circumstance surrounding you begs you to give into the weight of your eyelids. To let yourself be lulled, just this once. Soothed.

From the vent in the corner, the gentle hum of the aircon goads you. It does its very best to convince you to curl up under the softness of your comforter, and to some extent, you’ve listened. You’re burrowed beneath your blankets with only the upper half of your face exposed, which should be more than enough to sway you.

It’s not, though.

With no ability to keep your eyes closed, you stare dejectedly at the wall in front of you. Laying on your side, gazing straight ahead, you watch the faint echoes of the city lights as they wash over white paint. Not much bleeds through the blinds, leaving only hints of cobalt and red to blend into some sleepy shade of lilac. Whether or not you want to be awake to perceive it in the first place, you have to admit it: it’s beautiful.

But it’s not enough.

You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing down the groan building in your chest. With how closely he’s got you nestled against his body, Jihoon would feel it if you let that frustration manifest. You already ache from the sheer amount of time you’ve been policing your own posture; making any amount of noise now would interrupt the slow, delicate breaths he’s aiming into the back of your neck. Frankly, you’d rather die.

Taking his silence as a sign that you’ve remained off his radar, you let out a measured sigh, too worried that the full rise and fall of your chest will disturb him.

Nothing.

But then, the arm draped over your waist shifts.

“Fuck,” you mouth to no one.

It wouldn’t be out-of-character for Jihoon to feel the restless energy pouring out of you in waves, even in the depths of a sleep cycle. He senses every tiny change in your ecosystem long before you do. As unlikely as he is to ever admit it, it has to be exhausting to be attuned to someone so neurotic. He deserves every second of sleep he can manage to get.

You grit your teeth and demand yourself to calm down, all while refusing to acknowledge how completely your actions and commands conflict.

Maybe, you attempt to bamboozle yourself, you can sleep vicariously through him.

He’ll wake up rested, and when you look in the mirror later, the first thing you see won’t be the cartoonish bags under your eyes.

It’ll be fine.

If you go to sleep right now, you’ll get five hours and thirty —

“You haven’t unclenched a single muscle since you climbed into bed,” notes the world’s groggiest voice from over your shoulder.

Jihoon’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck when he speaks. Without that tickling sensation, you might’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you were simply hearing things just now. That it was merely a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and the inadvisable number of melatonin gummies you ate before brushing your teeth.

He shifts again. This time, there’s no mistaking his movements. The arm slung over your side pulls you closer. So close, in fact, that you can feel the contented sigh leave his body, like his isn’t separate from yours at all.

With the distance erased, his face — the cold tip of his nose and the sheet-creased warmth of his cheeks — can nuzzle properly into the crook of your neck. You swear you feel the hint of a smile there somewhere, too. If you had to guess, it matches the upward curve on your lips.

“What are we spinning our wheels over tonight?” He asks without a hint of judgment, as if your burdens are automatically his, too.

The fact that he can’t see your face doesn’t stop you from frowning. Yet again, you’ve managed to drag him into your insomnia. Jihoon may never fault you for it, but you don’t need him to. You’ll hold it against yourself — grudge by proxy.

“I don’t even know,” you admit with a frustrated huff. “There’s nothing coherent going on up there.” You lift your hand and gesture vaguely in the dark. “Nothing articulable, just… blender brain.”

“Mmm.”

Jihoon sounds so fucking sleepy, so at peace next to you, that it makes your stomach hurt. You wish you could be like him. For as calm as his presence makes you, you’ve learned that you’re incapable of feeling fully relaxed. At least, not in the way he is when he’s got his arms around you. He deserves to have that effect on you.

A beat passes in silence, save for his soft breathing. For a minute, you’re convinced that he’s fallen back asleep; and you pray to whoever that he has. He deserves that, too.

“How do we unplug the blender?”

You have to bite back a smile for two reasons: the way his words sound slurred when delivered directly to your skin, and the distinctly Jihoon drive he has to fix a problem that isn’t his.

When the love sickness leaves you down bad, and you forget to respond with words, Jihoon prompts you softly. “Hmm?”

He punctuates this reminder with a kiss to your shoulder, then lets his lips linger against your skin, musing, “I can think of two things that usually do the trick: getting you hotteok from that cart down the block, which is currently closed, and —”

The rest of that thought fades out. Leaving you on the edge of your seat, Jihoon continues to kiss a languid line along the perimeter of your shoulder, as if he’s conducting some meticulous, geographical survey. Like missing a single spot will have grave consequences. A perfectionist through and through, even half-asleep.

You feel yourself melting, bit by bit, into his torso; the warmth of his bare chest against your back only expedites the process. Nevertheless, you peep, “What’s the second thing?”

His answer comes with a slip of his hand, down down down along the slope of your waist to your hip, long before he verbalizes it. It’s simple, delivered in that rough, early-morning voice you love so much. It’s more than enough to make you shiver:

“Making you cum.”

But as crazy as that statement makes you, you can’t make yourself act on it.

At any other time, you’d jump on that opportunity — jump on him — in a heartbeat. All you’re able to do now is jump to the worst conclusion in a single bound.

Somewhere, deep down, you know he wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t truly want it, want you; but that goddamned, sleep-deprived goblin taking up space in the far reaches of your mind is far louder than the voice of reason.

He’s only offering so you’ll stop keeping him awake.

He’s as exhausted as you are, if not more so for having to deal with your disorder again.

Burden.

Placing your hand on top of his, you slip your fingers into the spaces you find and squeeze once for emphasis. “I love you,” you start. He stills. “But, Jihoon, you’re so tired. I can hear it in your voice. Please, go back to sleep. It’s okay — I’m okay.”

Jihoon doesn’t push back. He stays within bounds, honors your shitty decision because, after all, it’s yours to make. With another kiss to your shoulder and a squeeze to your hand, he murmurs, “Love you,” before relaxing back against the pillows.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, for all you know.

As the window of opportunity creaks shut, regret seeps through the gap. You know you’re wrong; you know he meant it; and you know that someone would have to be out of their fucking gourd to politely decline what he’s offering.

The unbearable heat licking up your neck is either embarrassment or the ghost of orgasms lost coming to haunt you.

Maybe you’d be better equipped to tell the difference if you could just — fucking — sleep.

Driven half mad, you try to keep from squirming.

You fail.

Maybe, since you can’t sleep, you and your wilted little brain should’ve let your perfect, empathetic boyfriend fu —

“That’s enough,” Jihoon grunts.

The hand underneath yours is suddenly above it, overtaking it and tugging carefully until your whole body moves. In the time it takes for you to roll from your side, Jihoon sits up and clears space for your frame to settle. You barely have time to blink dumbly up at him from your back before he cages you in with one hand on either side of your head, knees now on either side of your thighs.

Your breath seems to have gotten lost in the fray, but it’s not the sudden moves that shook it loose; it’s the sight of him looming over you, damn near scowling despite his lead-lidded eyes. It’s the disheveled bun of platinum hair at the crown of his head, which must’ve shifted in his sleep and spilled out the tendrils that now frame his set jaw.

The very best you can come up with is, “You’re awake.”

“So are you,” he retorts without missing a beat.

That face — god, that face — doesn’t budge. On the contrary, your stomach flips. This the most stern you’ve ever seen him. Confusingly, his tone isn’t even remotely harsh when he continues, “If those gears in your head grind any louder, the whole neighborhood will be, too.”

Grimacing, you open your mouth to apologize, but Jihoon’s eyes are searching your face with a distinct flicker of concern. You know that look. You also know that nothing you can think to say will make it disappear.

He speaks when you don’t, hard edges softening slightly. “I can fix it,” he insists, though you know him well enough to hear the plea hidden in there.

Let me take care of you.

That little spark of desperation burns you up in a flash. You wonder if he can feel the fire spread when he lifts his right hand off the mattress just to swipe his thumb slowly over the edge of your cheekbone. Without thinking, you let go of the tension in your neck. Your head tilts automatically, seeking comfort you’ve only ever found in him, and rests against his palm.

“I have to admit it, though,” Jihoon confesses. “Yours isn’t the only mind that’s restless.”

He moves his hand away from your face but keeps his eyes trained on you. The incessant need you feel to apologize bubbles up yet again, uninvited. You swallow it. As you do, his fingertips trail down the length of your neck at a snail’s pace, effectively turning your thoughts to static.

“I’ve been holding you for hours now, and all that time —”

He pauses just long enough to glance down at his hand, which hasn’t.

“— I’ve been wondering if I should have you channel that energy and tire yourself out on top of me —”

His touch whispers over your collarbone. It’s the only proof that you have any bones at all. Until now, you were sure that the rest of you had melted entirely, puddling uselessly on the sheets below. This time, when you bite your lips and swallow weakly, it’s not an apology that you’re keeping to yourself but a whimper.

“— or lay you back against the pillows —”

You don’t mean to directly contradict his statement the moment he makes it, but you can’t help it. The thin, cotton fabric of your top does nothing to dull the sensation of his hand on your left breast; leaves you with the unmitigated brush of his thumb tracing delicate swirls over your nipple. The breath you’ve been holding comes out shuddered, back arching off the mattress to chase his touch.

Emboldened by your reaction, Jihoon pulls his gaze off his own ministrations and directs it through his lashes back up at you. One eyebrow momentarily flexes in challenge. “— Take my time, and —”

Whatever desperate look you give him earns you some amount of mercy. He picks up where he left off in that dizzyingly deep voice of his, words molten, and drags the hem of your shirt up your torso. “Fuck you deep, until the only thing you can do is relax.”

Gobsmacked is too weak a word for the impact that suggestion has on you. The idea alone sparks a kind of relief so foreign and so sorely needed that it almost makes you cry.

You don’t, thankfully.

Instead, you stagger along the borderline of babbling.

“I want that,” you announce on a shaky exhale. Then, with a shake of your head, you correct yourself, “No, it’s not even want. It’s —” Frustration over your inability to form a coherent thought drives you to scrub your hands over your face. “— need. I need you.”

You accompany that declaration by slapping your hands down at your sides, finishing off with a muted thump when your palms hit the mattress with enough force to bounce them upwards again.

Even with your eyes screwed shut, you know Jihoon is sitting back on his knees, watching you with equal parts surprise and amusement. There’s no need to open them to confirm it, but you do anyway. His pupils have dilated widely enough to rival the moon floating over the skyline.

Though he’d be well within bounds to tell you to chill the fuck out, he doesn’t. He never has, as far as you can recall. In fact, Jihoon doesn’t say a thing. His hands speak for him, reaching for the shirt he so nearly got off your body before you lost whatever was left of your mind.

Keeping his word, as always, Jihoon takes his time. He takes care in sliding that tank top up and over your head without snagging your earrings, then he wordlessly drops it off the side of the bed to be forgotten about.

With your chest bare, it’s obvious how rapid your breathing is. Noting the quick rise and fall, he traces the curve of your waist with the side of his right index finger and softly says the quiet part out loud: “Let me take care of you.”

And you do.

You let him maneuver your body so he can settle with one knee between your thighs, rather than straddle them. You let go of your death grip on the sheets and thread your fingers through his hair when he leans back down to kiss you; and when he licks into your mouth, you let him swallow the moan that builds under the delicious weight of his body on yours.

Already, you feel every shitty, stupid thought begin to dissolve. You should’ve known this would be the case.

He said he’d fix it, didn't he?

And here he is, proving to you that his touch is magic. All it takes to coax the tension out of your muscles is the tender pass of his hand.

Whatever effect Jihoon has on you seems to be mutual. When he pulls back, he’s equally as breathless, likely just as starry-eyed. Awash in that lilac glow peeking in from the outside, he’s downright celestial — almost too divine to look at directly without watering eyes.

Undeterred, you stare right back at him and sigh, “You’re beautiful.”

His nose scrunches for a split second, just like it always does when you make him suffer through a compliment. Your exposure therapy is working, though. For once, Jihoon doesn’t groan or tell you to keep your praise to yourself. The corner of his mouth curves upward — just barely — and he shakes his head.

“I mean it,” you quietly insist.

Smirking slightly, he extends the index finger on his right hand and holds it to his lips. “You’re relaxing, remember?”

Though you could double-down, any fight you might’ve had in you fizzles out the second he bows his head and connects his lips to the underside of your jaw. Your head tilts further back with every centimeter he trails down the length of your neck, granting him increased access to wreck you even further. You have to keep your hands on whatever you can grip of his biceps — which ultimately isn’t much at all — to keep from floating away.

“Bold of you to call me beautiful,” he murmurs against your body, “When you just exist like this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t argue with a man who sounds so fucking reverent. Not in good faith, anyway. He says it with the kind of sincerity that underlines an undisputed fact; and you know better than to debate an expert.

With nothing to say, all you have left is to keen and melt even further into the mattress.

Like everything else he does, the way Jihoon kisses you is rhythmic. Steady and thoughtful, each feather-light graze of his lips on your skin causes your eyelids to flutter until you eventually decide to keep them shut. To cut out the visual and hone in on the physical sensation; to be truly present in the body he can’t get enough of.

As it turns out, being present earns the gift of his tongue circling one of your nipples. Soon after, you get the plush heat of his mouth enveloping the sensitive bud; the slow, deep pull of the suction he creates.

Eloquent as always, you moan, “Fuuuuck.”

The hand not holding up his weight massages your other breast, too considerate to leave half of you lonely. Whatever gentle pressure he maintains there builds inside you, further down.

It’s incredible.

No, it’s fucking perfect.

Jihoon switches sides, grazes your other nipple carefully with his teeth, and it’s over for you. You shudder beneath his body, back arching and a breathy sigh floating out of your chest.

Apparently, he’s just as surprised by this turn of events as you are. Your eyes blink open and find him hovering over you with his jaw partially dropped, still smiling somehow.

Your questions overlap.

“Did you just —”

“— make me cum from this?”

His bemusement switches in an instant to something you can only describe as bewitched. Voice gravel-lined, Jihoon groans, “Oh, shit.” Adding immediately and twice as earnestly, “Goddamn.”

A flash of conflict makes him freeze. You know he’s facing the same internal debate that you are: he needs to be inside of you in the worst way, right now, but that’s not a conclusion the pair of you can just — leap to.

There’s simply too much of him to take if he doesn’t fuck you open with his fingers first.

Jihoon shakes his head, as if he’s telling himself no. Like he’s reminding himself of what he promised — or threatened, more like — earlier, that he’s taking his time.

As much as you want to beg otherwise, you know you shouldn’t. So, you don’t. You reach out, encircle his wrist in your hand, and bring him back within reach.

With undivided attention and darkening eyes, Jihoon watches you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, cheeks hollowing and tongue circling. He fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head, all the while professing, “You’re perfect.”

Not generally, no.

However, Jihoon has a habit of ending up correct, even if you disagree. This isn’t a battle worth picking. In this moment, you’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’re perfect for him.

A soft pop underscores your choice to release him. His mouth must’ve gotten jealous; it swiftly replaces his fingers, tongue reclaiming any territory he wrongfully assumes he’s lost.

You’d be content to stay this way forever — and likely could, if it came down to it — but Jihoon has an agenda. He sticks to it, to the letter, and in dropping his hand down your body, he lets his knuckles drag softly over the trail he blazes. The little sleep shorts you wear are moved aside, and your thighs part for him, too, offering unrestricted access.

Two fingers slip inside of you easily, no doubt aided by the orgasm that snuck up on you — the one you’re still thinking about; the one he’ll secretly hang his hat on forever, having brought it on without touching you here at all.

“Listen to you,” he smirks against your lips with a curl of his fingers.

As if you weren’t already acutely aware of the way you’ve drenched him to the base knuckles, he rolls his wrist, stroking your g-spot while the heel of his hand nudges your clit. Even the dulcet hum of the aircon isn’t enough to mute the obscenity; you hear the slick rush with every slow thrust of his fingers.

You respond with some sort of whimper. The sound barely registers without any breath behind it. If Jihoon hears it, he doesn’t let it affect his pace — just the stretch. He scissors his middle and index on the way out, then returns with his ring finger, unearthing a proper moan from the very bottom of your lungs.

His head tilts to the side. Warm breath hits the shell of your ear, prompting a contradictory shiver. “I think you’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

Buried in you, he taps his fingers against that same, spongy spot. Every neuron you have begins to buzz.

“In fact, I think you want to cum all over my fingers,” he whispers, goading you with his rough voice dropped low. “Think you wanna soak my fucking hand, so I can fill you properly.”

You think you’ll have to apologize later for the crescent-shaped indents your nails leave on his shoulders.

When your second orgasm overtakes you, you feel it tingling all the way up at the crown of your head. Just like the first, it’s not a clap of thunder but a roll — patient. The intensity only builds, the longer it lasts. Jihoon makes sure it does — makes no adjustment to the slow, steady tempo, as it pulls you fully apart.

Every muscle you tensed as you came goes limp. It’s anyone’s guess whether you have any bones left. You’re sure that the only thing keeping you from seeping like honey through the mattress, or pooling on the floor below, is Jihoon’s body caging you in.

“Don’t ask me what my name is.” Your head droops to the side, and you mumble, “I do not remember, and I do not care.”

He kisses the temple that isn’t smushed against his left forearm, which, coupled with his elbow, now holds both of your weight. “If you’re spent, I can sto—”

“Don’t you dare.”

The emphatic look you muster lacks energy, you’re sure, but the point still stands, even if your stamina doesn’t. Half-lidded, you stare at him with all the force you can find.

“I’ll stay awake for the rest of my life if you stop now. I swear to you, Lee Jihoon, I will die on this hill.”

“Easy, tiger,” he purrs. Out of the corner of your narrowed eyes, you clock the fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The whole point of this was for you to relax.”

To prove that you haven’t lost the plot entirely, you close your eyes, rather than roll them. Then, you cave completely.

You whisper, leaving no question as to how badly you need him, “Jihoon… Please.”

“I’ve got you.” He nudges your temple with the tip of his nose. “But I can’t fuck you unless you give my arm back.”

Begrudgingly, you scoot your head several centimeters across the pillow, heaving a put-upon sigh as if he’s asked you to move a mountain instead. You give yourself a moment to mourn the loss of your headrest, then you open your eyes. As you do, any thought of pouting flies out the window.

Having crawled back to the end of your bed, Jihoon gets to his feet. Once there, he drops his hands and eyes to the loose knot cinching the waistband of his sweatpants. It’s a sight you’ve seen a thousand times — his naked chest so pale in contrast with his usual, all-black attire — yet it’s one you’ll never truly get over. Even harder to cope with is the fact that he’s never been in a hurry; not once in his goddamn life.

If you’re being honest, that’s one of the things you’ve always loved most about him. Envied, even. You fret endlessly about the process, whatever that may be; he trusts it. You scale the walls in anticipation; he’s never been caught sweating.

The best example of this comes the second he finishes addressing that knot. His sweatpants pool at his ankles; he kicks them aside; and you immediately set to wondering how in the motherfuck he managed to be so patient with you when he’s this incomprehensibly hard.

Really, you don’t deserve him.

Nevertheless, you get him anyway.

Him pushing his flyways out of his face; him reaching out slowly to hook his fingers under the elastic band of your shorts; him cursing under his breath when he tosses those shorts over his shoulder and finds you wet and wanting.

In return, Jihoon gets you right where he wants you — trembling underneath him, with pliant legs opening wider at the request of his hands on your thighs. When his body fills the space between them, those same legs wrap around his back to keep him close, just like the arms you slink around his neck.

“Deep breath,” he reminds you as he lines himself up, only half-jokingly.

It’s good advice — something Jihoon probably should’ve heeded.

He doesn’t.

You keep your eyes on his when he slides inside of you, and you swear you see his mind blow in real time. Not that you have room to judge, however. In fact, that’s precisely what’s causing you to short-circuit: the perfect pressure of his length within your heat, sinking in slowly so as to not shock the system.

When he eventually bottoms out, low moan splintering from the depths of his chest, you have to blink quickly to keep tears within your waterline.

To check in, Jihoon runs his hand along the side of your thigh then back again. “Alright?”

Whatever you say in response comes out through a dreamy sigh, framed in quotation marks by fluttering lashes. Nonsense, most likely, or never better. In either case, he’ll understand; he always does.

Placing your hand on his, you slip your fingers over the top and pull him forward. He lets you, comes down carefully until the comfort of his weight against your frame makes you feel anchored. With every inch that’s erased between you, he fills you further, pushing out whatever air remains in your lungs through some needy little whine.

Among the million sensations you have to grapple with, the most hard-hitting, ironically, is comfort. Pure and unadulterated. You enveloping him, enveloping you.

To prove it to yourself that you’re not dreaming, you slip your fingers into his hair, nails scratching delicately over his scalp. In return, he rolls his hips forward, just like he promised — slow, steady, deep. You clench around him involuntarily, a reflex your body must’ve learned to keep him close.

“Love the way you grip me, but...” Jihoon exhales a sigh against your neck, head tilted to keep your face in his periphery. Pulling out further just to thrust in deeper, he warns, “You keep that up, and I’ll cum too soon.”

He’s one to talk.

Every time he grinds his hips languidly towards yours, you have to talk yourself off the ledge.

If you let him wear you down again, you fear that there won’t be enough left of you to savor this; and you never want this moment to end. You want to live in it — to feel the delicious drag of his cock along your walls — to hear that obscene tide ebb and flow whenever he fucks himself further in you — to feel so fucking full — for as long as he gives you.

It was a valiant effort on your part, if you do say so yourself. Futile, though, because Jihoon pulls out all the stops. The next time he pulls himself from you just to roll back in, he swivels his hips as he thrusts, ensuring that you feel him everywhere.

“Oh.”

One syllable on a gasping breath, then you forget every single word in your vocabulary. Like warm molasses, bliss washes over you at half-speed, seeping in and sticking until the blender motor in your brain is fucked beyond repair.

At least you’re not the only one.

“Fuck, fuck —”

Holding him as closely as you are, you feel each muscle in Jihoon’s body tense one-by-one, rippling as your third orgasm steals his first, going lax when his release floods. “— Fuck,” he groans, all the while twitching inside you.

Though he slows, he doesn’t stop. It’s not until he pants, “Kiss me,” that you realize it: Jihoon doesn’t intend to stop.

Neither, it seems, do you.

Maybe you’re greedy. Maybe you’re too obsessed with the brush of his tip against your cervix with every gentle, shallow thrust. Maybe, above all, it’s the way his cock doesn’t soften inside of you but his face does when he catches you looking at him from under a heavy curtain of lashes.

You catch him by the mouth, just like he asked. It’s indulgent — messy, echoing the other point where the two of you connect. Licking into him while he fucks himself into you, ragged breaths barely loud enough to overpower the explicit, sodden sound below.

“Can you still speak in sentences?” He pants in a rare moment when his lips break from yours.

Can feel you in my stomach, you want to say.

“I’m — you’re gonna make me —”

You can’t choke out the words, though you suspect Jihoon gets the point. This far in, his touch reaches a detonator you didn’t even know existed; there’s no way he misses the explosion of pleasure throughout your entire goddamn body.

He’s caught in your blast radius, your walls pulsing and spasming to such an insane degree that he can barely move. Mind blown to fucking smithereens, your ears ring too loudly to hear whatever he says to you when he cums again — hard — and the arms bearing his weight buckle.

Jihoon’s flushed cheek winds up pressed to your shoulder. He stays there while your joint trembling subsides, then any muscle that could make him move is too spent to do so.

“What just happened?” He sounds as delirious as you feel. “That was… shit. What did your body just do?”

You have no idea.

You have no capacity to form any.

All you have is the weight of his frame on yours and that of your eyelids, which flutter as you try and fail to keep them open. The best you can give is a non-responsive, utterly fucked-out sound — not enough shape to be a word, not enough breath to be a sigh.

Eventually, although you can’t imagine how, Jihoon finds enough strength to shift himself off of you. You don’t see anything that happens next, but you feel it all — the kiss to your temple; the hollowness when he pulls out and the sticky rush that chases him when he leaves.

“I’m coming back to clean you up,” he promises in a hushed tone from a million miles away. Chuckling despite his own sleepiness, he adds, “Don’t move.”

I won’t, you think but don’t say.

And you don’t move.

At least, not until the smell of hotteok reaches you eight hours later.

svt taglist: @ashonheavenscloud @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @rasparagus @bouclesdefeu @ourkivee @sourkimchi @gyuguys

multi taglist: @bahng-chrizz @jihopesjoint @notevenheretbh1 @borabitsch @bubbly-moon

also paging the cap gang: @daechwitatamic @yoongukie-ff

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tarysande · 2 years

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ADHD

I had ADHD for over thirty years before it was diagnosed, and part of the reason why it took so long is because a few specific things absolutely did not resonate with me. At all. And I saw them listed as "symptoms" of ADHD ALL THE TIME.

So, I thought I'd write up a quick list in case it helps someone else out there see past the stereotypes that are too often used as diagnostics.

ADHDers struggle with reading/words/speech etc.

ADHDers have a history of poor grades or attention at school.

ADHDers have a history of drug and/or alcohol abuse.

ADHDers can't sit still.

And how did I differ?

I read constantly. In fact, one might say I HYPERFOCUS on reading. I would rather read information than listen to it. (Reason #1 that I just can't get into podcasts!) The problem has never been reading--it's stopping reading. I'm a professional writer and editor with a background in acting. Words have never been a problem. Do some ADHDers struggle with words? Hell, yeah. Do ALL ADHDers struggle with words? Nope. Not even close. (PS: A lot of ADHDers who struggle with words may actually also have other learning struggles, such as dyslexia. ADHD loooooves a comorbidity!)

This is still SUCH a persistent myth. Even the psychologist who diagnosed me was hesitant because I had stellar grades all through my education. The more research they do, however, the more they realize that other things (autism, giftedness, etc.) can actually mask or mitigate the "typical" symptoms of ADHD that lead to it being diagnosed at school. And if you're an ADHDer who, say, hyperfocuses on learning (because it's cool! and you learn new things all the time!), or who has developed extremely effective coping mechanisms (perfectionism, people-pleasing, etc.), or who deliberately sticks to "safe" subjects to avoid challenge and possible failure, grades are NOT a good measure of ADHD. (Look into what it means to be "twice exceptional"--you may find a list of traits that resonates a lot more!)

ADHDers are out there looking for anything that'll give them a dopamine hit. Boredom is deadly. And the mix of novelty-seeking and low inhibition can often result in risky behavior. However, this can manifest in many, many ways. Drugs, alcohol, sexual partners? None of that was relevant to me. Spending, however? Especially spending money I didn't have on things I didn't need just to feel that itty bitty thrill of OOH SOMETHING NEW! ... yeah, that was a real problem. But not one I usually saw on those symptom lists, even though ADHD+finances can result in HUGE and life-altering problems.

Even bearing in mind that there are different presentations of ADHD--and that inattentive is one of them--ADHD does NOT always present as physical restlessness. Often, mental restlessness--racing thoughts, daydreaming, distractability, inability to "turn off your brain" to get enough sleep--slips through the diagnostic cracks and can be FAR more disruptive to one's health and happiness. And, again, many ADHDers develop coping mechanisms that can end up being very unhealthy or unsustainable in the long term. (I keep my ADHD in my thumb, for example. I can be perfectly still for a long, long time. However, my right thumb fidgets almost constantly. It's weird. Now that I've noticed it, I can't unsee it.)

I guess what I'm saying is ... nothing is set in stone where ADHD is concerned, so don't be afraid to dig deeper, especially if some aspects hit hard. Exploration is a good thing. Questioning is a good thing.

#adhd #adhd things #tara talks adhd #brains are weird #and they're all different #long text post

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compassionatereminders · 7 months

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Hi! I wanted to answer the anon who was asking about what ADHD meds do & don’t help with as someone who was late-diagnosed and started meds this year. However, the effect of ADHD meds and even experience of ADHD itself varies heavily from person to person, so do keep that in mind!

DO:

- Actually hearing and retaining what people are saying. I was never able to fully experience a college lecture without panic because of only hearing bits and bobs of the lecture, going in one ear and out the other. I can truly focus and actually respond to what people are saying in a single line of thought without desperately trying to stimulate myself as much as possible to maybe get 1/2 of the detail to stick in my brain.

- Time blindness!! At first starting meds it felt like the day went for 500 years. I felt so much slower and mentally calmer, and I was able to complete “simple” tasks in under 15-20 minutes that could normally take me up to 3 hours due to distractions.

- Memory! Off my meds I have an enormously hard time remembering anything I’m trying to accomplish. I bounce from task to task without ever finishing it. On meds I’m able to think “I need to do laundry” and I just. Do the fucking laundry. It’s magical and I’ve cried more than once thinking about how much I’ve spent my life thinking I’m stupid or lazy for not being able to “just do the thing” like everyone else.

- Shutting down/fearful procrastination— I would be stuck doing nothing for days and days because I would want to do a task so badly but overly think about it and essentially paralyze myself in the decision making/getting started process. When I’m on my meds I can just do the fucking thing! Even if I don’t really feel like it! When before I practically had to have the exact perfect circumstance and could never create them, I can just plop myself somewhere and do the fucking thing. Just like I’ve been told all my life— “Even if you don’t want to, do it anyways” except now I have the actual ability to do that like everyone else. Before it was like everyone else was telling me to turn on a light, but I had no switch.

DON’T:

- Help with hyperfixation. Sometimes I can fixate even worse when I’m on my meds, just because my mind is so single stream that I’m able to do things for even more excessive periods. I burn myself out accidentally a lot quicker if I don’t provide myself with manual distractions to take breaks from daily/academic tasks.

- Immediately fix you. It was hard to start meds because I had to unlearn a lot of habits I had developed to cope with my undiagnosed ADHD— such as constantly moving, stimulating myself, having candy, etc. Just because the day became longer didn’t mean my time management became awesome either. I’m still working on tools that help ADHD with my meds!

- Not really a don’t but more so an unexpected side effect was becoming very intensely angry or upset when the medicine wears off. I struggle with emotional dysfunction already but the anger was so severe and I didn’t know that ADHD meds wearing off can cause that.

- Work 100% all of the time. Some days things like stress, poor sleep, poor diet, etc, can alter the way the same dose of meds works for you. Especially if you are nicotine dependent or a regular caffeine consumer, the way your meds work can change on a day by day basis. Some days I feel like the meds aren’t working at all, but more often than not there’s still a difference between myself being unmedicated and medicated.

- Instantly make you better at studying/task completion. Apparently having ADHD for years made me so extremely avoidant of many things that I just don’t have the skill set to do them well yet. Like studying, for example. I still struggle with extreme perfectionism that impedes me outside of ADHD paralysis.

- I’m gonna say it twice but they DONT FIX YOU ON THEIR OWN. Yes, they make your life fucking way better than before especially if you’re an adult with undiagnosed ADHD, but you have to learn how to use tools and learn skills to support yourself for the medication to help you to the max capability! I will definitely say that being on meds helped overhaul my mindset when I’m off meds and improved my perception of myself, but again, the meds can only get me so far!

I hope this helped anon!!!

Thank you for taking the time to share this! I hope anon sees it 💕

#chat with kat

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skz-sarang · 9 months

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ׁ ׅ ୨ ❪ BACKSTORY! ❫ ୧ ⊹ ࣪

warnings! mention of adoption , kidnapping , ED , depression.

. . . ♡ 🧸 CHILDHOOD ! ? ★ ﾟ๑

Sarang was born as Xu Xiang Mei, in Nanchang, China, where she will have lived there the first years of her life. At the age of 2 The care of the biological family was taken away and Mei was taken to a foster family , due to drugs addiction and economic problems. Here, she lived in foster care with an elderly lady who cared for five other older children. At the age of 6 she was adopted by a loving Korean family, legally changing her name to Kim Sarang, due the additional love she has brought to the family.

When she saw her "new" family for the first time , she was already welcomed with open arms by a boy five years older than her : her older bother, Jihoon. He had been eagerly awaiting her arrival and immediately embraced her into the family. He immediately took on the role of a protective and caring older brother, guiding Sarang through the unfamiliar terrain of her new life in South Korea.

The transition was not without its challenges, as Sarang had to adjust to a new culture, language, and way of life. Despite the initial language barrier, Sarang surprisingly quickly picked up both Korean and English, excelling in her studies and impressing her teachers.

Sarang's remarkable journey continued as she blossomed in her new family and surroundings. Her bond with Jihoon grew stronger with each passing day, and their unwavering support for each other was a source of strength throughout their lives.

Sarang's determination and intelligence led her to excel academically. Her teachers recognized her potential, and she soon became a role model for her peers. She not only mastered Korean and English but also demonstrated a natural talent for mathematics and science.

As she reached her teenage years, Sarang's passion for learning expanded beyond the classroom. She developed a keen interest in music, particularly the piano, and poured her heart into perfecting her skills. Her dedication to music not only enriched her life but also brought joy to her family, as she often played beautiful melodies to brighten their home.

At the age of 12, she experienced a terrible incident: her birth family somehow managed to locate her and intruded into her life, attempting reconciliation. She then discovered that she had 2 younger sisters and a brother, of whom she had never known. The biological parents were initially kind, but over the weeks, they became suffocating, eventually leading to her being kidnapped by them. It took three days for her to be found by the police and her adoptive family. Since then, she developed a fear of trusting people. The situation caused her a lot of anxiety, to the point where she started seeing a psychologist for help. She was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and social anxiety, which has significantly improved over time with medication but remains something she can't completely get rid of.

To get some fresh air, at the age of 14, she decided, along with her parents, to spend six month studying abroad in America (Chicago), where she perfectionated her English. In Chicago, she pursued various extracurricular courses, including ballet, revealing one of her innate talents. Before long, she fell in love with dance, starting to take lessons of all kinds outside of school and continuing even beyond school hours.

Sarang's return to Korea marked the beginning of her journey towards becoming an idol. She carried with her the experiences of her challenging upbringing and her unwavering determination.

. . . ♡ 🩰 PRE-DEBUT ! ? ★ ﾟ๑

As Sarang continued her education in South Korea, she found herself drawn to the world of music and entertainment. It was during a school talent show that her talents truly began to shine. She gave a mesmerizing performance, combining her piano skills with her newfound passion for dance. The audience was captivated by her talent, and this moment served as a turning point in her life.

Encouraged by the positive response she received, Sarang decided to pursue a career in the entertainment industry. She began to take dance and vocal lessons, honing her skills further. With the guidance of her adoptive family, who supported her dreams wholeheartedly, she started attending auditions and talent showcases.

One day, while attending a talent showcase in Seoul, Sarang caught the eye of a talent scout from Cube Entertainment. Impressed by her stage presence and unique blend of talents, they offered her an opportunity to audition for the company. Sarang seized the chance with both hands, pouring her heart and soul into her audition.

Her performance at Cube Entertainment left a lasting impression, and they saw in her the potential to become a star. They offered her a trainee contract, and Sarang gladly accepted. From that point on, she embarked on a rigorous training regimen, learning the ropes of singing, dancing, and stage presence, all while preparing for her debut in the K-pop industry.

However, the journey into the K-pop industry was not without its challenges and pressures. Cube Entertainment had strict standards when it came to physical appearance, and Sarang, like many other trainees, found herself subjected to intense diets and continuous training to meet those standards. The industry's emphasis on image sometimes led to unhealthy practices, and Sarang began to struggle with body image issues.

The constant comments about her physique, coupled with the demanding training schedule, took a toll on her mental and emotional well-being. The comments on her appearance and weight became a constant presence in her life, fueling her insecurities. Sarang's pursuit of her dream came at a high price, and it was during this period that she developed an eating disorder (ED).

As Sarang's battle with her eating disorder escalated, it became increasingly clear that her health and well-being were at risk. The relentless demands of the entertainment industry, coupled with the pressure to maintain a certain image, took a severe toll on her physical and mental health. Recognizing the gravity of the situation, Cube Entertainment and Sarang's adoptive family decided that it was in her best interest to step away from her trainee life.

With a heavy heart, Sarang made the difficult decision to leave the path of a K-pop trainee behind. She understood that her health were more important than any dream or career. It was a courageous choice, one that prioritized her well-being over external expectations. Unfortunately, instead of improving, the situation worsened: Sarang fell into depression. This was the worst period for her, lasting for a few months.

One fateful day, when Sarang was at one of her lowest points, she happened to cross paths with a kind soul who would change the course of her life. While attending a local event in Seoul, she met Bang Chan, a talented musician and producer who was also on his own journey in the music industry.

Bang Chan saw the pain in Sarang's eyes and recognized that she was struggling. He took the time to listen to her story and offer a compassionate ear. His genuine concern and support gave Sarang a glimmer of hope that had been missing for far too long.

Moved by Sarang's determination and talent, Bang Chan introduced her to his connections at JYP Entertainment, one of the most renowned entertainment companies in South Korea. He believed in her potential and saw her as more than just a trainee, but as a person with a unique gift waiting to be nurtured.

With Bang Chan's recommendation and mentorship, Sarang began a new chapter in her life as a trainee with JYP Entertainment. The atmosphere was different from her previous experience, emphasizing a healthier approach to training and a focus on mental well-being.

Under Bang Chan's guidance and the nurturing environment at JYP, Sarang gradually regained her confidence and started to heal. She continued to work hard on her singing and dancing, but this time, it was accompanied by a sense of support and understanding.

She was the last member to be chosen as a member of Stray Kids, the group with which she debuted, which gave life to her life as an idol.

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yukisohmasmokesweed · 8 months

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hii as someone w selective mutism, and after seeing your post regarding yuki being mute, i’ve had this question that wouldn’t leave my head: were kisa and yuki actually selectively mute or was it due to traumatic mutism or something else? maybe i’m just self-projecting, but despite us being mute for different reasons (it is possible to have SM from trauma, though it is rare), i always saw myself in both of them when it came to their muteness (i’m really sad yuki being mute was only touched on in kisa’s ep and then never brought up again) so their characters mean a lot to me. just thought I’d bring this up and ask since there isn’t any discussion surrounding this and from the posts that i’ve seen on here, people just seem to go w kisa having SM (and by extension yuki) and just say that it’s canon. being the projector that i am, i also assumed it was but still never thought it was “accurate” rep but then again, does it have to be? regardless of how it’s shown in the anime/manga, i think we’re all entitled to our own opinions on this, and that no matter what we think caused their mutism, all opinions r valid! i’m just so curious on what your take on this is since no one mentions anything like this in specific.

hello! funny you send me this ask today because i just rewatched the first ep of the reboot last night for the first time in a looooong time and have been thinking about fb all morning! as far as i understand it, selective mutism is an anxiety disorder that can definitely be triggered by trauma, and that is how i read yuki and kisa. i'm sure you have a deeper understanding of it than me as someone with that experience, but in my research on this (which admittedly was a few years ago) it seems there is a variety of reasons why children are selectively mute, one of them being abusive environments and a predisposition to anxiety disorders. i would absolutely argue that both yuki and kisa have intense social anxiety, even outside of their mutism; and that yuki, aside from diagnosing him with something, is a perfectionist, and perfectionism often stops people from doing things.

i was also really sad yuki's mutism was only touched upon, so i actually wrote a whole fic about it! i think this is an incredibly interesting aspect of yuki's character. yuki in childhood has no autonomy at all: his life is controlled by his mother, then akito, and akito does not listen to him (or anyone). the other zodiacs ignore him, and he becomes tokenized as the rat instead of viewed as an individual. very often, yuki shrinks into himself as a reaction to this. he already has to keep physical and emotional distance from his peers due to the curse, and his oppressive home environment pushes him to even more extremes. i think so much of yuki's mutism is a maladaptive acceptance that he will never be listened to and that what he feels or thinks does not matter, and so he sinks into a depression where one of his copes is silence. even after this episode, he continues to be softspoken and keeps his cards close to his chest—which is why i love his relationship with kakeru so much, because kakeru coaxes him out of his shell. after meeting kakeru, he begins expressing his opinion more candidly and becomes openly emotional in ways that are supported by kakeru's view of him as a human being. yuki spends so much of his life being objectified as either the rat or the prince (both similar roles where he is being held to an extremely high standard that is only an archetype and robs him of individuality and humanity) and he plays the roles that are assigned to him. it is only when he is shown true love and acceptance through tohru that he can begin to learn who he is outside of those perceived roles, and allows him to express himself as yuki in front of kakeru, who never bought into the prince thing to begin with.

i think the other thing about fruits basket is that it is very tropey, and selective mutism in the way it is portrayed in fb is very much a shojo trope moreso than it is a real portrayal of a disorder. i don't think natsuki takaya is "trauma informed" as we would call it now, as it was written 20 years ago inside of a culture that notoriously does not take mental health seriously. i think yuki and kisa's mutism is very much a narrative choice, so i definitely agree with you re: what you're saying about "accurate" rep. anyway thanks for the ask and your serendipitous timing! thinking about that rat boy <3

#takes a huge bong rip #yuki sohma #ask #anonymous #meta???#yuki

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sillystringsimpsons · 4 months

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Sorry if this is really broad, but what are some details about Legs in The Good Ones Au? Like I’m really interested in his relationship with Louie, and his BPD headcanon; as someone who suspects she has BPD, it’s really cool to see rep in characters, even if it’s a headcanon :D

PLEASE READ CONTENT AND TRIGGER WARNINGS IN TAGS.

this was a very high effort post, interactions are hugely appreciated <3

Awesome question!

In terms of Legs and Louie’s relationship, I have a Louie-focused fanfic I’m working on that really explores their relationship within the AU, so I won’t go into it. But I’d love to discuss his borderline personality disorder in a bit more depth!

To start, here's a vent sketch I made a few days ago that I feel is pretty relevant here.

[The full discussion of Legs' BPD is beneath the cut :>]

Before I get into this, I think it’s important to recognise that BPD is significantly more prevalent in people assigned female at birth, as well as typically presenting differently; despite this, however, the core traits of borderline remain, and neither sex struggles more or less than the other.

Also, BPD is a very complex disorder. In its nature, it is constantly shifting and changing; I live with discouraged borderline and even I struggle to put to words what my experience as a whole is like; some information here might seem a little contradictory, and some traits I discuss may seem more frontal to Legs' character than they actually are. At the end of the day, he really is just a guy living with a difficult and scary disorder, and I've done my best to capture and discuss that here.

AU LORE AROUND HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH BPD

Maximus is not formally diagnosed with BPD, per se; at around age twenty-nine, following a severe depressive episode and a bender that was almost fatal (during which he also temporarily lost his position as caporegime), Louis essentially forced him to seek psychiatric help. Surprisingly, he opened up to the psychiatrist working his case - pretty much too emotionally exhausted from what he’d just been through to put up a fight - who immediately picked up on patterns in his behaviour indicative of borderline pd: instability in his relationships resultant of an intense fear of abandonment, frequent and drastic mood swings, a constantly shifting self-image, and most often mentioned by him, an ‘emptiness’ that he confessed to continually trying to overcome with substance abuse and other risky behaviours. In addition, he displayed a lot of archetypal traits of male borderline personality disorder, especially a penchant for sudden and explosive aggression. For a number of reasons, however (drifting away from therapy, the sex bias in BPD diagnosis, and him presenting some nonconvential traits for male BPD, such as high emotional awareness), he never really ended up progressing with a diagnosis past one or two preliminary screeners.

LEGS' BPD SUBTYPE

Self-destructive BPD, which is what Max has, is one of four commonly recognised subtypes of the disorder (the other three being discouraged (omg me!), impulsive, and petulant). These are generally quite loose groupings, not rigid classifiers: he obviously still has some traits from other subtypes (notably the perfectionism and withdrawal from close relationships exhibited in discouraged BPD), but I’ve classed him under self-destructive because of his strong internal self hatred that primarily manifests itself in self-destructive behaviours. Additionally, he is very adrenaline seeking: though he’s normally quiet and doesn’t appear to be much of a risk-taker, he’ll take subtle, calculated risks that often end him up in near-death situations. Max struggles with substance abuse (exhibiting functional alcoholism), as well as self-harm (often resorting to hitting himself until he bruises in private when he experiences any sort of intense emotional turmoil); both are borne of last-ditch attempts to ease the internal struggle he endures as a result of his personality disorder, and are also very characteristic of self-destructive BPD.

IS LOUIE LEGS' FP?

A favourite person, or an FP, is a phenomenon commonly observed in people with BPD: the relationship starts off healthy, but gradually grows toxic as the pwBPD becomes increasingly dependent on their FP and literally requires them and their attention to ensure their mood stays up. Without them, the pwBPD will often experience negative emotions so intense that they can even present themselves in suicidal ideations and threats. There is a lot of negativity online directed towards people with borderline from people who have been in relationships with them, because it is an extremely draining, and in extreme cases, traumatising experience to be a FP; this, however, is built on misunderstanding - it’s not a conscious action on the pwBPDs behalf, and with proper communication and boundary setting, it is very much possible to keep the relationship healthy and well-balanced. I just wanted to write this section to specify that Louis is NOT Maximus’ FP. Yes, their relationship is very often impacted negatively by his disorder, and Louie has been the subject of splitting (wherein a person with BPD characterises a person or event as either extremely good or extremely bad) more than enough times, but their relationship has never entered FP territory, and I don’t intend to write it as doing so. Legs has an almost big-brotherly role (symbolically, lol, as they have a really small age gap) and isn’t so much obsessed with Louie as he really cares about him and desires to look after and be there for him, which is essentially the opposite dynamic to the conventional pwBPD-FP relationship.

There's a lot more I could go into, but I think I'll keep it at this for now, and let any work I make featuring Legs speak for itself. If you have and specific questions, though, my asks and DMs are always open and I am a violent yapper; just shoot me a question and I'll be more than happy to elaborate.

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