This was a request, and I hope you like it anon! This might be one of my favorites that I've done, neck and neck with Mine. Enjoy!
Content Warning: Suggestive content near the end, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff
Word Count: 5.1k
Vessel knew from fairly early on in the relationship that you were the one he wanted to have and to hold. From the way you calmed his nerves before a show with nothing more than your hand on his chest and a whispered, “Breathe,” to the way you refused to go to bed angry, insisting on talking things through, no matter how tired you were. He fell for you in a quiet, steady ache that built day after day, until loving you was as natural and necessary to him as air.
It wasn't a dramatic epiphany, no blinding light or cinematic lightning strike, just moments. Dozens of soft, barely even noticeable moments that stitched together until he couldn’t remember a version of himself that wasn’t completely enthralled with you. The way you scrunched your nose when concentrating or when you really laugh. The way you danced in the kitchen with headphones in, completely unaware he was watching. The way you kissed his mask, without ever needing to see the man beneath it to know and love him.
You never asked him for more than he could give. But he always wanted to give you everything.
The first conversation about marriage had been gentle and curious. You were curled up together on his sofa in the dead of winter, a film forgotten on the screen, your body warm against his under a shared blanket. You'd tilted your head, eyes soft with sleep, and asked:
"Do you ever think about getting married one day?"
He'd blinked slowly, heart suddenly thudding in his chest, but his voice was calm when he replied, "With the right person, yes."
You hadn't noticed the shift in him; hadn’t seen the way his fingers twitched with the urge to hold your face and tell you that he already had the right person.
From that day on, the idea had rooted itself inside him.
Over time, it grew like ivy, wrapping around his ribs and taking root in every crevice. He began planning without even meaning to. Scanning the jewelry section of any store he shopped at that had one. He took mental notes of the things you loved: peaceful evenings under the stars, nature trails and botanical gardens, hibiscus flowers and lilies. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the ocean, even though you'd never seen it stretch endlessly to the horizon in person.
So, he started weaving the idea of this trip, and framing it as an anniversary getaway, something quiet and intimate. Something meant just for the two of you. In truth, he'd been planning your engagement for months.
And now, it was happening.
You were beside him on the plane, dozing lightly with your head on his shoulder and his fingers woven loosely through yours. Your body swayed slightly with each pocket of turbulence, but you didn’t stir. The gentle pressure of your palm against his calmed him more than any sedative ever could.
Vessel turned to look at you, not just to glance, but to truly look. The way your hair had fallen messily over your cheek. The faint crease between your brows. The little flutter of your lashes every few seconds. The swell of affection that rose in him was so intense he had to exhale softly just to keep from bursting at the seams, as he was already fraying at the edges just being on this plane to this destination, to the rest of his life.
The ring was in his carry-on. Tucked in a small velvet box, zipped in an interior pocket where he’d checked on it four times since leaving the house.
He’d custom-designed it with a local artisan; nothing flashy or oversized, just something elegant that you’d love. A delicate sterling silver band, slim and smooth, with a marquise-cut white diamond set between two smaller diamonds. He’d even had your initials engraved on the inside of the ring.
He hadn't told a soul. Not the band or his friends or family, not even II, though he'd almost caved the week before. He wanted this to be between you and him. Just as you'd like it.
You stirred against him slightly, shifting with a sleepy sigh, your nose brushing his collarbone, your eyes not bothering to open. Your voice was soft and scratchy with sleep as you murmured, “How much longer?”
Vessel glanced at the small screen in front of him. “Just under two hours.” You hummed. “Mmm. Wake me if I snore.”
“You never snore,” he said, lips brushing the crown of your head. “You make soft little… breathy noises.” You chuckled, eyes still closed. “You listen?”
“Always,” he whispered. You didn’t reply, but the way your fingers squeezed his was answer enough. Three squeezes. I love you. He squeezed back, and rested his own head against the plane window.
As the plane soared on toward the horizon, Vessel watched the sky outside shift from bright azure to molten amber, clouds stretched thin and gilded like the edges of a painting. Somewhere below, the ocean shimmered, waiting for you.
He smiled faintly, imagining your expression when you see it for the first time.
And when you say yes.
The moment your feet touch the tarmac in Maui; a warm breeze sweeps around you like an embrace. It smells faintly of sea salt, hibiscus, and something sweet, maybe plumeria. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden wash over everything.
Vessel keeps you close to his side as you both descend from the plane, his hand resting low on your back, thumb brushing in small, absent-minded circles. You know he doesn’t love flying, so you squeeze his hand tightly when you reach solid ground, silently thanking him for taking this trip with you.
He hadn’t said much about the itinerary, only that everything was “taken care of,” and that you don’t need to worry. You let him guide you, sleepy and wide-eyed, through the small airport and into a waiting car.
The drive along the coast is dreamlike. You’d never seen the ocean like this before; vast, alive, endlessly blue, rippling with the gold of the late afternoon sun. Your window stays open the entire ride, your arm resting on the edge as you stared out at it all, wind in your hair and wonder in your heart.
“Is this okay?” Vessel asks softly beside you, his voice cutting through your trance.
You turn to him slowly, eyes shining, chuckling incredulously. “Are you kidding? This is… this is perfect.”
He doesn’t answer right away, he only reaches out, fingers trailing down your arm until he finds your hand again, his palm warm and steady, grounding. His gaze lingers on your face as though attempting to memorize it; to brand you into his brain so that anytime he closes his eyes, your beautiful face is there to soothe his nerves.
Little do you know, this is his favorite version of you. Bathed in sun and salted air. Lit up by joy you weren’t trying to hide. Completely unaware of how beautiful you looked to him in that moment, with your hair alight in the sun, casting a halo around the crown of your head. Appropriate, for you are his angel. Your skin glows under the summer sun, shadows casting over the contours of your body as you twirl in the sand, head tilted back, eyes closed, fully immersed in this moment.
He loosely crosses his arms as he revels in the sight of you as you absorb the salt, sand, and sea for the first time, his heart swells in his chest as the realization washes over him that he’s truly looking at the rest of his life, and he’s never been more sure about anything ever. He smiles at you, his head tilting reverently as you do little stomps in the warm, ankle-deep ocean water. This man adores you.
He’d booked an oceanfront bungalow; standalone, tucked into a stretch of private coastline shaded by swaying palms and dotted with hibiscus bushes and collections of beach grass. It was as picturesque as a film set; warm teak wood, a sprawling bed draped in soft white linen, even a veranda that opened straight onto the sand.
He brought you to a soft halt in the doorway, Vessel standing behind you, your bodies resting warmly against one another, his front to your back like puzzle pieces. His hands cover your eyes in order to elevate the surprise. “Are you ready, my love?” he whispers, his breath warm against the lobe of your ear, and you can hear the grin on his face through the words he says. “Mhm,” you hum excitedly, nodding your head, a giddy smile spreading across your own face. He drops his hands from your eyes, allowing them to rest on your shoulders as you take in the room around you for the first time. You open your eyes and squint slightly as the low light from the room bleeds in, and as your eyes focus, you gasp, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth.
There are orchids and hibiscus petals scattered on the bedspread, and two champagne flutes waiting by a bucket of ice on the small table near the window. The low sun casts wide, sleepy beams across the floor, painting the room in shades of amber and rose gold, the chiseled glass suncatchers hanging in the window paint the room in sporadic prisms of the color spectrum. And just beyond the glass doors to the right, the ocean stretches into infinity.
“Oh…” Your breath catches in your throat as you step further inside slowly, your gaze drifting over every carefully placed detail, and you’ve never felt so seen. “Ves, this is…” You are truly at a loss for words.
You turn around to face him and you find that he’s already watching you, his eyes heavy with adoration for you.
His bag is still slung over his shoulder, fingers hooked in the strap, but every bit of his focus is on you. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.
“You did all this?” you ask, voice low, touched. He nods, stepping toward you. “Every bit of it. You deserve a place that can be any semblance of how wonderful you are.”
Your throat tightens as warm tears prick at the backs of your eyes. You don’t say anything for a moment, you just step into him, arms wrapping around his middle as you bury your face into his chest. His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you in, holding you like a promise. You feel him kiss the top of your head once, then again, holding the kiss longer this time.
“You spoil me,” you whisper. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to.” You tilt your head up at him, playful. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a vow,” he says, voice quiet and sure. “You’ll never go a day not knowing how much you’re cherished.”
And it lands differently, those words. They aren’t flippant or poetic or abstract; they’re simple truth, deep and carved into him like scripture. You feel the weight of it settle in your bones, nuzzling comfortably into a home there.
He leads you out onto the deck just as the sun begins to sink into the sea. You stand together in the doorway, hand in hand, watching the horizon melt into hues of violet and fire. He doesn’t speak, he just holds you close and lets the comfortable silence stretch sweetly between you like warm honey.
At one point, you rest your head against his shoulder and whisper, “You really thought of everything to make this as special as possible, huh?” Vessel nods, almost imperceptibly. “And it’s not even our actual anniversary yet.” you whisper, taken aback at just how thoughtful he really is. He’d give you the moon if you asked.
“No,” he smiles. “That’s tomorrow.” You can’t possibly think of a way that he could top this. But little do you know, he already has.
Because it’s not the flowers or the view or even the carefully laid plans that makes your chest ache, it’s him. His thoughtfulness. The way he looks at you like you hold the planets and control their orbit with your hands. The way he has orchestrated this entire trip around you; your comfort, your joy, your peace. You could just cry and forever question what you did to ever deserve such a magnificent partner.
Instead, you turn and kiss his cheek. Then again, nearer to the corner of his mouth. He turned slightly, eyes warm and unreadable, and brushed your hair back with a gentle, loving touch. “You’re not even ready,” you whispered, eyes teasing. “Ready for what?” he asks, curiosity tinting his tone. “For how much I’m going to love you here.” He laughed, soft and low, pressing his forehead to yours. “Try me, love.”
The warm water rolls down your back in slow, steady rivulets, the air thick with steam and the smell of sandalwood. Your skin still tingles, pleasantly worn from the way he’d touched you just moments ago; slow and reverent, as though your body were a sonnet he’d spent his life memorizing.
Vessel stands behind you now, silent and focused, fingertips gliding through your damp hair. He’s lathering shampoo into your scalp with a gentleness that borders on worship. His touch is firm but unhurried, slow circles that lull you into a daze. You close your eyes and let your head tilt back slightly into his chest, trusting him entirely, letting him take care of you.
The water drums softly above you, and somewhere within it, you hear him exhale, quiet and controlled, like he’s trying to anchor himself in the moment.
His bare chest is warm against your back, the rise and fall of it steady. You can feel the quiet tremble in his fingertips as they comb through your hair, as if he’s trying to pour everything he feels into the movement; love, devotion, awe. His hands slide lower, massaging the soap through to the ends, and then rise again to cradle your skull like you’re something fragile, something absolutely irreplaceable.
He kisses your shoulder, then your neck. His lips are damp, and when they press against your skin, you swear you can feel his heartbeat thudding in tandem with yours. Unbeknownst to you, his heart is pounding.
You open your eyes just a sliver, the steam curling up like mist around your bodies, and murmur, “You’re being extra sweet today.”
“I’m always sweet to you, my baby,” he says quietly, but his voice is strained in that way that tells you he’s thinking hard about something.
Your brow furrows slightly, though you keep still. “What is it?”
His hands hesitate for the briefest second, then one hand withdraws to reach up and detach the handheld showerhead from its mounted fixture, bringing it between you to the back of your head. He begins rinsing the soap from your hair, taking extra caution as to not rinse the soap into your eyes.
With your back to him, you don’t see the way he closes his eyes, pressing his lips together, jaw clenched with something he’s not ready to say out loud yet. The water trickles down his face and chest, but it does nothing to cool the heat blooming in his chest.
He wants to tell you now. He wants to drop to his knees right here, wet tile, drenched hair and all, and ask you if you’ll let him spend the rest of his life loving you like this. Completely, honestly, and fiercely. He’s wanted to ask you for months, but now, now that you’re here, in his arms, with your head resting trustfully against his chest, he almost does it without thinking.
His lips part. The words are on the tip of his tongue. Will you m-
“Where are we going for dinner tonight, by the way? Not that I’m complaining about staying in all day…” you purr, smiling flirtatiously, your eyes still closed as the hot water cascades down your back, and you breathe in the clean smell of the steam.
The spell breaks. His trance is interrupted, definitely for the better. Who proposes to someone in a shower? He furrows his brows and shakes his head, shocked at his own idiocy. You don’t notice this or the way his shoulders rise with a silent breath as he swallows back the words.
Instead of answering your question right away, he leans down and presses his forehead gently to yours as you lean your head back more to meet his. It lingers there for a long, quiet moment, and then he chuckles softly, breath warm against your ear.
“You’ll see,” he murmurs. You smile, oblivious to the shift in his heartbeat, the ache in his chest. “Is it dressy?” you ask. “Just… wear what makes you feel beautiful,” he replies.
“That’s a trap,” you tease, turning in the stream to face him, water cascading between you. “Everything makes me feel beautiful when you look at me like that.”
He doesn’t laugh this time. He just gazes at you, eyes drinking you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He swears every time he looks at you, there’s a new detail he never noticed before, and it captivates him. He raises his hand, fingers brushing wet strands away from your face, and murmurs, “That’s because you are, my darling.”
You lean into his touch, heart fluttering under your skin, and rest your hands gently on his waist. The moment lingers, long enough for his eyes to dart to your lips and back, long enough for something unspoken to swell between you again.
But he doesn’t ask. Not yet. Because the next part deserves the stars, the waves, and the most beautiful sunset the world has to offer.
So instead, he kisses your forehead and says, “Come on. Let’s get you ready.” And you don’t know it yet, but in just a few hours, your entire life will change if you let it.
The breeze lifts the hem of your dress as you walk, warm and salt-kissed, soft as a whisper around your ankles. You’re barefoot in the sand, the ocean stretching endlessly ahead, molten gold rippling across its surface. The setting sun dips lower by the minute, casting firelight over the sky in streaks of peach and rose and lilac. You’d said earlier that it didn’t even look real, and Vessel had only smiled, watching you with something brighter than the sunset in his eyes.
Your dress sways around you, white cotton patterned with soft pink hibiscus petals accented by varying shades of green leaves. He told you earlier you looked like summer incarnate; like a dream come true.
Vessel walks beside you, the fine sand crunching softly underfoot, his hand clasped in yours. He’s wearing a simple white tee and soft tan cargo shorts, effortlessly handsome in the way only he can be. Sunlight dancing across his arms, the sea breeze ruffling the fringe of feathery hair at his forehead. He hasn’t let go of your hand once since you stepped onto the beach.
Not when he showed you the secluded pathway down the cliffside, not when you gasped at the beauty of it all, not even when you paused to take a thousand photos of the horizon.
And still, even now, his fingers remain laced with yours like a silent vow.
You don’t know it yet, but his heart is thundering in his chest so loud he’s certain you’ll hear it. Every moment you smile, every time you tilt your head toward him and squeeze his hand gently, he comes one step closer to falling apart in the best possible way.
“I didn’t think anything could top yesterday,” you say softly, a soft gasp escaping your lips as a breeze lifts your hair and cools the back of your neck. He turns his head to you, smiling gently. “It was never about topping anything.”
“No?” you ask, turning to look at him adoringly. “No,” he murmurs. “It’s about showing you what our lives could look like together. All the things I dream of giving you. You deserve the world and everything beautiful it has to offer.”
You squeeze his hand again. “You’re doing a damn good job, Ves. I’ve never felt so special or wanted in my life.”
He chuckles, nervous now, and slowly guides you toward a little flat area just off the shore where the rocks cradle a small clearing, safe and soft beneath your feet. A blanket lies in the sand, with two tall glasses of sparkling water, and the faint trace of music; gentle strings, like something classical wafting from a speaker tucked neatly behind a driftwood branch.
You blink, heart skipping. “When did you set this up?”
“I have my methods,” he says grinning, and something in his voice wavers. You sit beside him, stretching your legs out in front of you, and tilt your head, resting it on his shoulder. The last rays of sunlight cast a warm glow over everything, painting him in gold.
And when he breathes in, it shakes. This is it. He turns to face you fully. His hand slides from yours and moves to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye as if memorizing the gentle slope of your face.
“You know,” he says quietly, voice velvet-smooth, “I knew from very early on.” Your gaze softens. “Knew what?”
“That you were it. The one I wanted by my side for the rest of our days.” His voice hitches, not from nerves, but from emotion too thick to hide. “From the way you calm me before I walk onstage. The way you kissed my hands when you knew I just wanted to break down or break things. From every conversation where you listened with your heart instead of just your ears.” He’s trembling now.
And then, he shifts.
Slowly, nervously, Vessel reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. He doesn’t open it immediately. Instead, he kneels before you there in the sand, as the tide begins to lap closer, the breeze rising to carry the words that he can’t hold back anymore.
“I know you hate big gestures and cliches,” he says, laughing softly through the crack in his voice. “And I know crowds make your hands shake and your chest tighten. But I couldn’t ask you to marry me in the corner of our kitchen or under fluorescent lights. I wouldn’t. You told me once that you always dreamed of seeing the ocean swallow the sun, and I - I want to be the one who gives you every dream you didn’t think you’d get to live out.”
He opens the box.
The ring glimmers like starlight inside.
“I didn’t bring you here just to celebrate our 3-year anniversary,” he whispers. “I brought you here because there isn’t a place in this world that could hold how much I love you, and because you deserve to see the most beautiful sights in the world as I ask you to be my wife. My love, my beautiful angel. I want to be with you, every day, for the rest of our lives.”
Your hands fly to your mouth. Your eyes sting as he lifts his gaze, eyes glassy and wide.
“So… will you marry me?”
And for a moment, you can’t breathe. Everything comes to a halt as you hear the blood rushing to your ears. The ocean hushes. The sun halts mid-sink. Your body floods with warmth so deep, so overwhelming, that all you can do is nod. But then you find your voice.
“Yes,” you breathe, breaking into a smile so wide it hurts. “God, yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”
He exhales a laugh of disbelief, of wonder, of finally.
You tackle him into the sand, arms around his neck, the ring box forgotten for a moment as he cradles your face and kisses you full on the mouth; long and deep, like he’s been waiting lifetimes to feel your yes on his lips.
The waves crash behind you. The sun kisses the water goodnight. And in his arms, you already feel like this is your forever home. The rest of your life. And you could not be happier.
As you sit back up on the blanket and smooth out your dress and hair, he sits up next to you and open the ring box up again, plucking the ring from its velvet enclosure. You hold out your left hand and watch him slide the ring onto your finger, slipping over your knuckle with ease. You tilt it back and forth in the evening sunlight and watch it sparkle and glimmer. You smile and giggle as you’re taken aback by how beautiful it really is.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous, Ves,” you say to him, your eyes still locked onto the ring. “It’ll never measure up to you, my love.” he replies, and your heart just soars, your gaze shifting from the ring to your new fiancé's beautiful face, and you pull him into a deep, tender kiss.
The stars are out by the time you return to the bungalow.
The night has settled softly over Maui like a velvet curtain, quiet and cool in the spaces between palm leaves and moonlit waves. Vessel hasn’t let go of your hand since you left the beach, his thumb still brushing across your knuckles, as if trying to ground himself in the reality of it all, that you said yes. That you're his forever.
He opens the door for you, and you step inside to the low glow of lanterns strung from the wooden beams, casting amber warmth across the room. The windows are open, letting in the sound of the sea, and the sheer curtains sway gently in the ocean breeze.
It smells like citrus and coconut and something uniquely him; clean linen, warm skin, and something like mahogany or teakwood.
Vessel closes the door behind him, and for a moment, neither of you speak. You just look at each other.
His eyes trace your face like he’s memorizing you all over again, like the moment he dropped to one knee on the sand is etched into him, but it still wasn’t enough. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he approaches, slow and unhurried, the air between you heavy and sacred.
“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he murmurs, voice like smoke and honey. You smile, stepping closer. “Was there ever a doubt?”
His gaze flickers down to your hand, the one now wearing the promise he’s been dreaming of giving you for months. “Not really,” he admits. “But… hearing it. Watching you say it. That’s different. I’m just taken aback by the confirmation.”
Your hands rise to his chest, fingers resting over the place where his heart beats strong and steady beneath his shirt.
“You’re mine now,” he says, so softly it almost breaks you. “I’ve been yours,” you whisper, rising onto your toes. He kisses you like he’s trying to say it all again without words.
And when he carries you to the bed, it’s not with urgency. It’s with awe.
He lays you gently across the cool sheets, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek before shedding his shirt, revealing the lean strength of his form, the devotion built into every inch of his body. You reach for him, guiding him down into the covers beside you.
The bed dips under his weight, and you both shift toward each other, finding the shape you always seem to make together; tangled limbs, quiet, loaded breathing, that invisible tether that keeps you close even when you don’t speak.
His hands are warm and steady as they find your waist, your hips, the slow trail of your dress hem rising beneath his palms.
He doesn’t ask for anything. He simply looks at you, waiting. You nod, and that’s all he needs.
The dress comes off slowly, inch by inch, until it slips over your shoulders and is discarded on the floor below. He touches you like he’s tracing art across your skin, fingertips reverent, mouth tender. He kisses your collarbone, your shoulder, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss is a wordless vow. A promise to hold you closely and gently.
When you reach for him in turn, sliding his shorts down and pressing your palm against the heat of him, he exhales your name like a prayer. And when he finally presses into you, slow and sure, it’s like the world stills around you. The ocean fades. The wind dies out.
It’s just him, you, and the rhythm of your hearts settling into their home.
Vessel’s forehead rests against yours as he moves, gentle and steady, his hands cupping your face like you’re the most delicate, precious thing he’s ever touched.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “You’re everything to me.”
You pull him closer, wrap your arms around his back, your legs around his hips, and hold him as tightly as you can because it feels like he might disappear otherwise; like this is just too good to be true. But he doesn’t fade or dissipate. He stays right there with you, in this moment of sanctitude. He moves with you, for you, anchored by the sounds you make and the love spilling from your eyes.
There are no fireworks. No loud crescendo. Just heavy breath, hot skin, and two hearts finally tethered. The quietest kind of ecstasy; being seen, being known, being treasured like this.
When you both come undone, it’s not with shouting. It’s with gasps and tears and whispered names. It’s with his hand pressed over your heart and your lips brushing his jaw. It’s with the knowledge that nothing in your lives will ever be the same again, and you wouldn’t want it to be.
After, Vessel pulls the sheet up over you both and brings you into his arms, holding you so close it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins.
His lips graze your hairline. “You’ve made me believe that love can last forever.” You smile into his chest. “You make me feel safe enough to believe in anything.”
He presses a kiss to your temple, then your fingers, now twined together over your stomach. “Tomorrow,” he says, “we’ll wake up to the ocean. And every day after, we’ll wake up to each other. But we’ll have to wake up a bit earlier than usual now that we’ve got a wedding to plan.” He finishes, and you giggle and curl closer into his chest as his hands find your side and back as he pulls you into him.
And in that quiet lull, curled up in the warmth of his body and the hush of the sea, you believe him. Because this love, it’s not just a feeling.
It’s a home, and it’s yours, forever.
@yourgirlisa @houseofsleeptoken I hope this is some semblance of what you had in mind anon! If anyone reading this would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!
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