Hiiii, I'm tdj, 90s baby. This blog started in 2016 when there was nothing about joji online. Now I mostly write about Skz. I may follow you back/chat from my main blog, cunninglibrarian
THIS IS SO CUTE AND COZY! LAHUSGB>DFUAGBFAHBSFHCBA UWIGDASGBFAJKSB LFWUAYIGDF O:UAGHFAH>FJNYUHGWFLUGFHAJBFLSAUFGWUAFYGHAUOFIHAHLFGAISU&YFG*OWIUGF
Okay here we go: bias, getaway, activity, drink, bed
This is so cute if anyone needs me I'll be in the corner sobbing that it isn't my current reality...
LOOK AT HIS STUPID LIL FACE YES BBY I WANNA MAKE SNOW ANGELS WITH YOU AND THEN DRINK HOT CHOCOLATE AND GET COZY WITH OUR CHOICE OF BEDS LET'S FUCKIN GAURR to sleep I am old and tired
Premise: F!reader is having a depressive episode, but instead of communicating with their partner (Bang Chan), they bury their feelings, throw themselves into work and crash.
Is now a good time to let everyone know that I never proofread these? Please let me know if there's any misspellings etc
You'd refused an ambulance.
Your team had disregarded that after seeing your arm bent at a funny angle and the large lump forming right in the middle of on your forehead.
"Y/n," your manager was holding an ice pack to your head while everyone waited, "the ambulance is already on its way. This ice pack and a couple of bandaids are all we have onsite for first aid."
"That's all I need, I'm so sorry." You say, not actually listening to your own answer. You're talking without meaning to. Somewhere in the back of your mind, recognition is switching on and you're realising that things might not be ok. But for now, shock is making you polite - and a little dumb.
"Definitely concussed." Says your deskmate.
"Go wait outside for the paramedics, show them in when they get here." Your manager snaps.
Your manager then gets one of your closest team mates to take over ice pack duty so she can locate your emergency contact. It's your housemate, Lily. Your parents live hours away, so it seemed more efficient for her to be listed, though after seeing how she handled your recent panic attack... you weren't sure if seeing a broken arm was going to go down smoothly.
You remain in a state of shock the whole ambulance ride, and as you're checked into the hospital. Your manager had come with you, and despite the shock, you realise how kind that move is. Or maybe your workplace just needs to cover itself against any injury claims. Neither option has much effect on your mood.
Lily arrives, your manager foists your bag off to her, gives her a swift report and requests copies of everything from the hospital.
"Y/nnie!" Lily hisses, crying freely. "Your arm! Your head! What happened??"
And now that your arm is about to be set and wrapped, now that the drugs from the ambulance are wearing off, and most of all, now that someone else is showing emotions, the shock wears off.
"I tripped down the stairs." You replay the incident in your mind and feel fresh horror. "Oh my god, Lily. I fell down the stairs at work in front of everyone."
She giggles a little while tears still fall, "Who cares about who saw, so long as you're ok!"
You look down at your arm and see it properly for the first time since the fall.
"Oh no." You say, surprised to find it sitting strangely. "Oh my god." Quickly follows as the pain suddenly hits you.
Lily whips the curtain around your bed back to call for help, ready to holler for you, just as the doctor comes in.
Lily is asked to step outside the curtain while he assess the injury and that's when panic really hits. "Lily, can you please call Chan?"
"Of course, y/nnie. I'll be back in 5!"
And the only thing that stops you from losing it totally when the doctor touches your arm is the hope that Chan picks up.
Chan has made it to the hospital in record time. His manager is hurrying behind him, desperately trying to keep Chan hidden from view, but it seems that the idol doesn't care right now.
Lily meets him in the waiting room, notes the panicked look in his face and gives him the fastest brief she can while bringing you through to your room - yes you had fallen down the stairs, you had a broken arm and a concussion, you were under anesthesia right now while the surgeon reset the bone and you would be out soon.
But ultimately, you were ok.
He asks questions, nods a lot, and can't keep his body still.
When you wake up, back in your new hospital room with your arm in a cast, you try to sit up immediately. The nurse pushes you back down expertly, like this is something she has to do every day for patients coming out of anesthesia - she probably does. "Just lay down. You're out of surgery and your arm looks good. Do you have any pain?"
The question gives you pause and you stop trying to sit up and leave, start coming back to yourself and your body. Assessing yourself head to foot, you say, "I'm ok, thank you."
She fiddles with your IV, says she'll check back soon and leaves.
Lily moves up to your side, "Y/nnie," she almost whispers, "how are you feeling?"
You blink at her once, bringing her into focus, and say, "Embarrassed."
She lets out a laugh and pats your good arm. "Someone's here to see you. I called your parents, too. They're coming down now. I'll be outside the door."
Your heart flutters just enough to send fresh anxiety down your body as Bang Chan steps up into Lily's place.
Somehow, despite banging your head and coming out of anesthesia, you see the past few weeks clearly. Who knew falling down a flight of stairs could give you an objective view of things.
You both talk at the same time:
"Chan, I'm-"
"Y/nnie, are you ok?"
You both smile a little and he nods for you to speak.
"You have to know, I haven't been cheating Chan. I've been... wrong. Not myself. Like. Sad."
You might have gained some clarity about everything but the drugs certainly weren't helping you verbalise it. You couldn't find a way to explain how you'd been feeling.
Chan's eyebrows come together in a frown and he leans down to stroke your hair. "What do you mean?"
"I've been struggling so much and I just didn't want to bother you with it." A lump forms in your throat, threatening to rival the one of your forehead.
"Why didn't you tell me? I'm always here for you, you know that right?" He says.
"No Chan, you're too busy to be bothered with something like this. I'm so sorry."
Chan gives you a serious look. "Y/n, do not be sorry. I'm sorry for not making you believe that you can share something like this with me, yeah?"
He brings his free hand up to his face and rubs his eyes, squeezing them shut.
"I thought I could just wait it out and I'd feel better in a couple of weeks. It's happened before." You say. You start to worry that you're saying too much, would he be afraid of how much drama you were?
"Y/nnie, you can't just wait out something like feeling depressed. Trust me, I've been there at times." He pulls a chair up to the bed, sits down and takes your hand in his.
"We're going to find a way to make you feel like yourself again, don't even stress. And I want to tell you the one thing I wish someone had said to me when I felt like shit: you're not a burden, you're not a problem, you're not being dramatic, and I'm here for you."
You burst into tears. "Chan, I'm still so sorry, I've been awful to you-"
"Not even." He says, "I get it now, don't worry at all. But I have to ask one thing, y/n. Did you... fall down the stairs on purpose?"
Your eyes grow wide and you realise how bad you've scared him. "Absolutely not. My nose my bleeding and I wanted to get to the nice bathroom to deal with it."
He looks at you with amusement, "The nice bathroom?"
"Yeah, it's got paper towel instead of hand dryers and it never smells. I don't know how they do it."
He laughs. "Ok I'm glad to hear that. I still want to hook you up with one of our company's contracted psychologists though, yeah?"
You smile a little, maybe talking to someone would be nice. You'd had a psychologist years ago and can't believe you hadn't thought to book an appointment with them this time. "I can see my old one, don't go to any trouble."
"Nah it's fine, idols have the best therapists," he says.
"Weird brag, but thanks." You deadpan. He laughs and his body seems to relax a little, and yours does too at the thought of light at the end of this tunnel.
Chan wasn't running away, he wasn't mad at you. And help was possible. Your whole body was aching dully but there was a flicker of something almost optimistic in your chest, and that was enough for now.
Chan strokes her hand as you drift off, and right before you give in completely to sleep, you hear him tell you with heart-aching sincerity, love you, y/n.
This was an anon request that was pending for ages (I'm so sorry it's taken so long!)
Theme: Angst
Premise: F!reader is having a depressive episode, but instead of communicating with their partner (Bang Chan), they bury their feelings, throw themselves into work and crash.
This got real long and I have to go so I'm going to break it into 2 parts. I'll have the resolution for you ASAP in a part two 🫡
You'd been sitting in the dance practice room for almost an hour, watching the guys rearrange choreography for a tv performance with a small stage.
Sweat had been building at your lower back from the moment you sat down. It was taking a lot of effort to just keep your face neutral and sit upright. Bang Chan was laughing while he danced, he'd always lose some of that seriousness when you came by to watch them practice, but you couldn't match his energy today.
You'd been having trouble matching everybody's energy lately. It started with not wanting to go out with your group of friends, then not being able to finish the book you were originally excited to read, until you couldn't even sit through an episode of a tv show. Instead, you were spending alone time scrolling on your phone, laying in bed, listening to the same negative thoughts on repeat.
Thoughts that you didn't think you would have any more, not when you'd been doing so well for nearly two years.
The only thing you could muster up energy for was being physically present - for work, for your boyfriend of over a year. But that was getting harder, too. One of these things would have to give way so you could show up for a little while longer for the other. Until you felt better. Until this mood, as you'd been calling it in your mind, passed.
And sitting here, watching Chan, you knew it was going to be him. Not because you didn't love him, but because you loved him so much that you couldn't bring yourself to taint him with your... mood.
He was busy with a comeback anyway, and if you gave up on work? How would that look to someone as hard-working and career-orientated as Bang Chan? He'd lose respect for you.
It was better to go get your head right and come back without him even knowing what was happening.
So you pull up your phone to type an excuse to leave and there's already a message from him. Of course there is.
You give him a little wave as you slip out the door and he looks confused, starting forward to say goodbye properly then stopping when he realises you aren't coming over to hug him like usual.
Your mind, so full of negative thought-loops and worry about work, forgot to call Chan.
Throwing yourself into work was an honest excuse, at least. There was a huge project due in 8 weeks and the clients kept changing their minds about the concept.
A week had gone by and you'd barely sent five messages to Chan. Your friends and family hadn't gotten even one response. Work was now your main focus - any time your brain tried to wander, you pulled it back to work. Work was easy because it was something you could do without feeling, you just put on your work self and forgot about everything else for 8+ hours a day.
Bang Chan was sending you daily updates on the comeback promotion, plus a lot of cute little messages like thinking of you. Everyone of them made your heart clench. Not with butterflies but with guilt. Because you didn't believe you deserved them.
By Friday night, you were exhausted. Nothing sounded as good as pajamas and silence all weekend. Your housemate was usually up for sharing time together on the weekends; movies, brunch, yapping. The news that she was heading home that weekend to stay with her parents felt almost karmic. Like the universe was giving you space to recharge.
Thankfully, Chan was working all weekend. And you could breathe again, knowing you had more time.
But you didn't feel better after week one.
Depression. A stupid burden that you probably brought on yourself. What had started as feeling anxious as a teenager had snowballed in your early twenties but you'd done everything right that time - you went to therapy, got the medication, got better.
And now you didn't feel better after week two, either. You're not even sure when or how week two happened, you just know that you're telling Chan you can't see him this Sunday because your housemate needs you. And you're telling her that you feel sick and spend all day with your bedroom door shut.
Chan had sent you selfies from promotion interviews and when he tried to call, you pretending not to see it, instead texting him back later like you'd been too busy.
You don't even notice that you've barely eaten in over two weeks. You're definitely dehydrated. You wake up hourly every night. You've forgotten how to take care of yourself, instead you think about work, the project and your team. You take showers without noticing what you're doing, commute to the office without noticing the journey, and turn on your work persona.
It was the end of week three since that dance practice. You'd only just realised you hadn't messaged Chan for days. Your brain felt sluggish as you tried to think of an excuse.
Telling the truth? That the thing that had nearly destroyed you a couple years ago was suddenly back and you couldn't snap out of it? Nope. He had enough of his own stress.
This weekend was harder to hide away in. Your housemate had a date but she'd want to talk about it extensively on Sunday.
But the bigger problem was that Chan wanted to see you. How were you supposed to explain to your boyfriend - who's free time was a precious commodity that you usually ate up no matter what - that you couldn't see him.
It felt more like wouldn't see him.
Fuck I'm selfish.
Normally the idea of going to Chan's and spending all night together was heaven, now it just made you see opportunities to accidentally say too much or forgetting to pretend. You had a work persona; you'd never made a personal life persona, and having to pretend for another day felt insurmountable.
Chan messaged you Friday night.
Guilt was sizzling in your stomach. He noticed. You had to get it together or he'd start to worry, but your hand felt too heavy to type and tears were welling.
Had Bang Chan ever even seen you cry? That's right, only once, over a movie. He'd laughed and wiped your face, y/nnie! It's ok! Oh my gosh it's so weird to see my bubbly girl cry, I'm never putting on a sad movie again
That meant he loved you because you were usually smiling and laughing, right?
You swallowed, wiped your eyes angrily and told yourself to just act normal this week. But first, you just needed some rest.
So you spent the weekend in pajams and let your brain quieten. Autopilot was now on. Autopilot-you texted Bang Chan on Saturday saying that work was crazy and she was going home with a headache, and she was so sorry but she was going to make it up to him.
And you really believed yourself - you were going to make it up to him soon, this was just a blip.
But Bang Chan could sense something had changed.
Shit. Chatting in person was only going to lead to one thing - tears and the truth. You needed to get back on track before you you faced him properly.
Sweat was pooling at your lower back again and your fingers were shaking. Adrenaline was pouring through your system like you were in danger and all you could do was switch off your brain to make the physical feeling stop. Running through tomorrow's work schedule was enough to bring you out of your body for a moment.
A little voice interrupted your thoughts. Why are we hiding from Chan? It asked. You didn't answer it, instead you picked up your phone again and forced yourself to type.
But by the time 20 minutes were up, you'd hyperventilated so loudly that your housemate had come looking for the source of the noise. She was now trying to coax you into breathing properly like you were a frightened bird who'd accidentally flown inside and couldn't find the open window again.
By the time Chan had tried calling three times, she was almost hyperventilating with you until she'd gotten her mother on the phone and had her talk you back to earth.
You go to bed feeling like a husk.
Your work persona was starting to crack. With your work chat and email pinging incessantly, you're starting to feel... trapped. The clients had become exceptionally difficult and your director was willing to do anything to keep them happy, even if that meant having you and your team redo work over and over.
By the tenth time something came back to be redrafted, you felt panic break through the cracks.
The memories of last night's panic attack were very fresh and worse, they were starting to mingle with today's panic.
And when you checked your phone for the hundredth time, saw that the message you sent to Chan about how you were so sorry but something came up was still unanswered (and god, who could blame him), you felt both sides of your anxiety merge completely.
The computer screen in front of you was really bright. Who thought black text on stark white was good for morale? How the fuck were you meant to rewrite this again? You're shaking your head at the screen, just a little, when you feel your fists curl up.
You're really hot. Why didn't they ever put the AC on in here??
Your mouth opens to get more air and what you draw in sounds ragged. That's when your team members turn to you, perplexed. Does y/n have asthma? She's never said anything about it before but she sounds like she's struggling to breathe.
"Y/n?" Your deskmate puts their hand on your arm, tries to catch your eye.
And that's when your nose starts bleeding. This used to happen sometimes, when you were kid. You'd get worried about something, hold your breath and your nose would start bleeding.
"Oh no," your colleague takes their hand away, brings it back with a tissue for you.
"I'm so sorry." you say, over and over, holding the tissue to your nose.
You stand up abruptly, just say the word 'bathroom' and half-run out of the office space.
It's a combination of everything, really, the bloody nose, the tear-filled eyes, the inability to draw a deep breath, that has you tripping over your own feet.
You hit every step on the way down and when you hit the landing, you don't even try to get up.
I'm trying to find a text/fic series to read again and of course I can't 😭
Does anyone have a link to the one where Seungmin doesn't realise the social media assistant is going blind?! All the guys had their own angsty fics in the series and it was so good!
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