He Is Very Boyfriend. - Tumblr Posts
hi leslie!!!!!!! there were so many good prompts it was hard to narrow it down, but i finally decided on:
vernon + “you’re important too”
hope you have a great week and a fun time writing!! 💜✨
Hi Savv!!! Thank you so much for this. (Fun fact: my birthday was this past Sunday and I may or may not have based this slightly in truth. Birthdays are hard.)
Thank u for submitting!!!! xx
A/N: If you read and enjoy this, please reblog and/or send a comment! I'd love to know what you think.
Pairing: Vernon x Reader Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: kissing, sad reader
Today is your birthday.
Today is your birthday, and there’s a room full of all the people you care about celebrating you, with the perfect decorations and a stunning cake and flowers and balloons and the perfectly curated playlist.
It’s your birthday, and everything has gone right, so nothing should logically be able to explain why you’re sitting on the floor of your room, your back against the bed, tears streaming silently down your cheeks.
The simplest explanation is this: you’re tired.
You’re tired of doing everything for everyone else and feeling like your energy is never matched. Why is it always you who remembers the little things? Why is it always you who plans the best parties and surprises, who knows what your closest friends like? Why is it always you who will go the extra mile without being asked?
You’d planned out your whole birthday on your own. You’d picked out the decorations, made the playlist, done it all because none of your friends had offered to do it for you. They love you, you know that, but why didn’t anyone take over? Would they have planned something for you if you’d left it alone? You don’t know, and you think the not knowing is what has you currently sitting on your bedroom floor. One minute you’d been in the kitchen, looking at how cute the cake was that you’d picked out; the next, you could feel yourself spiralling, and you couldn’t even say exactly why.
You’re tired, and you feel selfish for needing a minute to feel bad for yourself in the middle of your own party. You feel silly for crying, silly for not knowing what it was that set you off, silly for needing to hide away for a little bit.
You pride yourself on being a fairly level-headed individual. You can be dramatic at the best of times, of course, but you always try your best to keep your cool. You never want to cause a scene around the people you care about, or make anyone feel bad, especially about something as trivial as your emotions. The only thing that always throws a wrench in your plans to play it cool is that you will cry involuntarily at the most inopportune moments, no matter how much you try to avoid it.
That said, you’ve gotten a lot better at hiding your mini breakdowns lately – gotten better at sneaking away into bathrooms and side rooms to be alone before the tears start to fall, better at convincing everyone that nothing is amiss when you return. This time, even in the middle of your own party, you’d made it to your room without alerting anyone, and you’d thought no one was any the wiser.
You thought. You thought you’d gotten better at hiding your emotional spirals. You thought no one noticed when you were gone. You should have known that Vernon doesn’t count.
Vernon — your boyfriend of only a few months, and already one of the best things that's ever happened to you. Your wonderful and patient and funny and kind boyfriend. He’s a little clueless sometimes, but you don’t mind – you’ve always been a good communicator, and he’s always been a good listener. You promise to tell him when you’re upset, and he promises to ask if he’s unsure. That’s the rule.
Which you may or may not have definitely broken in the last month.
You hadn’t told him anything about how upset you were while planning your own birthday party. You had brushed off his offers to help, telling him you had it all under control, which was true – the party planning part, at least. What you don’t have any control over is feeling sad that none of your friends had offered to plan your day for you, but Vernon can’t fix that, so why should you have told him? He’s a chill guy, letting you take the reins because you had said you wanted to, oblivious to your inner turmoil. It isn’t his fault that he doesn’t know how you’re feeling – it’s your fault for not telling him — and you figure it doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re the one being silly about it all, and you didn’t feel the need for him to be dragged into it.
So you hadn’t told him anything.
Which is why saying you’re surprised to hear him knocking on your bedroom door only minutes after you disappeared from your own festivities would be an understatement.
“Hey.” His quiet voice, followed by the sound of your bedroom door clicking shut, has another fresh round of tears rolling down your cheeks. You squeeze your eyes shut, like that will somehow make the tears invisible to him, not opening them even as you feel him take a seat next to you. You really don’t want him to see you like this, but there’s no choice now. You’re grateful that he doesn’t comment, simply taking your hand and bringing it into his lap, thumb gently brushing against the back of it as he waits for you to calm down.
“Sorry,” you finally manage to whisper.
“Apology rejected.”
You feel the corners of your mouth tilt up at the phrase you both use when the other makes an unnecessary apology, even when they’ve done nothing wrong. It’s a joke between the two of you that serves as a reminder that you’re safe with each other. That you're safe with him.
It’s quiet for another few moments before he speaks again. “A birthday party doesn’t really work if the one being celebrated isn’t there, you know.”
You frown, wiping at your cheek with your free hand, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in a while. “Sorry,” you say again.
Your boyfriend gives you a stern look but doesn’t comment this time, a hand reaching across to brush off any remaining tears from your face. “You were so excited for today. Did something happen?”
You bite your lip with a shrug, looking down and away from him again. “Nothing really happened. I just got overwhelmed, I guess.”
“Sensory overload?”
“No,” you say softly. “Just… feelings.”
“I can see that,” he smiles gently, his tone soft with just the perfect amount of teasing, and you’re grateful for him yet again as he lets you process. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he just sits with you in silence, nothing but the sound of your breathing and the muted boom boom boom of Britney Spears in the background. Vernon squeezes your hand once, twice, before standing up and pulling you up and onto your bed. He lies down and brings you with him, moving onto his side to see you better, and you lie on your stomach, your arms folded so you can rest your head.
“I don’t want to sound selfish, or make you feel bad, or make anyone feel bad, or…” You trail off, feeling the tears start to well up again, and before you know it you’re crying once more. You feel absolutely ridiculous, not even sure how to explain how you’re feeling to yourself, let alone to someone else. “I don’t want to tell you because I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful.”
“Hey,” Vernon says softly. “What’s our rule? You need to tell me these things or I won’t know.” He pauses, fingers tracing the softest of circles up and down your spine “And I want to know.”
You feel a rush of guilt. You know you should have told him, that he would have helped, that he would have understood, or at least tried to. So why didn’t you?
“I just feel silly,” you admit, tears still flowing freely. “I just…” You sniffle, and Vernon watches you quietly, shifting so that his position mimics yours, his head moving to rest on his own arms. “I just wish that people did for me what I do for them. I wish that my friends knew what I wanted and did it without being told. I wish I didn’t feel like I had to plan my own party or I wouldn’t get one at all. I know that all sounds selfish, I know it does, but I just wish that I didn’t have to ask for someone to know exactly what I want!”
As soon as you finish talking, you’re immediately being pulled into a sturdy, warm chest. Your boyfriend wraps his arms entirely around you, pulling you in as tight as you can go. You have a fleeting thought amidst the tears that you’re so incredibly lucky to get this side of him – the warm, comforting, soft side. Everyone who meets him loves him – he’s shy, but witty, and he’s polite and thoughtful and a joy to be around, and though he doesn’t often approach people first, he has no trouble making friends — but not everyone gets to be wrapped up in his arms like this.
“First of all,” he murmurs as he pulls back just a little, enough to let your heads rest on the pillow as he looks at you. “You’re not selfish – you’re maybe the least selfish person I know.”
You sigh, but don’t offer a rebuttal, and a hand lifts to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. You try to push down the guilt you feel for complaining at all, leaning into the feeling of Vernon’s fingers gently threading through your hair.
“You do so much for everyone around you all the time, it’s only fair for you to expect that in return,” he continues. “But the truth is that you’re not always going to get it back in the same way, even from the people who love you the most. That doesn’t mean we don’t love you in different ways. Think about when that girl at work gives you all of the red Skittles, or when you get a text with a song rec from Jihoon. Or When Seokmin buys you three bags of chips because he knows you like at least one of them but can’t remember which one.” Vernon beams when you crack a smile at that. “How many of your friends helped you decorate? How many of them did exactly what you asked them to do because they know you love to plan and wanted to help you make your vision come true? That’s love, too, isn’t it?”
You nod. You know he’s right. It’s quiet for a moment as you let his words sink in, your fingers idly playing with the chain around his neck.
“What about how you keep a list of my favourite snacks and our anniversary date in a note on your phone so you don't forget them?” You watch as his cheeks flush crimson as soon as the words leave your mouth, and you hold back a smile at his reaction.
“You know about that?” He sounds mortified, turning his face to bury it in the pillow. You can’t help but giggle now, your hand lifting to gently run through the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Mhm. Saw it when you were pulling up your grocery list the other day.”
“Well then, yeah,” he admits begrudgingly, turning his face to look at you again. You teasingly pull at his earlobe before your fingers softly trace his jaw. “That counts.”
“As love?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, your hand freezing against his cheek, but Vernon barely bats an eyelash.
“Yeah.”
You stare at one another for a moment, the air around you suddenly tense. You can barely hear the music anymore as he looks at you. He doesn’t seem phased by your comment at all, and you vow to bring it up later – but you’ll leave it for now.
“Okay,” you whisper in affirmation, and he smiles.
“Okay.”
You kiss him first. It’s soft, a quick press of your mouth to his, but it has your toes curling regardless. And before you can pull away completely, his hand finds your waist and he pulls you back in, mouth moving slowly against yours as he kisses you senseless.
You’re startled when he pulls away suddenly, eyebrows raised almost to the sky, and you blink back at him in surprise. “What?”
“You distracted me!”
You let out a snort. “Sorry.”
“I’ll accept that rightful apology,” he says, and you roll your eyes as he continues. “What I was saying before you attacked me was,” he dives right back in as though there had been no ‘I-may-have-admitted-I-love-you’ or make-out interludes, “that you’re important, too.” He waits for it to settle, lets you sit for a minute in the discomfort, knowing how hard those words are for you to accept.
“Okay,” you say quietly, and he smiles.
“You can ask for help when you need it, or you can do it all by yourself, whatever you want. You just have to ask. So many of us would have planned a party for you if we knew that’s what you wanted,” he tells you. “What you want matters. It’s just that sometimes, you need to tell other people what that is. We’re not all A+ mind-readers like you.” He’s grinning now at his own jab, and you pout.
“I’m not a mind-reader,” you protest. “I’m an empath. It’s different!”
Vernon is beaming, and you know he’s pleased that he’s distracted you from being sad. “How about using some of that empathy to come back to the awesome party you planned so I don’t have to talk to your friends alone?”
Tagging some loves @wqnwoos @dejavernon @tae-bebe @savventeen