i've had a rough day. thinking about 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 tonight. not proofread.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who speaks your name like it's an apology he'll spend a lifetime trying to deserve. he doesn't say it often -- not because he doesn't want to, but because he does, too much. he holds your name like a sacred thing, something to be sung or swallowed, never wasted on the mundane. but when he says it? in the quiet, between heartbeat and breath, with no audience but the dark and you? it lands like an offering. like please stay. like i mean it this time.
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who turns his body to face you in sleep, even if you shift away. there's no performance here. no mask. just the slow, unconscious gravitation toward something warm, something human. the first time you noticed it, you thought it was coincidence -- his arm draped across your waist, his legs tangled with yours under the sheets. but the pattern held. every time, no matter how he fell asleep. like his body knew what his voice hadn't learned to say yet: you're home.
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who lets silence stretch with you, because he trusts you to stay inside. he doesn't fill it with jokes, or small talk, or noise. there are days where you sit side by side, both of you turned inward, each lost in separate gravity. but his knee still brushes yours. his thumb still taps out an absent rhythm on your thigh. he lets you exist beside him without needing to explain it. and when your fingers graze his without a word, he curls his hand around yours like it's the only answer he needs.
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who writes fragments of lyrics in the margins of books he lends you, not expecting you to notice. they're never labeled. never obvious. just slipped between dog-eared pages, little ghosts of what he couldn't say aloud. one night you find one circled in graphite: "what if you were the only thing i never meant to survive without?" you don't ask. but you never return the book. and the next time he sees it on your shelf, still spine-worn and resting near your bed, he smiles so faintly you almost miss it.
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who holds your wrist to his mouth, not to kiss it, but to breathe you in. it happens in quiet moments -- before he leaves, after you fight, or when he's come back from the stage shaking, worn thin by the weight of what he gave away. he lifts your wrist gently, reverently, and presses it to his lips like rosary, inhaling deep. like he's trying to remind his lungs of what still matters. he doesn't ask for comfort out loud. but this is how he finds it.
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who listens when you speak with a stillness so complete it makes you nervous. his gaze doesn't wander. his hands don't fidget. he holds still like a cathedral holds sound -- not to mute it, but to let it echo. you talk, and he absorbs. you cry, and he swallows it like communion. he's not trying to fix anything. he's bearing witness. and when you run out of words, his arms are already around you, breath warm against your shoulder, as if to say: i heard it all. and i'm still here.
𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭!𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥 who doesn't believe he's worthy of being seen, but lets you see him anyway. not just without the mask -- but with the mask. with the exhaustion. the silence. the unraveling. he doesn't shrink away when you catch him staring out the window at 3am, face hollowed by insomnia. he doesn't flinch when you find him curled in a corner of the green room, headphones in, music too loud to be anything but armor. you see it. all of it. and he lets you. because some part of him, however buried, knows you won't run away.
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This was an anon request, and I hope I did it justice! I had a lot of fun with this one, and it was a great way to get my mind off the chaotic realm that is Birdie. Enjoy, lovelies! <3
CW: 18+ MDNI, heavy, descriptive smut, rough p in v, post-Download festival Vessel + fem!reader, shower fluff and aftercare
Word Count: 4.3k
The crowd is still roaring behind the barricades as he disappears into the fog on the stage and strides down the ramp, sweat-soaked, shell-shocked, wide-eyed with confidence and adrenaline that hasn’t finished burning itself out.
His mask is cracked around the edges; not physically, but spiritually. You can see it in the way he carries himself, like the weight of all that devotion, all that noise, all those thousands of eyes… has finally caught up to him. He walks tall as if in the presence of gods, but the hunch of his shoulders tells a different story.
He looks like a man who’s just walked out of a cathedral that caught fire mid-sermon. And the second he sees you, just past the security rope, pressed to the backstage wall where you’ve been waiting with your hands clutched in front of your chest, he falls apart. His frame practically melts as he reaches you.
“Love,” he gasps, voice already fraying at the edges. He doesn’t even look at the crew members calling his name or the assistant reaching for his water bottle. He beelines for you like you’re his very oxygen.
You don’t implore or hesitate. You catch him as he crashes into you, arms around his waist, hands fisting into the damp back of his cloak as he buries his masked face in your neck and sobs.
Not a quiet cry. Not the trembling kind where the hot tears just leak down your face. These are deep, shaking, gut-wrung sobs. The kind you only let out when it’s finally safe to release, to come down from the cathartic high that is Vessel on stage.
“Baby,” you whisper, your fingers slowly trailing up his damp back and slipping underneath his hood. You card your fingers through the soaked strands of hair at the base of his neck. “You did it. You did it, you fucking did it-”
He’s gripping you so hard it almost hurts, arms locked around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. The tremble in his shoulders tells you this has been building for hours, days, maybe. And now it’s all coming out, and he’s letting you see it. He’s taking shelter in your very presence.
“I saw it,” you breathe against his ear. “I saw everything. Every moment, every fucking second of it. You were unreal.” You feel him let out a broken exhale, the mask shifting ever so slightly against your skin.
“There were… so many,” he murmurs, like he’s still trying to process it. “So many people, love, I’ve never seen that many... not even at Wembley...”
“I know,” you whisper. “It was a sea of them, Ves. And they all came to see you.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glassy through the mesh eye holes of the mask, tears streaking his face paint. You wish he wasn’t wearing the mask, but you also know it’s his shield, his sanctuary. So you just rest your hand against the cool plastic and nod, your eyes on his, watching the grief leave his expression.
“I’ve never been prouder of you in my life,” you murmur, your tone pouring pride and reverence. His breath catches and he exhales shakily.
“I couldn’t breathe out there,” he admits. “Not because of the crowd. Because of what it meant. All those years. All that pain and work and- and... And they were just… there. Reaching for it. Singing every word back to me like the songs belonged to them. And they did. It’s- it’s all for them...” he finishes, and you feel his grip on you tighten ever so slightly.
You nod, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “The music has always belonged to them. But it also belongs to you. You gave it to them. You’ve given them everything,” you tell him, tears threatening to spill from your own eyes. You’re overcome with so many emotions all at once. You feel incredibly proud, deeply grateful, and heartbroken all the same because even with all the fans and the love and success, you know he must relive all that pain, all that fear and anxiety over again when he’s on stage. You’re painfully aware of the toll it takes on him contradicted by his love of performing and bone-deep admiration for his true fans and the way they worship.
You see and feel the quake behind his posture, the little shiver of disbelief, and maybe shock. You lean in and press your lips gently to the side of his mask, leaving behind a glossy print. “And now I’m going to give you something back,” you whisper into his ear, your voice switching from sincerity to sultry. He stills for a moment, his hands moving from around your back to rest at your waist as he pulls you in closer to him. You feel the hitch of his breath against your neck, the faintest tremble of restraint rippling through him like a taut chord pulled too tight.
For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, he just holds you there, your bodies flush, hearts beating an uneven rhythm into one another as they both accelerate. You wonder if he's trying to steady himself or if he’s simply overcome again, only this time not by the crowd, not by the magnitude of the night, but by you. He stands fully, his hands squeezing your hips as he looks down at you.
Although you can’t see his eyes, you can feel them scorching you from the inside out. “Are you implying what I believe you are, darlin’?” he murmurs low, voice husky and close, almost lost in the space between your bodies.
The heat in his tone curls through your belly like smoke. You smile faintly, dragging your fingertips along his heated skin beneath his cloak. He’s still trembling, still unraveling in your hands. You don’t waste another second.
“Let me take care of you.” you whisper up to him, your eyes pleading. He exhales like it’s the first breath he’s allowed himself in hours. Maybe even all day.
And when your mouth finds the edge of his jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask, you feel him melt. His body leans into yours, chest rising to meet you, hands gripping your waist harder now, anchoring himself to the only thing in the world that feels real anymore.
“Wait,” he whispers, pushing you back just slightly. “there’s nowhere we can hide away here, dove.” Your shoulders slump and your face falls as you realize the truth he’s just stated. All they have is a little walled-off room to the side for show preparation purposes. You’re going to have to wait until tonight when you’re back in your shared hotel room.
You’re not thrilled about this at all, but this just means that you can spend the rest of the evening teasing him and building up to the moment when you’ll finally be alone together. A wicked grin spreads across your lips as your expression changes from disappointment to seductive excitement. “Guess we’ll just have to wait until tonight then,” you mutter in a lower pitched flirty voice as you remove your hands from his body. You don’t even give him the chance to respond before you turn and saunter away, swaying your hips a little more than usual, smirking as you go.
“You little tease...” he mutters from behind you, and you turn your head back to glance at him, your smirk widening when you see that his mouth is hanging open slightly, fists clenched at his sides, chest heaving. He’s practically drooling. You can feel the restraint emanating from him even from feet away as you retreat.
In his mind, he wants to storm toward you, grab you up and push you against the nearest solid wall. He wants to grab your pretty little jaw and force you to look up at him as he defiles you right here, in front of everyone. He wants to ruin you, claim you and release all of his adrenaline and frustration right into your soaking velvety walls. He nearly reaches for you, but he has more respect for you than that.
He knows you wouldn’t like to be bare and breathless, choking on his cock in front of the crew and other band members. And he knows he's going to need that kind of release after that performance. He decides in this moment that, sure, he’ll wait. He’ll exhibit self-control. For now. But as soon as you both cross that hotel suite threshold and the door clicks shut behind you, he will pounce. He will hold you close and love you into ruin.
The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk as he turns and heads to the room to undress and prepare for the taxi ride back to the hotel, knowing what awaits him there.
The cab smells faintly of leather and New Car scent, windows fogging slightly from the collective warmth of tired bodies and fading adrenaline. III is already halfway into a laugh about something no one else quite heard, and IV just smiles, leaning his cheek against the cool glass with his hood still drawn low.
Vessel sits beside you, thigh pressed to yours. His posture is composed, but you feel it; electric and crawling beneath the surface, the quiet hum of want rippling off him like static.
You say nothing. He says nothing. But your eyes meet. And in the low hum of the city outside the window, that silence screams with heat.
His gaze lingers a second too long on your mouth. You lift your brow, feigning innocence, and shift just enough that your leg brushes more deliberately against his. The muscle in his jaw tightens. His hand rests over his knee, fingers twitching slightly like he’s thinking of reaching for you, but he doesn’t. Not here. Not yet.
III nudges IV’s arm. “Reckon we ought to stop in somewhere, yeah? Raise a glass to the man of the hour?”
Vessel finally looks away from you to answer kindly, “You guys go ahead.” But IV glances back. “You not coming, mate?” You shake your head as Vessel answers, fingers resting lightly over his. “We’ll meet you back at the hotel. Might grab a quick drink somewhere quieter,” he answers IV, his voice soft; a stark contrast to what’s about to happen in your rented room.
III smirks knowingly, but doesn’t say a word, he just gives a devilish little salute before hopping out of the cab at the next curb, IV and II close behind. III does the ‘after you’ gesture, his dramatic flair showing through just a bit as he swings the taxi door shut, giving Vessel a two-finger salute and a wink. Vessel smiles back at III as he turns and follows II and IV into the bar.
The bar you find is small and dimly lit, tucked off a side street where no one’s paying attention. You slide into a booth across from each other, still slick with heat and barely-contained laughter. Two drinks in, the air between you is thick with something darker, richer. He watches you over the rim of his glass, and you let your heel drag up his calf beneath the table, slow and deliberate.
“Can I help you with something?” you tease, tone flirtatious yet innocent.
“Oh, you will,” he replies, voice low and calm, eyes heated and locked onto you as a blush creeps up your cheeks and settles there, warming you. You tilt your head. “Think so?”
His voice lowers as he purrs, “I know so, darlin’.” Your heart stutters as you fidget under his heated gaze.
Another drink. Another graze of fingertips along the inside of your wrist. Another slow glance that sinks into you like molasses. Your legs press closer together beneath the table, aching now with the weight of want. His fingers drum against the wood, twitchy, pent-up.
He’s cracking, you feel it. The moment stretches too tight, until finally he stands, drops a few notes on the table, and reaches for your hand. “Come on,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
You follow him out into the night without a word, fingers tangled in his, both of you too hot and too full of want to pretend otherwise. The second cab is quieter than the first. Less talk. More touch. His thumb stroking along the back of your hand. Your knees touching in the dark.
You don’t speak until the lift doors slide open at your hotel floor. But when they do, it’s Vessel who leans in close, voice barely above a whisper, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You’ve been driving me mad all night, you little tease.” You just smile and tug him down the hall by the hand, knowing full well what’s about to happen once that door clicks shut.
The hotel door clicks shut behind you with a finality that echoes. The silence that follows is louder than any roar of the crowd; thick, breathless, and heavy with promise. The hallway lighting fades as the room swallows you whole, and then it’s just the two of you again, bathed in the low gold of bedside lamps and the hum of something primal rising between your ribs.
He’s on you in an instant. His hands find your waist, greedy and firm, backing you into the nearest wall like he needs to anchor himself or else he’ll burst apart. His mouth presses to your cheek, his breath ragged and hot where it fans your skin.
“Fucking hell,” he rasps, voice frayed at the edges. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” You answer with an anticipatory whimper.
You just reach up and tug at the base of his shirt, and he lets you lift it over his head in one smooth pull, baring his sweat-damp chest to the warm air between you. His skin glistens in the light, every inch of him thrumming with leftover adrenaline and something far more feral.
His hands are already working at your jeans, unbuttoning them and jerking the fabric down with such desperation that you can’t help but smile. It’s rare, so rare, to see him like this. Unraveled, needy, and starved. And it’s all for you. He nibbles roughly on your thighs as he rises back up to finish undressing you. You gasp at the sudden pain, but it causes the arousal between your thighs to surge, and your knees nearly buckle.
You lift your arms and let him strip you bare, piece by piece, until you’re down to nothing but your black lacy panties and the heat blooming between your thighs. He stares at you like he’s forgotten how to breathe, chest heaving, eyes dark and hungry. His fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know where to start; like he wants to worship you and ruin you all at once.
“You want me,” you murmur, stepping forward and guiding his hands to your hips. “Take me.”
That’s all it takes. He spins you, pushes you up against the wall with a growl caught in his throat, his mouth finding the curve of your neck and biting down; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to claim. His hands are everywhere, kneading, groping, possessing, and when his thigh slides between yours, you moan softly against his shoulder and grind down, chasing the friction. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “You’re already soaked.”
“For you,” you breathe. “Only you.” His fingers slip past the band of your panties, and the moment he feels just how ready you are, he curses low and filthy, forehead thudding softly against the wall beside your head. "You’re going to kill me,” he pants. “I swear-”
“You’re the one losing it,” you tease, voice breathy and trembling. “What happened to composure, Vessel?”
He answers by ripping – yes, ripping - your knickers in half over each thigh and discarding them in one swift motion, then sinking to his knees in front of you. You barely have time to gasp before his hands are spreading you open and his mouth is on you; hot, wet, and relentless.
Your head falls back with a cry, one hand bracing against the wall, the other flying to your own breast as he devours you. There’s no other word for it. It’s messy and obscene, his tongue working you open like he’s trying to draw out every ounce of tension, every scream you didn’t let loose at the show, every tremble you’ve been holding in since the first look in the taxi.
He worships you as he consumes, his eyes staying on yours until you break eye contact, your eyes rolling back into your skull. He flicks his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves until your moans turn to whimpers and drunken cries, your peak rapidly approaching.
And when you come, shaking, gasping, thighs trembling, he doesn’t stop. He grinds his mouth against you, holding you in place until you cry out again, until your legs threaten to give and you’re clawing at the wall.
When he finally pulls back, your slick on his lips, chest rising and falling like he’s just run another set, you pull him up by the shoulders, dragging him into a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and want. You taste yourself on him and moan into his mouth, fingers working his belt open as he backs you toward the bed.
By the time he’s out of his trousers, you’re already pulling him on top of you, nails raking down his back as he lines himself up and thrusts inside with one long, deep, desperate stroke. You feel him stretching you deliciously, your soft, soaked chasm welcoming him in and adjusting around him.
You both gasp like it’s a relief; like its salvation. He doesn’t ease into it, no. He snaps his hips against yours with every thrust, hard and punishing, grinding deep like he’s trying to root himself in you, trying to forget the crowd and the pressure and the weight of the world with every wet, filthy sound your bodies make together. “Say it,” he grits out, voice shaking. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“You know I’m yours,” you cry, wrapping your legs around his waist, meeting every thrust with your own. “I’ve always been – fuck - I’ve always been yours.”
And that’s what breaks him. "Good fucking girl..." he groans through gritted teeth, and you whimper at the praise. His rhythm falters for just a moment, the weight of your words crashing into him like a second wave. He pulls out of you suddenly and you whine at the loss of contact. He scoots back on his knees a few inches, then he cups the backs of your thighs and brings them to your abdomen. He smirks down at you, then slams into you, fucking you like an animal.
He leans down, presses his forehead to yours, skin to skin, and fucks you like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. Like if he stops, he’ll fly apart. You swear you can feel his cock in your chest as he drills deeply into you, your moans and whimpers escaping with every rough movement.
You rake your fingers through his damp hair, anchoring him to the moment. You can tell he’s close as his thrusts get snappier and messier. “Let go,” you whisper, tears brimming your eyes from the intense pleasure. “Let it out. I’ve got you, Ves.”
And in that moment, he does. With a strangled moan and a final, bruising thrust, he comes undone above you, hips jerking, breath caught in his throat, moans escaping through his swollen lips, hands clinging to your thighs like he’ll fall to pieces if he lets go. It’s not just release, it’s relief. It’s a whole lifetime of weight dropped in your arms. You feel him pulsing inside you, drenching your perfect cunt in his climax, the familiar molten feeling pooling between your hip bones.
And you hold him through all of it. Every tremble, every quiet sob against your collarbone. Every inch of catharsis, fucked raw and sacred and real.
The room is quiet now. The only sounds are your breathing and the soft hum of the city outside the high hotel windows; distant traffic, occasional laughter echoing off wet pavement below. The sheets beneath you are tangled and damp with sweat, and his body rests heavily atop yours, chest still rising and falling against your own. He’s since allowed your legs to rest in a natural position instead of squished to your tummy.
You run your fingers slowly down his spine, tracing the shape of him, and he shudders just a little, just enough to let you know he's still here, still feeling. Still coming back down.
He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. There’s so much said in the way his hands cradle your hips, the way his head remains tucked into the crook of your neck like it’s the only safe place in the world. You feel him press a slow kiss to your collarbone, then another, softer still. Almost like an apology for battering your insides moments ago.
You whisper, “Alright love, I need to go clean up. You made a mess of me.” You giggle as you halfheartedly push him off you, and he groans in protest, going limp on top of you, knowing you're not strong enough to push his lean, lanky form off of you. “Come shower with me, then,” you tell him, giggling. His head lifts slowly, eyes barely open as he asks, “You sure?” You chuckle and affirm that you are indeed sure.
He nods once, small and grateful, and you both rise slowly, bodies aching but warm. His eyes are heavy, rimmed red, lips puffy, muscles trembling from exhaustion just beneath the surface.
You walk him to the bathroom, fingers loosely linked with his, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The light in here is soft, more of a golden glow, casting long, gentle shadows across the tiles. Steam begins to rise almost immediately as you turn the water on, and when you both step under it, the heat wraps around you like an embrace.
He exhales, long and slow, as the water cascades down his back. His head tilts forward, eyes closing. You stand behind him for a moment, just watching, letting him lean into the warmth, into the silence.
Then you reach for the soap. You begin with his shoulders, fingertips drawing small, circular motions into his skin, soft and reverent. He doesn’t flinch or tense, he just breathes calmly, relaxing under your tender touch. You glide the lather across his chest, around the curve of his neck, down the length of each arm, cleaning away the sweat and leftover body paint missed by the wipes he utilized at the venue.
“You did something incredible tonight, y’know,” you murmur, voice barely louder than the water. He swallows hard. “You’ve given everything to them through the years, and now… this is mine. You’re mine, and I’m so grateful that I get to make sure you know how appreciated you are,” you kiss his cheek, “how amazing and awe-inspiring you are,” you kiss his other cheek, “and how incredibly adored you are,” you finish and kiss the tip of his nose.
His eyes flutter open, just long enough to meet yours through the steam of the shower. There’s something raw in them, something vulnerable.
He doesn’t speak, but his hand reaches for yours, thumb stroking the inside of your wrist. When you drop to your knees in front of him, it isn’t sexual, not this time. You soap his thighs, his calves, his feet, steady and careful. You kiss the side of his knee, soft and slow, and he lets out a breath that catches halfway through like it’s too heavy to carry.
“I love you,” you say simply. “You’re not just the voice, Ves. You’re the heart.” He kneels with you then. The water streams over both of you, pooling on the floor of the shower as he cradles your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it; not hungry, not desperate. Worshipful. Like you’re the one who hung the stars.
And now it’s his turn. You stand, and he takes the soap from you, hands trembling just slightly, and begins to return every gesture—rinsing your skin with patient care, brushing suds over your shoulders, your chest, your belly. When he reaches your thighs, he pauses, kisses your hipbone, rests his cheek against it for a long moment like he can’t believe you’re real.
“You stayed with me,” he says, barely audible over the rush of the water. “Through all of it.” You cup his jaw, eyes stinging with tenderness. “Of course I did There’s nowhere I’d rather be, love.”
He rises again, pulling you into his chest beneath the spray, and you wrap your arms around his waist, skin to skin. You stay like that for a long while, nothing moving but the water sliding down your backs and the faint flutter of his pulse beneath your cheek.
Eventually, you guide him out and into a towel, drying him slowly, then yourself. There’s no rush or sense of urgency, just the calm after catharsis.
You lead him to bed, kiss his temple, and climb beneath the sheets together, limbs tangled, hearts steadying.
You don’t know when you succumb to your tired state, only that you do, somewhere between his fingers brushing softly up and down your spine, and the weight of his arm slung protectively across your waist. You both fall asleep relatively quickly after such a big day. Between concert prep, the show itself, and everything you’ve shared for the past few hours, you’re both completely exhausted.
He whispers something against your hair just before sleep claims him, though you’re not sure what it is; only that it was full of love for you, and you can only hope and pray that one day, he will be able to fathom even a quarter of the love that you harbor for him. You nuzzle into him, your back to his front, and you allow your eyelids to flutter closed, and sleep takes you not long after.
@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken @wormm-mom @lynzeequitlollygagging @blackcherrywhiskey here you go! Let me know if you'd like to be added here :)
Synopsis: The line between Vessel's private life and the stage begins to blur as his feelings grow harder to ignore. While he keeps finding his way back to her, she begins to wonder why he just can't say the three words she longs to hear
Word Count: 7,9k
Warnings: Slight deprecative thoughts, SMUT: oral sex with female receiving
A/N: I had to divide this chapter in two parts because it was going to be too long. Anyway, the next part is 🔥Hope you enjoy the reading ;)
SERIES MASTERLIST
“Fifteen minutes.”
Vessel heard the call from the corridor just as Anna, his PA, pushed the dressing room door open, a small envelope in her hands.
He was finishing getting dressed, adjusting the layers of green fabric over his body. The mask sat on the vanity in front of him, silent. Expectant.
“The flight leaves at 2 a.m. local time,” Anna said as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her with her foot. “You should land in London around 3. A car will be waiting at the airport to take you home.”
Her voice was calm, professional, but there was a thread of concern in it she couldn’t quite hide.
Anna was in her early forties. She had been recommended by his producer to help manage his personal logistics, and since then, she had made his life infinitely easier.
Still, this decision, no one in management had liked it.
Not even her.
But Vessel couldn’t go through six shows in Germany without seeing you first. And that truth had become more undeniable with each passing day.
He couldn’t lie to himself anymore. Not about how involved he was. Not when people around him had started noticing - the way he would glance down at his phone and smile without realising it, the way his entire mood shifted whenever your name lit up the screen.
And you texted constantly.
That had been the easiest promise he had ever made.
Since the last time he had seen you, everything had felt… clearer. Lighter. There was no longer any need to hide. No reason to disappear into silence.
But messages weren’t enough.
“I'm putting the ticket in your bag,” Anna said, already moving toward the chair near the vanity where his backpack rested.
She slipped the envelope inside with efficient movements.
“Marc isn’t happy about this.”
Vessel let out a quiet snort. He could have said that his tour manager was never paid to be happy, but he kept that to himself. No need to drag Anna into that.
She looked at him then.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, hesitation flickering in her eyes. For a second, it seemed like she might hold back, but she didn’t.
“Just promise me you won’t drink too much,” she said. “Or overdo anything else. You have six shows ahead before the next break and it won't be a break because you'll be recording.”
He smirked faintly as he reached for the mask, lifting it from the vanity and securing it into place. The familiar weight settled over his face as he adjusted the hood of his cloak over his head.
“A few glasses of wine won’t hurt.”
“Ves…”
Something in the way she said his name made his heart skip. For a brief, disorienting second, her voice echoed yours.
God, he missed you.
“Anna, I’ll take care of myself. I always do. Don’t worry.”
She pressed her lips together again, clearly holding back more words, before letting out a quiet breath.
“Ten minutes,” she said instead. “The others are ready.”
She paused at the door.
“Your return flight leaves at 7 a.m. from London on Wednesday. You’ll be in Berlin by 10.”
He nodded.
Two days. He had stolen two days just to be with you.
“Thank you, Anna.”
“Have a good show.”
He watched her leave, the door clicking shut behind her, and for a moment the room felt quieter. Still.
He reached for his bag and pulled out his phone.
Three messages. None from you.
The last thing you had sent was a heart-eyes emoji after he told you earlier that he was already sorting everything out to come back to you.
His thumb hovered for only a second before he tapped your name and started typing. The black paint on his fingers smudged faintly against the screen.
I’ll be there at 3 a.m. Wait for me wearing that black lingerie you told me you bought.
He didn’t even realise he was smiling until your reply came almost instantly.
Anything my god commands.
A smirk pulled at his lips.
And what if it’s the man who needs you tonight?
Even as he sent it, he felt faintly ridiculous. But it was true. He had spent the entire week behind the mask. He couldn’t wait to take it off. To be in your arms as himself.
Your reply took a minute, but when it came, it made something warm bloom in his chest.
Then he’ll have all of me. Tonight and every night after.
A quiet, helpless smile spread across his face.
“Come on, Ves. Let’s go.”
II’s voice broke through, pulling him out of the small, fragile bubble he had built around himself.
Need to go. See you later.
He typed the message quickly, then shoved the phone back into his bag.
The corridor outside was already alive with movement - crew members passing by, the low hum of the crowd from the anticipation before the show.
“Heading home tonight?
II asked as they walked side by side toward the stage entrance. III, IV and the girls coming right behind.
Behind them, Jim hurried to catch up, carrying the in-ear monitors and wireless packs. He stepped in close to Vessel, hands practiced and precise as he clipped the small transmitter pack securely at the back of his waistband, threading the cable carefully beneath the layers of fabric. He adjusted the wire along Vessel’s back, guiding it up and over his shoulder before placing the in-ear pieces into his ears, making sure they sat properly.
A quick tap. A nod. All set.
“Yeah,” Vessel replied simply.
II let out a quiet laugh, one that said he understood.
Even if he didn’t entirely agree.
“You’re helpless, my friend.”
Vessel didn’t answer because there was no point denying it. That was exactly how he felt. And more importantly, he didn’t want it to change.
Not anymore.
...
You had taken a ridiculous amount of time getting ready for him.
The night was particularly cold, so you chose practicality first - boots, a heavy coat, a thick scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. But beneath that careful armour, hidden from the world, was a soft pink dress and the black lingerie you had bought with him in mind.
You caught your reflection one last time before leaving, fingers briefly smoothing the fabric at your waist, a quiet anticipation settling somewhere deep in your chest.
You took a taxi to the hotel around 10 p.m., fully aware he wouldn’t arrive until the early hours of the morning. Still, waiting there felt better than waiting at home.
And this, too, was a first.
You never arrived before him, but now that the mask was no longer a barrier, there was no reason for him to always be the one waiting first.
The drive from your flat to the hotel was quiet, the city unusually subdued. Most people had already retreated indoors, surrendering to the slow heaviness of Sunday night, the familiar weight of the week ahead pressing gently against them.
But not you.
Irresponsible or not, you had asked your headmaster for two days off. Family matters, you had said. You told the story of your father’s Alzheimer’s - carefully, convincingly, every tragic detail placed exactly where it needed to be. You hadn’t even felt guilty. Not when Mr Johanson’s expression softened, not when he nodded without hesitation, unable to deny you time with a man who, according to your words, was forgetting you more with each passing day.
The truth was…
You hadn’t seen your father since that last disastrous visit to your mother’s house months a go. Every time she asked you to come back, you found an excuse.And your sister hadn’t called or messaged since that afternoon at the neurologist’s office.
You told yourself this was a break. A holiday from problems you weren’t ready to face. A well-deserved one.
When you arrived at the hotel, the reception area was quiet. Soft music played in the background, low and unobtrusive, blending with the muted hum of distant conversation somewhere deeper in the building.
There was no receptionist at the desk, instead, the concierge stepped forward to greet you, already recognising you. He always did.
He knew exactly which room you would be staying in.
Always the same one.
You had no idea how Ves managed that.
“I’m afraid the gentleman hasn’t arrived yet,” he said politely, though there was a faint curiosity behind his words - an awareness of the broken pattern.
“He’ll arrive later,” you replied simply.
The concierge smiled, nodding as he typed something quickly into the computer.
“Any special requests for room service?” he asked, his tone attentive, almost warm.
You bit your lip thoughtfully.
“Do you deliver room service late at night? I mean... very late. He won’t arrive before three, and he’ll be starving.”
The concierge paused for a moment, considering.
“I’m certain I can arrange something with the kitchen,” he said. “If I may recommend, the filet with mushroom sauce is exceptional tonight.”
You smiled, touched by the care he put into even the smallest details, even knowing Ves likely paid a small fortune for that level of attention.
“I’ll take it. Dinner for two and a bottle of your best wine.”
He nodded with a satisfied smile.
“I’ll select it personally.”
He handed you the room key.
“Dessert?”
The corner of your lips lifted slightly as you thought of what Ves would say.
“An extra-large bar of Snickers… and something with chocolate for me. I’ll trust your recommendation.”
That earned you a pleased expression.
“Chocolate mousse with red berry coulis, then.”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll have everything arranged. Shall I schedule room service for…”
“He lands at three… so three-thirty?” you said, a little unsure.
“Very well,” he replied smoothly. “As always, welcome to the Wetherby. I hope your stay is a pleasant one.”
It will be, you thought. But you only smiled politely and thanked him before heading upstairs.
The room welcomed you with the familiar scent of clean linen and something warmer beneath it. Subtle, comforting. You switched on the amber lights, and the space immediately softened, wrapping around you in a quiet, intimate glow.
You placed your bag on the armchair beside the bed, draping your coat and scarf over it. Your boots came off with a quiet thud, and then you let yourself fall back onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you.
10:40 p.m.
At least five hours until Ves arrived.
You reached for your phone almost without thinking.
Instagram. Within seconds, your feed flooded with videos from tonight’s show in Zurich.
God, he looked beautiful. As always.
There was something undeniably divine about him on stage. Something he carried so effortlessly, as if it were simply part of him.
And yet… He was also so young. So soft.
Not in a negative way. Not at all, but you were still trying to understand how you felt seeing him without the mask.
It wasn’t about beauty. Ves was just as beautiful as you had imagined. Just… different. And somehow, that difference suited him perfectly.
You couldn’t quite explain it.
Maybe it was the age.
Your heart didn’t care about that, not really. But your mind kept circling it, trying to make sense of the way it broke a pattern you had always followed. You had only ever been with older men.
And Ves... He was younger than you. And he looked younger. And that unsettled you in ways you were still trying to name.
But as you kept scrolling, watching video after video of him on that stage, all of that faded into the background, because what you felt was something else entirely. Something stronger.
A deep, overwhelming affection.
And a quiet, almost disbelieving sense of pride that out of thousands, you were the one he had chosen to reveal himself to. Completely.
...
Vessel landed in London at 3 a.m.
The night air hit him the moment he stepped off the plane. Cold, damp, familiar. He reached into his carry-on and pulled out the black hoodie crumpled inside, tugging it over his head without much thought. The fabric settled around him, and he pulled the hood up out of habit, more instinct than necessity.
His backpack went over his shoulders as he joined the slow-moving line of passengers, the shuffle toward the exit feeling far too sluggish for his liking.
He waited for his luggage with visible impatience, eyes flicking between the conveyor belt and his phone, jaw tightening slightly each time another unfamiliar suitcase passed by.
Finally his suitcase, his bag. The guitar case followed shortly after, heavier, familiar in his grip. He didn’t waste time.
Outside, the cold bit a little sharper, the air thick with that unmistakable London humidity. The car Anna had arranged was already waiting. He approached it, nodding briefly to the driver, who stepped out to help load the luggage into the boot with practiced efficiency.
“Hampstead, right?” the driver asked once they were both inside.
“Wetherby,” Vessel replied, not offering further explanation as he leaned back into the seat, already looking down at his phone again.
No new messages. The last thing you had sent was a simple one, wishing him a good show.
“The hotel?” the driver clarified.
He gave a distracted hum of confirmation, eyes never leaving the screen.
The show had been good. As good as it could be.
The crowd had carried it, like they always did. When the exhaustion of touring started creeping in, when the repetition threatened to dull everything, he focused on them.
He knew what it felt like to stand in a crowd like that. To look up at a stage and feel something shift inside you. That was why he pushed through the fatigue. Through the monotony. Through the pressure.
They deserved it. Their devotion - It was everything he had ever wanted. And now that he had it, he had to be worthy of it.
But sometimes... It was heavy.
The schedule. The travel. Marc’s constant demands. Anna’s quiet concern. The label pushing, always pushing, asking what came next.
He had just given them a whole fucking album. Barely a year ago. And they were already reaching out again, asking what he had in mind, what direction he was taking next.
Fuck them. That wasn’t how his mind worked. Even if he had to admit that he hadn’t stopped writing. For months now. But most of it didn’t fit. Not within the lore. Not within anything structured.
He spent hours at the piano, just… unloading. Fragments. Feelings. Lines that barely made sense, even to him.
It reminded him of when he was younger. Before any of this. Before it meant anything.
The drive to the hotel was quick and quiet. London never truly slept, but at that hour, early Monday morning, the streets were subdued. Dim streetlights reflected off wet pavement, the city wrapped in a cold, restless stillness.
He rested his head against the window and closed his eyes for a moment. He had slept on the plane. But it wasn’t enough. The exhaustion clung to him the second the adrenaline from the show began to fade.
By the time the car pulled up in front of the hotel, he felt it settling deep into his bones.
The driver stepped out, retrieving the luggage, and a porter approached with a trolley - a polished metal cart that rattled softly as it rolled closer. The man greeted him quietly and began loading the suitcases with efficient care, lifting the guitar case last and securing it carefully along the side.
“Shall I pick you up from Hampstead on Wednesday?” the driver asked.
Vessel nodded. “Yes.”
He turned to the porter.
“Could you take these up to 312 for me, please? I’m heading up now. If you don’t mind waiting at reception.”
The porter nodded immediately.
“Of course, sir.”
Vessel reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing over a few notes. The man accepted them with a grateful nod.
Check-in was quick. Routine. He moved through it almost absent-mindedly, already focused on something else entirely. On you.
The lift ride felt longer than it should have.
When he reached the door, he opened it as quietly as he could, careful not to let it click too loudly. The porter followed his lead, wheeling the trolley inside and placing the luggage just past the entrance before offering a polite farewell and slipping out just as quietly.
The room welcomed him instantly. Linen. Polished wood. And you. Your scent lingered in the air - sweet soft, warm, unmistakably yours.
His heart stuttered.
The lights were mostly off, save for the soft glow of a bedside lamp on your side of the bed, casting a dim amber light across the room.
He set his backpack down slowly.
And then he saw you. Asleep.
He lingered there, unmoving. He did that often, more than he liked to admit. Watching you sleep. But tonight... You weren’t dressed like someone who had simply fallen asleep.
You were dressed for him.
A soft pink dress he had never seen before clung gently to your body, the fabric slightly displaced from where you had shifted in your sleep. It had ridden up just enough to reveal a glimpse of the black lace beneath - the lingerie you had bought with him in mind. Your hair was spread across the pillow, curls still perfectly shaped, betraying the time and care you had put into them.
He found himself smiling. Just standing there. Looking at you. And suddenly it made perfect sense. Why he had come. Why he had ignored every objection. Why he couldn’t stay away.
He needed to see you. To be with you. It felt almost physical.
The same pull he had felt that night he brought you backstage. No logic. Just need. As if something inside him was tethered to you, something invisible, constant. As if his body knew yours. As if it needed yours.
He exhaled quietly, running a hand through his hair pushing the hood down.
He decided he wouldn’t wake you. Not yet. He would shower first, but then the sharp, sudden ring of the room service bell cut through the silence, far too loud in the stillness of the room.
He flinched slightly at the sound. But you, you barely stirred. You shifted onto your back, pulling a pillow into your arms, hugging it tightly as a soft, heavy sigh left you, still deep in sleep.
A quiet laugh slipped from him.
He moved to the door and opened it, not expecting anything, and was immediately met by the concierge himself, pushing a trolley inside.
“Good evening,” the man greeted politely. “Or rather, good morning. The young lady requested that dinner be served upon the gentleman’s arrival. I personally selected the wine, as she asked. I do hope everything is to your satisfaction.”
Vessel glanced at the trolley, momentarily caught off guard. Then he saw it. The oversized Snickers bar. Sitting neatly beside a smaller covered dish.
A smile tugged at his lips.
Of course.
He reached for his wallet out of instinct, but the concierge stopped him with a polite gesture.
“There’s no need. Please, enjoy your meal, and your stay.”
Vessel gave a small nod, watching the man leave before gently pushing the trolley further into the room.
He lifted the cloche out of curiosity. The aroma hit him instantly - filet with mushroom sauce, rice, vegetables, mashed potatoes.
His stomach growled. And at the same time, something softer settled in his chest.
You had thought of everything. You knew he hadn’t eaten properly all day. You made sure the food would arrive at the right time. You remembered the bloody Snickers. You always remembered.
He dragged a hand down his face, suddenly overwhelmed in a way he hadn’t expected. Then he turned toward the bathroom. Quick steps.
He needed a shower. He still smelled like the stage, sweat, smoke, paint still clinging faintly to his skin. He needed to wash it all off and then he could finally have you in his arms again.
...
You woke to the sound of the word you loved most in the world.
“Sugar.”
It came softly, barely above a whisper, paired with the gentle brush of fingers against your cheek.
Your eyes felt heavy, sleep still clinging stubbornly to you as you slowly surfaced. The low light of the room greeted you first, warm and familiar, before your gaze finally settled on the person leaning over you.
For a split second, your mind faltered.
No mask.
Just his face.
Still something you were getting used to.
You stared, brows faintly knitting together, your expression caught somewhere between confusion and recognition. Until he spoke again.
“Hey, it’s me.”
His thumb pressed a little more firmly against your cheek, grounding. And it clicked. His voice. His presence. Him.
Vessel.
“Hey…” Your voice came out low, rough with sleep, but you were fully awake now.
He was sitting at the edge of the bed, dressed in grey sweatpants and a white long-sleeved T-shirt. It still felt strange seeing him like that. So normal. You had only seen him like this once before, and your mind was still adjusting to the absence of the cloak… and especially the mask.
He smiled at you, a little shy, as if he somehow knew exactly what you were thinking. Then he tilted his head slightly, gesturing behind him toward the table.
“I was surprised by the concierge himself bringing our dinner in the middle of the night. Did you do that?”
Heat rushed to your cheeks immediately as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position. He let you move, but he didn’t shift away, not even an inch.
“I figured you’d be hungry,” you said, nodding lightly. Your voice was still soft, but sleep no longer clung to it. A shy smile played on your lips. “You never eat properly on show days, so I thought…”
You trailed off, suddenly unsure if you had overdone it, but he smiled again, like he always did when he seemed to read your thoughts before you could voice them.
“I’m starving, actually. You know me so well, darling.”
He leaned in, and you instinctively expected a kiss, but instead, he rested his forehead against yours.
And stayed there.
Eyes closed. Breathing slow. Steady. As if he was absorbing you. You breathed him in in return.
That same scent, neroli. Fresh, soft, unmistakably his. You had never asked what cologne he used, and somehow it felt like you never would. It didn’t feel like something that belonged to the world.
It belonged to him.
He inhaled deeply before finally finding your lips.
The kiss was soft. Gentle. Just a brush of lips, barely there, but enough to make you want more.
But he pulled away.
His fingers slid from your cheek to the golden charm resting against your collarbone. His touch lingered there, and you watched his expression shift - lost in his own thoughts for a moment. Then he looked back at you, smiled and pulled you into him again.
This kiss was different. Deeper. Hungrier.
His lips pressed into yours with quiet urgency, and you melted into it instantly, arms lifting to wrap around his shoulders as you pulled him closer. A soft sound slipped from your throat, swallowed by his mouth as his hands moved along your arms, warm and firm, grounding you in him.
His fingers trailed down, brushing over your sides before one hand stilled briefly against your breast, then squeezed. Just enough pressure to make your breath catch.
Then he stopped.
He pulled back with a small, almost bashful smile and sat properly beside you again.
“Our food’s going to get cold,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice.
You nodded, still catching your breath as you watched him stand and extend his hand toward you. You took it. And just like that, the moment softened.
You both devoured the food. Neither of you had eaten properly - he from the show, you from waiting for him. The meal was as perfect as everything else in that hotel always seemed to be.
“I know I’ll be exhausted on Wednesday,” he admitted at some point, “but I couldn’t go to Berlin without seeing you.”
Your chest tightened. He kept saying things like that.
Since he had abandoned the silence between you, he had been honest about missing you. And yet… That was all. He never said the three words your anxious mind longed for.
And you... You said them way too much. All the time. Because for you, they were real. You just wished they were real for him too.
“I hate the idea of you being so far away,” you said quietly. “Doing those shows for all those people… I…”
You couldn’t finish.
“What?” he teased lightly. “Get jealous?”
That small, knowing smile tugged at his lips, and heat rushed to your face again.
“It’s just… I’m not stupid. I know how your world works. The shows, the travelling… I’ve been following the tour from the outside until now. I just never knew what it felt like to be this close.”
You gestured faintly between the two of you, then set your fork and knife down and reached for your wine, taking a long sip.
He took his last bite, chewing slowly, as if buying himself time to think. Then he wiped his lips with the napkin and took a sip of wine.
“The next fifteen days are tight. Two weeks in Germany. Six shows. Berlin, Frankfurt, Stuttgart, then Munich".
You nodded. You already knew.
Silence settled again and he noticed.
“After that, we go home. Or almost. A few days in Birmingham to try and work on something new.”
That caught your attention immediately. but he cut it off just as quickly.
“You know I can’t reveal anything, Sugar. Not even to you.”
You sighed, frustrated, and he pretended not to notice.
“From there, Lyon, then Lille, and finally two shows in Paris.”
He smiled faintly, already looking tired just thinking about it.
“Then a well deserved vacation. Finally.”
You tried to smile back, but the thought of so many days without him settled heavy in your chest.
Your fingers instinctively found the golden charm at your neck, fidgeting with it - trying to ground yourself in something real.
“And where do I exist in that?” you asked quietly.
Not accusing. Just honest.
Then immediately “I’m sorry. What right do I have to ask that?”
He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched. Then he reached across the table, hand open. You took it. His fingers closed around yours, squeezing gently.
“Look at me.”
You hesitated, but obeyed.
“You have every right to ask,” he said. “I gave you that right when I made you mine.”
Your heart jumped at the choice of words.
“And the honest, practical answer is... between shows. Between cities. In the moments that don’t belong to the band… that’s where you fit.”
You nodded slowly. It made sense. But your heart still wavered.
“They didn’t want me here. But I came anyway, didn’t I?”
You smiled faintly.
“You didn’t ask me to do it. I just did.”
“I’m going to miss you,” you said softly. Your fingers released the charm. You let go of his hand and stood, gathering the plates, needing something to do, something to ease the weight in your chest.
He watched you quietly. He knew exactly what you were doing.
You placed everything back on the trolley, then picked up both desserts and returned to the table. The anxiety still lingered, pushing you to take the first bite of your chocolate mousse almost too quickly.
A soft hum escaped you immediately.
Ves let out a quiet laugh, unwrapping his Snickers and taking a bite.
“We’ve gone longer than fifteen days before,” he pointed out.
“But that was before…” you said, trailing off.
He nodded, thoughtful, taking another bite.
“I’ll be in London after the Munich show. I’ll have two days off before meeting the guys in Birmingham.”
Your brows pulled together instantly.
“Ves… that’s a lot of travelling. You’ll barely rest.”
“I know.” He shrugged lightly. “I’ll regret it the next day.”
That made you laugh softly, your fingers instinctively reaching for his across the table.
You took another bite of your mousse, then nudged the plate toward him.
“You need to try this.”
He chuckled, giving in, and you watched as he took a bite.
An exaggerated hum followed.
“Delicious. But not as good as this,” he said, placing the half-eaten Snickers in your hand.
You smiled and took a small bite.
“You’re going to be exhausted,” you said, handing it back and reclaiming your dessert.
“Probably,” he agreed, absent-mindedly nibbling again. “But I want that night with you.”
You swallowed, your heart doing that familiar, aching leap.
“Well… we could alternate. I could come to you sometimes instead. It’s about time we switched hotels,” you said lightly. But you meant it.
He smiled, genuinely.
“You’d do that? What about school?”
He paused, thinking.
“Sugar… don’t you work tomorrow?”
You shrugged.
“I can negotiate. Pick up some afternoon shifts in exchange for a couple of days off each month. It’s doable.” You smirked slightly. “I’m not working tomorrow. Or Tuesday. How could I?”
“Sugar…” There was a hint of reprimand in his tone, but no real resistance.
“It’s fine. I got two days off from my headmaster. I couldn't go to work and leave you here.”
He nodded, smiling in a way that said far more than any version of those three words you were waiting for.
Then he sighed softly.
“I think we’re both helpless, Sugar.”
You nodded.
“I know I am. Always have been. That voice of yours is to blame. Caught me like a spider’s web.”
He let out a low chuckle, and the sound sent a soft shiver through your skin.
Every night with him, you discovered something new you loved. Small things. Normal things. The sound of his laugh. The way his eyes softened when he looked at you like he was doing now.
“Only my voice?” he teased. “Nothing to do with the way I leave you spent after loving you?”
His voice dropped, laced with quiet mischief.
You smiled.
“Yeah… maybe that too. But I’m pretty sure the voice is what got me into that awful backstage room in the first place.”
He shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him.
“I don’t know what came over me.”
A pause.
“But I’m glad I did.”
“Me too,” you said softly.
The silence that stretched between you as you finished your dessert wasn’t comfortable at all. Quite the opposite, it was heavy, saturated with meaning, with everything you wanted to say but chose to swallow instead.
You were afraid.
Afraid that the distance would make him rethink whatever this was between you. Afraid he would meet someone else on tour. Afraid that time apart would dull whatever pull he felt toward you - break the fragile, intoxicating spell you both seemed caught in.
But how could you possibly say any of that out loud?
You couldn’t. Not without sounding insecure. Needy. Fragile in ways you refused to show him.
So you stayed quiet, choosing the sweetness of your dessert over the bitterness of your own thoughts. And all the while, he watched you.
He always did.
Before, the mask had shielded him, offering that calm, almost impassive expression no matter what storm brewed underneath. But now… now there was nothing between you.
No barrier. No distance. You could see everything.
The way his eyes stayed fixed on you, attentive and searching. The slight crease that formed between his brows when something caught his attention. The way his gaze softened, like it was now, or darkened with something deeper, heavier.
It was unbearably intimate. The way Vessel looked at you.
Eventually, you finished your dessert and stood, gathering the plate and the empty wine glasses. You could feel his gaze following your every movement, and when you turned slightly, you saw him gesture for you to come closer.
“Come here.”
His voice was soft, low, but threaded with that quiet authority you had learned to crave.
You set the dishes down on the cart and obeyed without hesitation, letting him pull you in. He shifted in the chair, turning sideways as he guided you onto his lap, settling you facing him.
Your eyes locked instantly.
“I know the idea of us being apart for so many days doesn’t please you…”
His fingers closed gently around your chin just as you tried to look away, guiding your gaze back to his.
“But I promise we’ll talk every day. I kept my promise this time, didn’t I?”
You exhaled softly, nodding. He had. Every single day, sometimes for hours. Texts that filled the gaps just enough to make the distance bearable.
“I’ll have a few free days between shows in Germany. Not enough to come home. Or my team will kill me. But we can video call. What do you think?”
You nodded again, a little more eagerly this time. It helped. The effort he was making, it mattered more than you wanted to admit.
And somehow… that made everything harder.
Because he was invested. You could feel it. See it.
So why wouldn’t he just say it? Why wouldn’t he say what you were so desperate to hear?
Your hand rose to his face, cupping his cheek while the other slid into his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. You scratched lightly at his scalp, slow and deliberate.
His eyes fluttered shut.
A quiet inhale left him, followed by a slow exhale, his body melting into your touch for a brief, unguarded second.
That’s when you noticed it. The exhaustion. The faint shadows beneath his eyes. The subtle heaviness in the way he held himself. The accumulation of sleepless nights, travel, pressure, it was all there, hidden just beneath the surface.
Your chest tightened.
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, then to his eyelids, slow and gentle. Your finger traced the line of his neck, feather-light, and a low hum slipped from his throat - unfiltered, instinctive.
Something inside you stirred. Warm. Hungry.
He let you care for him like that for a long moment… then his eyes opened again.
Different now.
His hand tightened around your thigh, fingers pressing into the flesh as his other hand slid up your waist and settled around your throat, not harsh, just firm. Present. Intense.
Your breath caught.
And then he pulled you into him.
The kiss hit deeper this time, urgent, consuming. His lips moved against yours with a quiet hunger, parting them, claiming space. You melted into it instantly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer as if that alone could close the distance you feared so much.
His hand on your thigh tightened, dragging you down against him, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up - your hips shifting, pressing.
You felt him.
Hard. Solid. Right against your core.
A soft, broken whimper escaped you, swallowed immediately by his mouth as he deepened the kiss again and again, stealing every sound, every breath, until your lungs burned and your thoughts scattered completely.
“I missed you,” he breathed against your lips, his voice rough with want. His grip at your throat tightened just slightly, punctuating every word.
“All those people tonight… and all I could do was yearn for your embrace. For your kisses.”
A quiet moan slipped from you as your hips moved again, slower this time, deliberate.
He moaned and your fingers tangled deeper into his hair, tugging just enough to earn a sharp inhale from him.
“I’m helpless, Y/n,” he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. “I can’t think of a life where you’re not a part of it. Every line of every song I sing now has a different meaning… and it’s all for you.”
Your heart stuttered violently in your chest. And he noticed. Of course he did. He always did.
His hand slid from your throat down to your chest, fingers brushing over the small golden charm resting against your skin. He covered it with his palm, pressing it lightly against you, as if grounding himself there.
His eyes closed again. Feeling.
Then he smiled. Soft, certain.
“Tell me it’s because of me your heart is beating like this, Sugar,” he whispered. “Tell me how I make you feel. Tell me you’re mine. Tell me.”
Your breath hitched sharply, your entire body trembling under the weight of him - of his voice, his touch, the way he needed to hear it.
And you gave in. You always did.
"Of course it's because of you. I love you, Ves,” you whispered, the words spilling out like something sacred. “I’ve loved you since day one… and I’m irrevocably yours.”
He stilled. Completely. Then he claimed it.
Eyes closing again as if he was absorbing every syllable, every ounce of devotion you offered him, letting it sink deep into something that had been starving for it.
...
Vessel had no control over the way you made him feel. He had lost that control a long time ago, and now he wasn’t even sure he wanted it back.
Hearing you say how much you loved him was always overwhelming, because it touched the most fragile part of him. The part that had always feared rejection. The part that had always felt like it wasn’t enough.
And now you were saying those things to him.
Not to the mask.
He couldn’t fully process it yet, not consciously, but his body responded the way it always did when emotion outweighed reason: with intensity.
He didn’t think, he just moved.
In one swift motion, he stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. A surprised sound from you spilled into his mouth as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your legs locked around his waist. He barely noticed the distance between the table and the bed as he crossed it in a few quick steps.
Your lips never parted.
He laid you down gently against the mattress and pulled away just long enough to grab the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. He tossed it somewhere onto the floor without looking, already climbing back over you.
His body covered yours easily. And God, he loved that. The way you looked so small beneath him. The way you reached for him instantly.
Your hands found his arms, pulling him closer, your head lifting from the mattress as you chased his mouth again with that same delicious urgency.
He let you kiss him for a moment. Then he caught your wrists and pinned them firmly beside your head, his lips leaving yours to trail down your neck instead. Soft kisses brushed over your skin, slow and deliberate, before he nipped lightly at your earlobe.
You gasped.
He smiled against you, dragging his tongue along the hollow of your ear, savoring the way your skin prickled under him.
He inhaled deeply. Your scent flooding his senses. Grounding and intoxicating all at once. His cock throbbed painfully against the fabric of his pants.
“Ves…”
Your voice reached him like a caress - soft, breathless. Just his name.
But he knew. He always knew.
He kissed you again, briefly, before letting his hands wander - down your arms, over your sides, up to your breast. The soft fabric of your dress did nothing to hide the way your nipples hardened under his touch.
A quiet, satisfied smile tugged at his lips.
His hand slipped beneath the fabric, tugging it down just enough to free one breast. His thumb rolled over the sensitive bud, watching your body react, watching you shiver beneath him.
He didn’t hold back.
He lowered his mouth, taking you in, sucking slowly at first, then deeper, stronger. Your hand immediately tangled into his hair, gripping, and his entire body reacted to it.
He couldn’t explain it. He just knew he was addicted to you in his mouth. It was a need. But when you whimpered his name, writhing beneath him, he forced himself to pull away, reluctantly.
“What is it, darling?” he murmured, lifting your chin so you had to look at him. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” you answered immediately. “Inside me.”
Another pulse of heat shot through him.
Fuck. You were dangerous.
Addictive. Like sugar.
A soft chuckle left him, but he shook his head.
“Not before I make you come on my mouth first.”
Your breath caught, and his smile deepened, pleased.
He loved this - watching your body betray you, the way your thighs pressed together whenever he said anything even remotely filthy.
He wasn’t oblivious to the effect his voice had on you.
It hadn’t been intentional, but months of silence, broken now, had built something almost sacred between you and the sound of him. And now he used it. Freely. Watching you unravel for him, just from his words, from the way they sounded coming out of his mouth. That was power right there. And he couldn’t resist it.
His hands slid down your hips, catching the hem of your dress and pushing it upward slowly, peeling it from your body with care until it slipped over your head. The black lace you bought for him waiting.
Beautiful. But not overtly revealing. Not crude. It was intimate. Soft. Almost romantic. Perfect.
He leaned down and bit lightly at your breast through the lace before his fingers found the clasp at your back, undoing it with practiced ease. He slipped the straps from your shoulders and tossed the bra aside somewhere on the bed, already moving again, kissing down your neck, your shoulder, your chest… Every inch of you worshipped by his mouth.
His tongue traced your stomach, dipping into your navel briefly before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear.
He pulled them down slowly, and you lifted your hips instantly. Eager. Desperate.
His heart pounded hard against his ribs, his breath just as uneven as yours. He had barely touched you and already you were both undone by the sheer force of it.
Whatever had pulled him to you that first night… it hadn’t weakened. It had grown stronger. Deeper. Impossible to ignore.
He slid the lace down your legs, over your feet, and couldn’t stop himself from bringing the fabric to his face. He inhaled deeply, your scent hitting him all at once, and his body reacted immediately, a sharp pulse of need.
God.
He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you down toward him, spreading you open exactly how he wanted you.
One quick glance up at you... then he dove in.
You fell back against the sheets, your breath already uneven, your body responding before he even did anything.
His tongue moved first - slow, deliberate. A long, deep lick, just tasting you.
It was enough. Your fingers tangled into his hair immediately, pulling a low, approving hum from his throat.
He did it again. Then he brought two fingers to his mouth, wetting them before glancing at you briefly, just to see your reaction, before sliding them inside you.
Fuck… You were so wet. Always so ready for him.
His fingers curled just right, deep and precise, finding that sensitive spot inside you that made you break. Your sounds grew louder when his mouth joined his fingers again.
He would never understand men who didn’t enjoy this. For him, there was nothing better than having you like this - your taste on his tongue, your body reacting beneath him, your thighs tightening around his head as he sucked harder at your clit.
The way you moaned. The way you pulled his hair.
“S-shit…”
Your voice was barely a whisper, your whole body trembling under his hands and mouth. But he didn’t rush. He never rushed.
He built you up, then eased back, dragging it out, stretching every second, playing with you.
He liked hearing you whine.
He liked watching your body shake, needing him.
It was intoxicating, the way you always obeyed, like your world revolved around him.
He wasn’t easy to please. But he was dangerously close to coming just from this if he let himself.
Your back arched when he sucked harder on your clit, keeping it between his lips, nursing it like he needed it to breathe. Your hips lifted instinctively, searching, pressing.
Heat pooled low in your body, spilling over his fingers.
Impossible not to drink you in.
God, he was addicted.
He drove his fingers into you again, curling them just right, hitting that spot that made you cry out - and when you did, he praised you.
“Such a perfect girl for me,” he murmured. “Come on, sugar… show me how good I’m making you feel.”
His tongue worked slowly, deliberately. Long strokes before flicking over your clit again, alternating with soft, teasing sucks.
He took his time. He always did.
But the way your thighs trembled around him, the way your breath broke, the way your whole body tightened... he could see it. You were close.
“S-shit, Ves… gonna make me come, love. Please. I am so close.”
Already. He had barely started and you were begging.
He loved that. More than he should.
He hummed in approval and didn’t slow down. If anything, he intensified it. His mouth tightened around you, his fingers moving faster, perfectly, relentlessly.
Your grip on his hair tightened, hard enough to hurt, but it hurt so fucking good.
He groaned at the sensation, the sound vibrating against you and your body responded instantly.
“Oh my God... o-oh, Ves… yes…”
Your hips lifted off the bed, chasing what was already yours. Chasing him.
Your breath shattered. Your spine arched.
And then... You broke. Pleasure crashed through you, overwhelming and raw, your body soaking his fingers, your entire form trembling beneath him.
He knew. He felt it. He had undone you.
And he liked it.
When the wave faded, you collapsed back into the sheets, chest rising fast, fingers still tangled in his hair like you couldn’t let go.
He pulled back reluctantly, careful not to overstimulate you, then climbed up your body slowly, crawling over you without dropping his full weight.
He couldn’t help smiling at your expression.
Love. Satisfaction.
Worship.
“Hello you,” you teased, your voice still soft, rough. He loved that. The way you spoke to him as if he was your favorite person in the world.
And he was starting to believe it.
“Hmm… don’t tell me I ruined you already,” he teased, brushing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.
Something about what he said, and the way you reached up to wipe the mess from his face, made you smile proudly.
“Mine,” you whispered.
His heart stumbled.
You kissed him again, soft, lazy, lingering.
Your fingers slid back into his hair, tugging lightly - as if to prove it. To claim him.
And how could he deny it? He had felt like that for months already.
“Yours,” he answered with a low groan, giving in completely as he surrendered to your kisses.
I’d truly appreciate it if you left a like, a comment, and most importantly, a reblog. It really encourages me to keep writing.
pairing: husband!vessel x gn!reader (vessel is nonhuman/a deity)
word count: 5k
hello, my friends! i have been working on this piece for about a month now, on and off. i am so excited to finally share this with you all! please do consider listening to what i've listed above while you read this one, i think it makes the experience more immersive!! you can find it on spotify also!
sorry if there's any mistakes! i read this through a few times but i might have missed something!!
as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always so appreciated! please enjoy!
tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx, @astronoids, @winniethewife (if you would like to be added/removed from this list, or if i forgot you, dm me!)
You gasp for air as you awaken from your nightmare, your heart racing. Drenched in sweat, hair clinging to your forehead, struggling to breathe in the fit of your panic.
Sitting up in bed, there are two things on your mind.
One, the time. Your head turns to look at the clock on your bedside table. Two in the morning. You glance out one of the large glass windows in the master bedroom, noting the beautiful night sky and the summer winds blowing the curtains inward. If you listen closely, you think you can hear the sound of owls and other creatures making their usual music. It's beautiful, yet it does little to calm your panicked heartbeat.
Two, him. You glance down at the space beside you, worried that you may have woken your husband up during your vicious nightmare. Yet he lays beside you, his eyes shut. His breaths make his chest rise and fall, along with his typical body twitches; something you've grown rather used to.
The gold cracks on his skin glimmer when they hit the moonlight, as if he were the prettiest living piece of art in Arcadia. His hair — a dark chocolate kind of color — is splayed over the pillow. His mask is on his bedside table, leaving him exposed to you in a way not many others get to see. His scars and imperfections (if you could even call them that) lay bare before you, just like every night before this one.
The sight of him alone is enough to make you breathe a bit easier. Thank gods he didn't wake up; he needs his rest above all else. Being a deity with so much to do, it must be exhausting in a way you don't quite understand.
Not to mention, his peaceful presence proves that the dream you'd had was just that; a dream. He was safe, alive, nothing bad was happening to him. Sleep was not strangling him before your eyes, he was not dying, and you were not cursed to be alone. He does not hate you, he fills the space beside you like he was always meant to be there. Always meant to be yours.
After a few more deep breaths, you slowly slip yourself back under the covers, laying your head back on the satin pillow underneath you. You're laying a little closer to him, seeking his presence out as a form of comfort as you pray that sleep will return to you once more.
You're not too sure if it was by chance or he had woken up just a little, but he rolled over to face you, reaching one arm to rest over your torso. His eyelashes flutter against his skin, lips parted with deep breaths. He doesn't pull you closer, just lays his limb on top of you, and something about it makes your eyelids feel heavier.
It's a little strange how fast sleep catches up with you. Usually it takes much longer than this after your nightmares, at least an hour, yet within minutes you can't keep your eyes open. Within minutes, your body is heavy and exhausted. You snuggle yourself up closer to your husband, not catching the little smile that appears on his lips as you fall asleep.
You find yourself in the rain. It's a forest, and for a moment you wonder if you've sleepwalked into the Arcadian woods, but... this feels too... green? Arcadia is a rather pink place, but this forest reminds you of the ones back on Earth. Well, if the forests on Earth came straight from a storybook.
The rain is not overbearing, it's a soothing sort of rain that makes soft pattering noises against the leaves and nearby creeks. Birds chirp overhead and within the trees, singing a song that already makes you feel safer.
Taking a few steps forward, you look around the beautiful dream realm. The waters have an unnatural glimmer to them, there's a wide array of flowers covering the land, some of which you definitely do not know the name of.
A much larger bird, a black flamingo by the looks of it, makes its way over to you as if to say hello. It tilts its head down in a repetitive motion, and you glance down to see what it's looking at.
It's a big leaf with a long stem, leaning up against a bush. You pick it up, and register that it must be a makeshift umbrella. It reminds you of a game you'd introduced Vessel to, of his digital island and animal companions. Someone definitely left this for you, or this is some sort of lucid dream. It shields you from the raindrops, and the flamingo seems rather satisfied.
Perhaps someone left the flamingo for you, too.
It's only then that you hear it. In the far off distance mixed in with the beautiful sounds of nature, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone playing the piano.
The melody wraps around your mind like a ribbon. Any apprehension you had about this dream world vanishes in an instant. Vessel.
The tune he plays is one you've never heard before, but it fits so effortlessly with the sounds of nature. You begin to walk, to follow the music in search of your husband.
Notably, the flamingo is sticking by your side too. You lend some of your umbrella to it to shield it from the rain, too. It honks, presumably to say thanks.
The both of you travel through the trees, occasionally stopping to admire the beautiful scenery. Vines decorated in flowers, frogs on lily pads, butterflies that twirl around you and then fly off into the trees. Maybe even the birds that have discovered a little puddle and hop about within it.
Each time you stop, the flamingo never really looks at any of it, nor does it rush you in your content exploration. Instead, it looks at you, and the way it does almost seems... familiar somehow. As if you've hung the stars in the sky, as if you're more beautiful than anything here.
The piano playing is much closer now, and from here it sounds like it's echoing, like it's coming from inside of something. Maybe it's hidden? Vessel always did have a knack for adventure and making things exciting for you. Especially since Arcadia.
"I think I can make it the rest of the way on my own." You can hardly believe you're talking to a flamingo right now. It pauses to consider your words, and is perhaps about to respond before it sees something in the distance.
The flamingo seems more frantic and demanding suddenly, as it nudges its head against your arm and starts off more quickly in the opposite direction.
"What are you doing? The piano isn't coming from that way, it's—" A loud boom of thunder cuts you off. You look in the direction it came from, and your eyes widen.
A storm cloud is close by, too close for comfort. You can see the lighting crackle within it, and the wind is pushing it quickly in your direction. The cloud is almost black, and the closer it gets, the more the thunder sounds like screaming.
His screaming.
You think you can hear the flamingo honking at you, but it feels distant now. You can't bring yourself to look away from the cloud, and the screaming is getting louder.
For a moment, you're back there. Thick vines of thorns are tightening around Vessel's throat. All he can do is scream and gasp for air, and that monster, that Sleep, is laughing at you again.
"Go on, petal." He sneers, His voice dripping with venom. He spits out the term of endearment like it's poison."One word, and I'll make this all stop. You love your Vessel, don't you? Say it! Say it, I'll make it all end!"
You open your mouth, and no words come out. You can't make a sound, you can't even scream. You're running, you're trying to reach out to him, to your lover, but he's out of reach every time.
Vessel's expression twists from desperation to hatred, pure hatred. You won't even save him. You're leaving him to die. He screams, and it gets louder. And louder. And LOUDER—
You hit the ground, landing on the wet grass. The cold water soaked within it splashes into your skin like a wake up call. The umbrella lays beside you, and when you open your eyes to look...
...The flamingo is still here. Its head is bowed, and it seems ashamed or embarrassed. You open your mouth to ask what's wrong, but it seems to know what you're thinking.
It opens its beak and a sizable chunk of fabric from your shirt floats down onto your chest.
The way it bows its head in shame, in apology, also feels extremely familiar. It's on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't figure out what it is.
In any case, you reach up and pat its head. The flamingo must have pulled you out of the nightmare— literally. What a smart little creature... better yet, what a strong creature. How the hell did it manage that?
"It's alright, you didn't mean to do it." You reassure it, and it tilts his head at you. You can almost hear it, the really? Are you sure? "I'm not upset with you. Thank you for getting me out of that. You're a hero, aren't you?"
The flamingo stands up straighter, holding its head up in pride. It walks in a circle, flaps its wings, then leans down to lightly tap its beak against your nose. Looks like you've given the bird an ego boost.
With a bit of effort, you get back onto your feet, picking the leaf umbrella up again. You can see the tear in your shirt, but you're not too concerned. This is a dream, after all.
The two of you continue on your journey with a little detour to avoid getting trapped in the nightmare storm a second time. The further away you get from it, the more at ease you are.
Finally, you've made it. At least, you think you have. The piano is loud here, but it echoes all the same. Confused, you turn your head every which way, expecting maybe a cave, or maybe a waterfall with a secret grotto. Finding neither, your eyebrows furrow.
"You can hear it too, right?" You ask the flamingo. "Where's it coming from?"
The flamingo walks about ten feet away from you and then lowers its head. You cautiously follow, looking down to see what it's trying to show you.
There is... a giant hole in the ground. If you squint, there may be some light at the very end, but it looks like a long fall. However the flamingo does not steer you wrong; the piano is definitely coming from down there.
"How the hell am I supposed to get down..." You lift your head to speak to the flamingo... but it's gone. Like it had never been there in the first place. "...there."
You look around, a little disappointed that your friend had vanished. Yet there was no doubt in your mind; your husband was down in that giant hole in the ground. For what reason, you weren't quite sure, but he seemingly isn't distressed.
Left with no other option, you jump in, expecting this to be something swift and easy. However, falling down a hole is no less terrifying than in real life. You're screaming the entire way down, closing your eyes and bracing yourself to hit the ground hard.
You land on something soft instead. You're hesitant to open your eyes, to get up, to breathe. But once you muster up your courage, you find yourself in a bed of flowers, in all of your favorite colors.
Before you is the one person you've been searching for here, his eyes fixated on the piano as he plays. He is intensely focused, posture straight, lips parted— a little habit you'd noticed in him every time he was in deep concentration. Like how they'd been when he was asleep beside you.
He's dressed in his Arcadian attire, mask on, cloak damp from the rain. It's only in that moment that you focus on a little detail of his typical getup that you hadn't paid much mind to until now.
That cape he wears. Made up entirely of black feathers.
You almost forgot that he's technically in your head at the moment, but the big grin that appears on his face as the realization dawns on you is the perfect reminder. His fingers hit a few sour notes as he laughs. It's a beautiful sound, youthful in nature.
"You can't be serious." You raise an eyebrow at him, a smirk on your lips. "You have a flamingo form."
"I had to ensure you got here safely!" He turns to face you and his head bows in embarrassment — just like the fucking flamingo. That's where you've seen it before.
"Were you the flamingo, but also here playing the piano?"
"Yes. It's not a difficult thing honestly. The dream world is a fascinating place, is it not?" His fingers return to the keys, playing whatever tune comes to his mind.
"I was getting attached to that little guy!" You finally get up from the flower bed, moving to sit beside him on the piano bench.
"Well, I am relieved to know that you would still love me, even if I were a flamingo." Vessel leans over to press a kiss to your cheek. "And I am relieved that I was able to get you out of that nightmare. Are you alright? It looked... violent, to say the least."
"I..." You sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just glad it's not real. Did I wake you earlier?"
"Yes and no, if that makes any sense. You are my other half, petal. When you are in distress, I feel it like a sixth sense. If you hadn't woken up from the dream, I would have woken you myself." Vessel's voice is soothing; another beautiful thing that just makes sense in this nature-filled realm. "I was awake before you woke from your nightmare, therefore you did not physically wake me."
"I just know you need your rest, I didn't want to bother you." He stops playing halfway through your sentence and his hands grab yours, holding them firmly.
"No more of that, my heart." Your husband locks his gaze with you, even through the mask you can feel his eyes on you. "You could never bother me. I would not rest well knowing that you're hurting. When you hurt, I hurt with you. Don't say things like that." He's always had such a way with words. He speaks in such a manner where you know he means every single thing he says.
There's an itch in the back of your mind that makes you want to argue with him on this, and he can feel it too. He clears his throat and you can faintly see his eyes glowing through the slits of the mask. A silent try me, you won't win. You let him have this one.
"Well... thank you. Seriously, this place is... beautiful."
"You like it?" His face lights up. "I designed it myself, I was hoping you'd enjoy it as much as I thought you would."
"You made this place?" You take a moment to observe your surroundings here. The piano looks a little worn, and on the inside of it is... roots? A sapling? A tree sapling? Somehow, this hasn't impacted the sound at all. Everywhere else here looks almost like a little room, like a study. His own personal bubble, or perhaps burrow?
"That I did. If there is one thing that He who shall not be named gave me that I genuinely enjoy, it is what I can do within dreams." He's proud of this, you can see it. His voice is a little louder, he's excited to talk about it. His knee bounces underneath the piano. "I can make this place look however I wish. I wanted this one to feel like a sanctuary for you."
"Well, you nailed it with that one."
"Really?!" You're certain that if he had a tail right now, it would be wagging.
"This is perfect. It's relaxing, feels like a hidden paradise." You lean forward to press your forehead against Vessel's. "And it's even better that you're here in it, too."
"I'll stay here with you all night, if you'd like." Vessel releases one of your hands to gently caress your cheek. No matter what, no matter how many times you tell him he really doesn't have to, he touches you like you're porcelain. Like you're the most precious artifact he's ever had.
"I'd like that." You lean into his touch like a cat. "Can I ask what you're doing underground?"
"Ah!" He pulls back, gesturing toward the sapling growing from inside of the piano. "I am growing a tree."
"...What?"
"...A tree? I'm growing one?" He's looking at you like you're the weird one for not knowing what he's talking about. Like this is somehow universal knowledge.
"Vessel. The roots aren't even in the dirt. How do you expect to grow a tree?" You're certain you're not the crazy one here.
"I play," he motions towards the piano keys, "and it grows." He motions towards the sapling.
"Even for a dream, that sounds insane. Prove it." Don't trees need water? Sunlight? Years upon years of growth by itself?
"Certainly. Watch carefully, and be amazed." Vessel's shoulders roll back, and his fingers touch the ivory keys with newfound purpose.
The melody he begins to play is familiar; you recall the nights he would play it over and over. That opening part of 'Even In Arcadia'. And just like he would then, he plays it over and over now.
At first, you're pretty sure he was just pulling your leg about the 'play music make tree grow' thing, until you see it. Before your eyes, the sapling is growing, flourishing just from the music. It grows taller, sturdier, and leaves begin to emerge from it.
He continues for another few moments before he slows to a stop, unable to suppress his chuckle at the sight of your starry-eyed wonder. One hand lifts from the keys to take yours, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His wedding band catches the light, and the sight of it makes your heart flutter.
Even in dreams, he wears it with pride.
"As much as I adore that look on your face when I blow your mind, you can't just leave me to do all the work. Come, let's grow a tree." Vessel brings your hand to the keys.
"Not everyone's a piano master like you, Vess. I'd probably make the tree recede back into itself. Or die."
"Nothing grows in reverse, petal. I don't expect you to be Beethoven. How about I teach you something? We'll learn one of mine." He has such a way of encouraging you that makes you struggle to say no. Especially not when he's looking at you like that.
"Are you sure you won't wither away and die if I butcher it?" You're only half joking.
"Oh please, I'm not that fragile! Like I said, I don't expect you to be an expert. Let's learn a bit of Euclid together. Does that sound alright?" He meets your gaze, and if you look hard enough you can see him batting his eyelashes at you.
"Alright, teacher. Teach me your talents." And his excited grin makes it all worth it.
Hours pass between the both of you, Vessel patiently walking you through the first section of Euclid. No matter how many sour notes you hit, segments you forget, or moments where you get frustrated and try to give up, he remains at your side. The rain still falls, the birds still chirp above ground, and all remains peacefully still.
Neither of you realize that the tree has fully grown from just the practice and lessons alone until you manage to get through the entire part he taught you with only a few mistakes. He didn't even have to help you this time, and despite not looking at him you could feel him beaming with pride.
"That was brilliant... you're a natural!" Though of course, your husband doesn't hesitate to express his pride and adoration for you the moment you finish. That comes in the form of enthusiastic kisses, mumbled praise, and the unexpected presence of a flowered vine wrapping around your waist.
"Was only brilliant because I had a good teacher." In turn, you return as many kisses as you can without laughing, nodding along to every word he says, and simply basking in the moment with him.
"Not to mention, look at what such a performance created." Vessel is the first to notice the tree, pointing up at it with a clawed finger. "Forever immortalized in my realm of dreams."
"You were helping, give yourself some credit." You protested, and yet you were still brimming with confidence. Admittedly you've been wanting to learn how to play, just haven't had the time. If you'd known you could learn in your dreams with your lover, you would've taken the opportunity far sooner than this. "Wait— you can keep the tree?"
"One, all I did was teach you the notes, the rest was your talent. Second, of course I can. I've created a lot of the trees here with this technique over the years. But to now have one created by you, of course it has to stay! I'll have to find the perfect place to put it."
"Maybe I'll have to come back and make more for you then, too." Not many others would see such adoration and excitement over a tree, but if there's one thing you've learned about Vessel, it's that nature means the world to him. It's not just because of the magic in his veins, this is his calling. Forests, no matter where they are, are like his home.
You love being part of that home.
"You would truly do this for me?" No matter how much time has passed, Vessel always seems so surprised when someone wants to do something for him. When someone wants to treat him with kindness. You suppose it's just from his unkind history.
"Of course! Maybe we can make something in here together. Like a park? Or a garden?" You can already picture it in your mind. Something with a little bench, or maybe a cool statue.
"Ah..." There's a distant look in his eyes; maybe he's envisioning it too. "Yes... yes, that would be lovely." You almost miss the way his voice shakes, breaks just a little.
"It'll give us something to do when we're too tired for other things, right? And—"
"And, I can make you your own dream realm." He cuts you off quickly. His arms wrap around you to pull you into his lap. "And it can look however you want."
"Vessel, you don't really need to do anything for me in return whenever I—" You're cut off again by him. He's too invested now.
"It doesn't even need to be a forest! It can be a house, or a library, or - or that one place with the - the..." Vessel snaps his fingers a few times as if it'll jog his memory. "The big place with the moving stairs? You took me there a few years ago to see the giant rabbit?"
"The giant rabbit? Moving stairs?" You furrow your eyebrows in thought. It's definitely an Earth place if he can't remember what it is.
"Remember the rabbit? It was sitting in that chair? And you insisted I get a photo taken with it? It has shops too."
"The mall?"
"Yes! That place!" Vessel nods, relieved that you understood what he was talking about.
"You could've just said it had a lot of stores." The fact he even remembers the Easter Bunny at the mall is hilarious; you'll have to remember to take him back to the mall to get another photo with it.
"Don't even think about it." Oh, he can still read your thoughts. "But in any case, I could make your dream realm a mall! You enjoy the mall, right? You used to take me there quite a bit."
"It's not my favorite, but I'm happy you remembered it. I'll think on it more and let you know." Finally, you lean forward and rest your head in the crook of his neck. His thumb rubs circles into your back.
It's silent for a while, but not uncomfortable. Vessel is enjoying your presence as much as you enjoy his, judging by the way he's purring. His chest vibrates against yours, and you faintly think you can feel a tail curling around your leg. He's comfortable, he feels safe. So do you.
"...Are you alright?" He breaks the silence. "Did this all help after the nightmare?" His voice is soft as if he doesn't want to ruin the moment.
"It helped a lot. I'm okay, I promise." And that's the truth. You honestly forgot you even had a nightmare until he mentioned it. "The rain sounds so nice, and the flowers... the scenery... I needed this. Needed you."
"You have me, whenever you need me, petal. I'm glad I could be there... and just to ease your mind, Sleep can't get me anymore. I promise you, darling. Even if He did, even if He took your words away, I would always know you're mine and that you love me. Nothing. Will ever change that." Vessel murmurs into your ear, his voice a beautifully soothing rumble.
"I'm glad. I'm glad you know." That's all that matters; he knows you love him.
You're about to say something more when a loud noise suddenly echoes in the realm, causing your head to shoot up in alarm. It sounds like church bells. You look at Vessel, but he seems just as alarmed.
It gets louder. Louder. Vessel suddenly vanishes. Louder—
"Shhh! Shhh!" You wake up in your bedroom, listening to Vessel quietly curse under his breath as he scolds... his alarm clock. "You'll wake them, you bastard, gods how do I turn this off?!"
"Button on the top." You sleepily mumble, and after a second it stops. Vessel sighs in a mix of defeat and frustration.
"I didn't realize it would be so loud. I didn't mean to wake you." Vessel pulls you into his chest, his voice rough with sleep. He speaks against the back of your head. "I don't even want to leave you."
"Leave? Where are you going?" You blink a few times, though your vision is still extremely bleary.
"Things to do today. II wanted to meet early. Ritual related. Have to... attend something for Arcadia today." With a messy kiss, he reluctantly untangles himself from you. You whine in protest.
"Can't you just... not do all of that? Stay home." You roll over to face him, hair sticking to your face, drool on the corner of your mouth. Flattering, truly.
"I would if I could, you know that." As he begins to scoot himself off the bed, you grab his arm, clinging to him. "Petal..."
"No."
"Don't be a brat, come on." He wiggles his arm, trying to pry himself out of your grip. Realistically, he's strong enough to do it no problem, but he's always gentle with you.
"You hate me."
"Oh, do I now?"
"...No." You hear him chuckle. You're too half asleep to even understand what you're saying.
"I have to work, sweet thing. The sooner I go, the sooner I can return to you." Vessel reached with his other hand to brush some of your hair out of your face.
With another whine and a few other incoherent complaints, you let go of him, huffing through your nose. Normally, Vessel is the one who acts like this, but you were having such a nice time with him in that dream...
"There we go." You hear him stand, and then you feel the covers being placed over you. "While I need to be awake at this hour, you do not."
"But I can't sleep without you." Your limbs are too heavy to pull the covers back off you, but you try. It just looks like you're flailing your arms around.
"Of course you can. Listen, love." His weight makes the bed dip as he sits down. "The sooner you go back to sleep, the sooner the morning will pass... the sooner I'll be with you once more. And when I get home... we can talk about that dream realm for you."
A lazy smile tugs on your lips, one of your eyes opening just a crack. You can't really make out his face, but you know he's there.
"As long as you promise... to not be a flamingo this time." Your eye shuts right after, but your smile widens as he starts laughing. You're not letting him live that one down.
"Oh, my dear..." Vessel chuckles through his words. "Rest assured, no more flamingo. Alright?"
"Mm... okay." You feel his lips gently brush against yours, and you hum in contentment. Then his fingertips touch your forehead gently, and you can feel yourself getting pulled right back into sleep.
"Rest well, petal. I love you." He murmurs, and he thinks he hears you mumble an 'I love you too', but it sounds like complete gibberish of syllables.
Vessel waits a moment longer to make sure you're asleep before he stands and begins to get ready for the day, pausing every now and then to watch you to make sure your dreams are pleasant this time around.
He pauses at the doorway to the bedroom, looking over his shoulder to gaze at you one last time, smiling fondly to himself before departing to begin his day.
As long as he's here, the nightmares will never get you again.
Y'all know the ikea shark? I like to imagine the polyvesselcule acquired one, probably for Vessel at first or maybe iii comes in with one that Vess steals semi often. And then on some trip, Vess has to leave it behind so the others stage some photos of it doing chores or activities and it brings Vess so much unbridled joy that they just.... don't stop doing it even when he gets back. Whoever is in possession of the shark ends up posing it and sending photos in the groupchat to the others. It becomes a daily challenge between them all, who can take the most increasingly elaborate pictures, who can come up with the most ridiculous situations to put the shark in. If it goes on a trip with one of them as a comfort item, (they make FANTASTIC pillows and cuddle buddies), it inevitably goes site seeing and possibly even dressed up. It makes them all smile, and it also helps them feel connected, and reminds Vess that his partners are thinking of him because its not exactly about the shark really, now is it.
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𐙚༘⋆˖°🎄๋࣭ ⭑₊ ⊹No Wonder My Arms are Still Swinging୨୧
From: Wolfie
To: @hookedhobbies
Merry Sleepmas! I hope you enjoy this little vignette of cutie dumb-dumbs trying desperately to keep old grudges through the hap happiest time of the year <3
tags: Vessel x fem!reader, Hallmark movie AU, fluffy, childhood enemies to lovers, old people gossiping, home for the holidays, SFW
𐙚༘⋆˖°🎄๋࣭ ⭑₊ ⊹
Your hometown never topped the list of dream destinations for Christmas. Rarely did it crack the Top 10! This year was different. The rate at which your world grew with new people, places, and opportunities (read: responsibilities) was fresh and exciting, but very quickly it wore you down. You never felt more disconnected from yourself, and it showed in your work. You could not mess this up. Being home would energize you and nothing would bring you down. Hell, your old stomping grounds somehow conjured new ideas! Funny how your table at your cafe with your favorite drink made your brain “unstuck” as your fingers flew across the keyboard.
“Smuggest thing I’ve seen in all my life.”
You don’t have to turn around and confirm who it is before shooting back, “You do know life’s easier when you mind your business, right?”
Vessel makes himself at home in the chair opposite yours, giving you a sly once over. Once upon a time, you and Vessel were friends. That was kindergarten. After that, you were rivals. Who had the best grades? Who was the best at their hobby? Who found the best summer gig? Who’s parents were getting their ears talked off by the neighbors because they had the best kid on the block? When you moved away for college, the hot gossip was that you couldn’t stand competing with him and it would only get worse. That didn’t make any sense. He was doing music and you were doing…well…you didn’t know at the time. All you knew was there were bigger and better things than trying to one-up this spoiled, gifted brat.
“What are you doing here,” Vessel asks.
“Working,” you say, waving your hand in the vague vicinity of your laptop and notebook.
“W-wh…yeah. No shit. I meant here. Why are you suddenly home?”
Always questioning your moves. Trying to call your bluff. Who died and made him tyrant?
“Oh so sorry, do you need to see my papers? Did I need to get my visit approved by the Vessel Embassy?”
Vessel cracks the tiniest of smiles but keeps his eyes stern and fixed on your face. He leans forward a bit, resting his arms on the table. “I come back every Christmas. Have for the last 13 years or so and you’re never here. What’s the occasion?”
Hackles raised, you’re ready to tear him to shreds. But suddenly there’s a girl only a bit younger than you and Vessel by the table.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt but…you’re-you’re her, aren’t you?”
She’s painfully shy, or at the very least nervous, as her white-knuckled grip shakes around a well loved and worn book. Your book. Even Vessel learning about your true day job couldn’t take away this joy.
“I sure am…would you like me to…?”
“Oh!”
It’s as if she forgot why she approached your table. The book opens and lays flat easily, a sign that it’s been read over and over. After you ask her name so you can personalize the inscription, you feel her relax a little.
“Is this one your favorite,” you ask while autographing the title page.
“Well…”
“It’s ok if not, really! Between you and me, it’s not my favorite either, but it is very special because it’s the first.” You wink at her as you hand back the book, making her beam like she’s in on a trade secret. After many stuttered thank yous and Merry Christmases she scurries back to her table. Meanwhile, Vessel’s eye bore through you.
“Well what was that?”
Not everyone was meant to know you were a writer. You pen name used for a reason (not just because it was fun to come up with). It never occurred to you that it would be revealed in front of someone not on the “Need to Know” list, much less someone you’d been avoiding for a decade. But you grin and bear it.
“I’m a writer. And to answer your question, if you must know, I’m here because I needed a change of pace. These deadlines…” you trail off.
Vessel nods and considers you as you look out the window. He tries to not get distracted by how the soft lights from the window’s garland makes your eyes sparkle even more than normal. He doesn’t want to seem too interested but this would be Grade A neighborhood gossip if he rolled like that.
“So what do you write? Romance?”
There’s no mirth in his voice, but you know better. It’s always there if he’s talking to you. “Fantasy. The romance is secondary if not tertiary.”
“So does that happen a lot,” he asks, gesturing vaguely to where your fan had stood earlier.
“Sometimes. If I’m near a campus, yeah definitely.”
Something strange happens. You and Vessel smile at each other. Not forced or queasy. And that makes you cave when he begs for the title of your first novel. Begrudgingly you do him one better and give him your pen name so he can peruse all of your author stuff online. Was this a mistake? Naughty list worthy even?
“Well, what have you been up to? Music I’m sure…”
Now it’s Vessel’s turn to get a little sheepish but proud. “Uh…here.” He helps himself to your pen and napkin, writing down a BandCamp url. “I’ve been producing a lot. But…” He pushes the napkin back to you and looks away. “That’s my solo stuff.”
As if you both had homework that evening, you went on your respective Google searches, ready to cosplay as music and literary critics. But there must have been a little Christmas magic in the air.
A week later, you found yourself having the same conversation at least 10 times over. The neighborhood Christmas party might as well have been a spy network. By the end of the night, everyone knew everything about everyone, especially the adult children who didn’t come this year. ‘Fuck, they’ve been talking about me like this’ you think as you watch both your parents and Vessel’s listen be held captive by an elderly neighbor ranting about their grandchildren. When everyone seems distracted, you slip away. You were good at that during these big get-togethers. Finally you duck into a study. You can’t remember what this neighbor does for a living but they make enough to have something like three bonus rooms each with their own 7ft Christmas tree. Someone’s had the same idea, hiding from the crowd.. You step next to Vessel and gaze at the tree with him.
“Bit gaudy, yeah?”
Vessel snorts and shakes his head. “Whatever happened to just red and green,” he jokes as he considers the giant shiny purple and blue damask decorations.
“Ves…” you start abruptly. “I…your music is…really really good.”
You’d never seen him blush but suddenly you wanted to see it all the time. He looks away and scratches the back of his head, the bravado from last week nowhere in sight. “Well…since we’re confessing…” Vessel turns and steps a bit closer. “My Notes app is littered with questions about your trilogy… and–hey none of that!”
He stops you from walking away. You’re sure he’s making fun of you. “Vessel come on…”
“No. No, I'm serious.” His big warm hands softly grip your shoulders. For a moment, there’s no party. There isn’t even shared baggage. “You’ve captivated me. The story. Your talent. I feel so lucky to know you…not because of your success but…God…you’ve grown. And I’m so proud o–”
But he can’t finish his thought. No mistletoe required.
summary: sfw, just cuddling. gender neutral reader. and iv gets extra content because he’s my favourite
Vessel
He will flop on top of you without warning. If he could he would lay there until he dies. He’s a big sad wet cat of a man who just wants to be held and kissed. Good luck trying to get up if he’s fallen asleep on you like that because he’s impossible to move and he is a HEAVY sleeper. You try to move him and just hear “mmmmmmm no.” as he tightens his grip on you. At least he’s nice and cozy.
II
Likes you with your head on his chest and your arm around his waist. He’ll have both arms around you and it makes him feel like he’s protecting you. He’ll press kisses to your head every so often, just little reminders that he loves you without having to say it. Listening to your soft breaths as you fall into slumber is one of his favourite noises.
III
when he’s big spoon he likes to hold your tummy. it’s soft and warm and nice. Every squishy and soft part of you is getting gently grabbed and caressed by his big hands. It’s very easy for him to wrap himself around you, with his stickbug-esque form. He definitely runs cold and loves having a hot water bottle between you when you’re laying on your sides, facing each other.
IV
You’re his teddy bear, honestly. He holds you tightly in his arms and nuzzles into you and breathes you in. He likes to have you sitting between his legs, against his chest, while the both of you watch a movie together. His favourite thing is falling asleep spooning you with his face buried in your neck.
This man is so cuddly, if he could hold you 24/7 he would. When he’s away on tour he’s always texting you about how much he misses you, how he can’t wait to get home and watch you fall asleep in his arms and wake you up with kisses and soft touches in the morning. He won’t tell anyone and he’ll vehemently deny it if asked about it, but he definitely hugs a pillow when he’s away from you. He can’t fall asleep if he’s not holding something.
Note: I do want to write for more than just sleep token eventually, I especially would love to write for Nightwing and Red hood. However for now, I'm sticking with where I'm comfortable. Thank you all for reading and requesting! Remember you are all so so loved<3
