pairing: virgil van dijk x black!singer!reader
warnings.notes: 18+ mdni, explicit sexual content, mild alcohol consumption, dominant/submissive dynamics
summary: after two years as a faceless artist, a playful call-out during an interview turns your life around for best
a.n: hi lovelies, you guys have been at my neck for this virgil fic, I decided to switch up my layout a bit, I think Iâm feeling it. this is my first long fic so excuse any typos :)
The stage lights were warmer than you expected.
Youâd performed in front of sold-out arenas, won three Grammys, and spent the last two years as musicâs most mysterious figure â a faceless artist whose voice had taken over the world while your face stayed hidden behind carefully crafted visuals and clever marketing.
Tonight, that chapter officially ended.
Jimmy Fallonâs set was packed.
The audience wasnât the usual crowd of tourists and superfans. Tonight it was celebrities: actors, musicians, athletes, influencers.
The front rows were littered with familiar faces â Drake, Zendaya, Kevin Hart, and an entire section of Premier League footballers who had flown in for a charity event that coincided with the taping.
You were seated on the famous couch in a sleek, backless black dress that shimmered under the lights.
Your heart was beating harder than it had during your actual performance earlier.
Jimmy, ever the professional, leaned forward with that signature playful grin.
âSo,â he began, âfor two years the entire internet has been trying to figure out who you are. And now here you are â Grammy winner, voice of the decade, and apparently very camera shy until tonight. How does it feel to finally be seen?â
You laughed softly, crossing your legs.
âTerrifying. Liberating. A little surreal. I got used to people falling in love with the music instead of me. Now theyâre⊠looking at me.â
The audience chuckled. Jimmy nodded, clearly enjoying himself.
âSpeaking of people falling in love with you â we have to talk about the internet losing its mind the past few weeks. You dropped the music video for âVelvet Cageâ and suddenly everyoneâs obsessed. But the real question the internet wants answeredâŠâ He leaned in like he was sharing a secret. âWho is your celebrity crush?â
The crowd immediately started whooping and cheering.
You felt heat rush to your face. You giggled â actually giggled â and covered your mouth with your hand, shaking your head.
âOh no. Weâre not doing this.â
Jimmy laughed. âWe are absolutely doing this. Come on! Youâve been faceless for two years. Give us something!â
You tried to dodge again, biting your lip and looking away from the camera. The audience only got louder. Jimmy wouldnât let it go.
âAlright, alright,â you finally surrendered, laughing nervously. âFine. My celebrity crush is⊠Virgil van Dijk.â
The entire studio seemed to erupt at once.
The camera immediately panned to the audience.
There, sitting in the third row beside Trent Alexander-Arnold and Andrew Robertson, was Virgil himself.
The tall Dutch defender was dressed in all black â tailored shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up his forearms.
When the spotlight hit him, a slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
He raised one eyebrow, clearly amused, and gave a small, confident nod toward the stage.
âVirgil van Dijk! Okay, okay â why him? Walk us through it.â
You felt your face burning but decided to own it.
You leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into that smooth, sultry tone your fans knew so well.
âI mean⊠have you seen him? The man is stupidly hot. Like, unfairly hot. But itâs also his voice. That deep, calm, Dutch accent? It does something to me. Iâve listened to his interviews when Iâm working on music just because it relaxes me. Or⊠distracts me. Depending on the day.â
Virgilâs smirk deepened. He leaned back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, looking every bit the calm, confident man youâd just confessed about on national television.
âVirgil, you want to say anything to your new number one fan?â
The camera swung back to him. Virgilâs voice came through the speakers â low, smooth, and exactly as devastating as youâd described.
He looked straight at you on the monitor.
âIâm very flattered,â he said, that rich accent curling around every word. âIâm definitely going to need a copy of that playlist.â
You buried your face in your hands for a second, laughing in pure embarrassment while Jimmy teased you both for the rest of the segment.
The rest of the interview flew by â more questions about your sudden reveal, your next album, and a hilarious game segment â but you could feel Virgilâs eyes on you the entire time.
Every time you glanced toward the audience, that smirk was still there.
The Kardashian party was everything you expected and more.
The mansion in the Hollywood Hills had been transformed into a luxurious playground for the elite.
Crystal chandeliers, multiple bars, a DJ playing your music on rotation, and a guest list that read like a Whoâs Who of culture and sport.
Youâd shown up in a deep burgundy satin slip dress that hugged your body and made your skin glow.
Your hair was down, curls loose, and the confidence you felt on stage had returned.
Everywhere you turned, someone wanted to talk to you.
You spent twenty minutes talking to Kylie and Kendall about collaborating on a project, laughed with Bad Bunny by the pool, took a shot with Travis Kelce, and politely declined three different artists trying to slide into your DMs in person.
Champagne and expensive tequila flowed freely.
You were standing near the outdoor bar, laughing at something Serena Williams had just said, when you felt a presence behind you.
The subtle scent of expensive cologne and something distinctly masculine.
A deep, familiar voice spoke low beside your ear.
âSo⊠am I still your celebrity crush? Or has Jimmy Fallon ruined that for me?â
Virgil stood inches away, looking down at you with that same smirk from the show, only this time it was softer.
He was wearing a black button-up with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to show those powerful forearms.
A glass of dark liquor was in his hand. His eyes â sharp, dark, and amused â scanned your face like he was reading every micro-expression.
You felt the champagne and the two tequila sodas youâd had hit you all at once. Not drunk, but warm.
Your cheeks burned instantly.
âIâŠcannot believe youâre bringing that up right now,â you muttered, laughing as you covered one side of your face with your hand.
Virgil chuckled, low and rich.
The sound did exactly what youâd told millions of people it did â it curled straight through you.
He stepped a little closer, using his height to shield you slightly from the rest of the party.
One corner of his mouth stayed lifted.
âYou told the entire world my voice does something to you,â he teased, voice dropping even lower. âNow Iâm curious. What exactly does it do?â
You bit your lip, fighting a smile.
The tension between you was immediate and thick.
Both of you had been drinking just enough to lower inhibitions, but not enough to blur judgment. The flirtation felt dangerous in the best way.
âYouâre enjoying this way too much,â you accused, looking up at him through your lashes.
âI am,â he admitted easily. His eyes flicked down to your lips for half a second before returning to yours. âEspecially watching you blush after you were so confident on Fallonâs couch.â
He leaned one elbow on the bar beside you, bringing him even closer. The height difference was ridiculous.
âSo tell me, Miss Grammy WinnerâŠwas it just talk? Or do you actually listen to my interviews while youâre in the studio?â
You took a slow sip of your drink, mostly to buy yourself time. When you lowered the glass, you met his gaze head-on, letting a flirtatious little smile play on your lips.
âBoth,â you said sweetly. âSometimes Iâm producing. Sometimes Iâm justâŠdistracted.â
Virgilâs smirk turned into a full smile â slow, predatory, and devastating. He tilted his head slightly.
âDistracted,â he repeated, tasting the word. His voice had dropped another notch. âInteresting.â
He reached out and gently brushed a stray curl away from your cheek, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The touch was light, but it sent electricity down your spine.
âYou know,â he continued, eyes locked on yours, âIâve been thinking about you since that night. Wondering what the woman behind that voice actually looked like. Now that Iâve seen herâŠâ He let his gaze drag slowly down your body and back up. âIâm even more interested.â
Your heart was hammering. The party continued around you, but it felt like the two of you existed in your own little bubble of heat and tension.
The conversation between you and Virgil flowed easier than you expected.
What started as teasing quickly evolved into something warmer, deeper.
He asked real questions â about the two years you spent as a faceless artist, about the pressure of suddenly being seen, about which songs meant the most to you.
You asked him about the season, about what it felt like to be one of the most respected defenders in the world, about how he handled fame so gracefully.
Every answer he gave was thoughtful, delivered in that rich, low voice that made your thighs press together more than once.
The longer you spoke, the closer you drifted.
At some point his hand had found the small of your back, thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over the satin of your dress.
The casual touch felt electric.
As the party began to wind down around 2 a.m., Virgil leaned down slightly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
âIâm heading out soon,â he said quietly. âCan I take you home? I donât like the idea of you getting into a car alone this late.â
His eyes were dark, warm, and focused entirely on you.
The champagne and the tension had left you pleasantly buzzed, brave enough to say what you wanted.
The drive back to your modern hillside home was quiet but charged.
Virgil drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, occasionally brushing against your thigh when he shifted gears.
Soft R&B played through the speakers â one of your own songs came on and he gave you a playful side-eye that made you laugh.
When he pulled into your driveway, neither of you moved for a moment.
âWould you like to come in?â
Virgilâs smirk returned, slower this time.
Inside, you kicked off your heels while he shrugged out of his black button-up, leaving him in a tight white tank that showed off his broad shoulders and the impressive muscle he carried so effortlessly.
You poured two glasses of red wine and led him to the massive sectional couch that overlooked the city lights through floor-to-ceiling windows.
The sexual tension that had been simmering all night now felt thick enough to cut with a knife.
Virgil sat with his legs spread, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you.
Every time he spoke, that deep, accented voice seemed to vibrate through your body.
He was leaning in slightly, eyes half-lidded as he listened to you talk about your upcoming album, but you could tell his focus was split â part of him was very aware of how your dress had ridden up your thighs.
âYou keep looking at my mouth when I talk,â you said suddenly, voice softer than you intended.
Virgil didnât even try to deny it. He took a slow sip of wine, then set the glass down.
âBecause Iâve been thinking about kissing you since you said my voice does something to you on national television.â
You let out a shaky breath. The way he looked at you â calm, hungry, completely in control â was making you fold fast. Your pulse was racing.
Before you could respond, you stood up abruptly, needing air.
âI have an idea,â you said, trying to regain some composure. âThe backyard has a heated infinity hot tub. Want to go in?â
Virgilâs eyes darkened with interest.
You both walked out onto the sleek terrace.
The city sparkled below you.
Without discussion, Virgil began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.
You turned slightly, slipping out of your burgundy satin dress and letting it pool at your feet.
You stepped out of it in just your black lace bra and matching panties.
When you turned back, Virgil was down to black boxer briefs that left almost nothing to the imagination.
His body was insane â tall, powerful, carved from years at the highest level.
He didnât hide the way he stared.
You both slipped into the hot tub.
The water was perfectly hot, steam rising around you.
For a few minutes you sat across from each other, talking quietly about everything and nothing â music, football, favorite cities, guilty pleasures. The tension never faded. If anything, it grew.
Virgilâs gaze kept dropping to the way the water made your skin glisten, to the swell of your breasts just above the surface.
Eventually he let out a low hum of dissatisfaction.
âYouâre too far away,â he complained, voice deeper than before. His Dutch accent wrapped around the words like velvet. âCome here.â
You stood slowly, water cascading down your body, and walked through the bubbling water toward him.
You expected him to make space beside him on the built-in bench.
Instead, Virgil reached out with one large hand, gripped your waist with gentle but undeniable strength, and guided you onto his lap.
He settled you straddling him, your knees on either side of his powerful thighs.
The moment your cores pressed together through the thin fabric of your underwear, you both inhaled sharply.
His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs stroking the slick skin there.
Water droplets ran down his chest and shoulders.
Up close, he was even more overwhelming â sharp jaw, dark eyes, that calm dominant energy radiating off him.
âBetter,â he murmured, voice so low it made you shiver despite the hot water.
One of his hands slid up your back, fingers splaying across your spine, pulling you closer until your chest brushed against his.
You were breathing harder now.
Being this close to him, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing against you, had you completely folded.
Your hands rested on his broad shoulders, fingertips digging in slightly.
Virgil tilted his head, studying your face with dark, hooded eyes.
His other hand came up to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing slowly along your jaw.
âYouâve been blushing and biting your lip all night,â he said quietly, that voice doing unforgivable things to you. âEvery time I speakâŠevery time I look at you. I can feel your heart racing right now.â
Virgilâs hands never left your body.
While you sat straddling his lap in the hot tub, his large palms slid slowly up and down your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before gliding back down to grip your waist.
The water made every touch slick and warm.
âBeautifulâŠâ he murmured, eyes half-lidded as he watched his own hands explore you. âSo fucking beautiful.â
His palms moved with deliberate slowness â over your ribs, down the curve of your hips, then back up again, stroking along your spine.
Every pass felt like he was learning the shape of you.
The steam rose around you both, curling in the cool night air.
You could feel him beneath you, already half-hard, the thick outline of his cock pressing against the lace of your panties with every subtle shift of your hips.
He suddenly gripped your waist a little firmer and pulled you forward on his lap, bringing your chest flush against his.
Your lips were now only inches apart.
His eyes darkened as they dropped to your mouth.
âMay I?â he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You nodded, breath shaky.
The moment you gave permission, Virgil cupped the back of your neck with one hand and kissed you.
The first press of his lips was soft, almost testing, but the heat behind it was undeniable.
Then he tilted his head and deepened it, tongue sliding slowly against yours in long, sensual strokes.
The kiss was wet, deliberate, and intoxicating.
He tasted like red wine and sin. His other hand stayed on your hip, guiding you into a slow, lazy grind against him.
You moaned softly into his mouth as you felt him growing harder beneath you, his thick length pressing insistently against your core with every roll of your hips.
Virgil groaned in response, the sound vibrating through his chest.
One of his hands slid down to grip your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he pulled you harder against his cock, encouraging the slow grinding.
The kiss turned filthier.
He sucked on your bottom lip, then licked into your mouth again, devouring you with a patience that made your head spin.
His hips rolled up to meet yours in perfect rhythm â slow, heavy drags that had the head of his cock rubbing right against your clit through the thin fabric separating you.
You could feel him getting fully hard now, thick and pulsing beneath you.
When you finally broke apart for air, both of you were breathing heavily, lips wet and swollen.
You rested your forehead against his, trying to steady yourself.
âWe should go upstairs,â you whispered.
Virgil nodded, pressing one last slow kiss to your lips. âLead the way.â
You climbed out of the hot tub first, water streaming down your body.
Virgil followed, towering behind you as you walked back into the house.
You led him up the stairs to your luxurious primary bathroom.
The space was sleek â marble, rainfall showerhead, soft lighting.
âI want to shower first,â you said, suddenly feeling a little shy despite everything that had just happened outside.
You reached for the glass door, about to close it behind you, then paused. You looked back at him over your shoulder.
ââŠAre you coming?â MM
Virgilâs smirk was slow and dangerous. âI thought youâd never ask.â
He stepped in behind you, still in his black boxer briefs.
You were still wearing your soaked lace bra and panties.
At first, it felt almost innocent.
You turned on the rainfall shower.
Warm water cascaded over both of you like a tropical downpour.
You picked up your expensive body wash, poured some into your hands, and stepped closer to him.
Starting at his shoulders, you began washing him.
Your hands moved slowly, sensually.
You felt every ridge of muscle in his arms, the hard planes of his chest, the deep cuts of his abs.
The soap made everything slippery. Virgil stood still, watching you with dark, hooded eyes as your palms glided over his skin.
You traced the V-lines disappearing into his briefs, then moved back up, massaging his shoulders and neck.
The steam thickened around you.
The only sounds were the water hitting marble and both of you breathing.
He cupped your face with both hands and kissed you again.
This kiss was deeper than the one in the hot tub.
His tongue explored your mouth like he had all the time in the world, while his hands began peeling the lace bra from your body.
The soaked fabric hit the shower floor with a wet slap.
He groaned at the sight of your bare breasts and immediately palmed them, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples.
He broke the kiss only to slowly drop to his knees in front of you.
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. He looked up at you through wet lashes, silently asking for permission one more time.
When you nodded, he dragged the lace down your legs, helping you step out of them. Now you were completely naked in front of him.
He rose back to his full height, towering over you and turned you around gently but firmly so your back was pressed against his chest.
One of his large hands wrapped around your throat â not squeezing, just holding â while the other slid down your stomach and between your legs.
His mouth found your neck.
He kissed you there sloppily â open-mouthed, sucking, licking, grazing his teeth along your pulse point as the hot water continued to rain down on both of you.
Two thick fingers rubbed slow, perfect circles on your swollen clit.
The pressure was firm but unhurried.
He took his time, savoring every gasp and whimper that left your lips.
âYouâre so sensitive already,â he murmured against your neck, voice impossibly deep. âBeen thinking about this since the moment you said my name on television.â
He kept rubbing tight, lazy circles until your knees started to shake.
Only then did he slide one long finger inside you, then a second, curling them perfectly against that spot that made you see stars.
His palm pressed against your clit while his fingers pumped in and out in slow, deep strokes.
Virgilâs mouth never left your neck â kissing, biting, sucking marks into your skin as he worked you closer and closer to the edge with nothing but his hand.
His fingers never faltered.
He kept that same devastatingly slow rhythm â two thick fingers curling deep inside you while the heel of his palm pressed firm, steady circles against your clit.
His mouth was still latched onto your neck, sucking and licking as the hot water poured over both of you.
The steam made everything feel even more intimate, almost dreamlike.
âThatâs it,â he whispered against your wet skin, voice so deep it vibrated through you. âDonât fight it, beautiful. Let me feel you.â
Your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably.
The pressure had been building for so long that when it finally broke, it shattered you.
Your orgasm crashed into you hard.
A broken moan tore from your throat as your walls clenched violently around his fingers.
Your back arched against his chest, head falling back onto his shoulder.
Virgil held you up with one arm wrapped around your waist, fingers still moving slowly inside you, drawing every last pulse and aftershock out of you.
He groaned deeply at the feeling of you coming undone for him, murmuring praise right against your ear.
âGood girlâŠjust like thatâŠfuck, you feel perfect. So tight around my fingers.â
He kept stroking you through it until your legs gave out completely.
Only then did he gently pull his fingers from you.
He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a low, satisfied hum while his eyes stayed locked on yours.
You were still panting, trying to catch your breath, when Virgil turned you around to face him.
His hands slid under your thighs and he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the warm, wet marble wall of the shower.
The water continued to rain down on both of you as he held you up like you weighed nothing.
Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist.
You could feel his cock â rock hard and heavy â pressing against your entrance through his soaked boxer briefs.
Virgil looked at you with dark, hooded eyes, water dripping from his curls and down his sharp jawline.
âI need to be inside you,â he said, voice rough with restraint. âRight now. Is that okay?â
You nodded frantically, nails digging into his shoulders.
He reached between your bodies and shoved his boxer briefs down just enough to free himself.
His cock sprang up, thick, long, and flushed.
He dragged the head slowly through your folds, coating himself in your release and the warm water, teasing your still-sensitive clit until you whimpered.
Then, with one smooth, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you to the hilt.
You cried out, forehead falling against his as your walls fluttered around his considerable size.
Virgil groaned loudly, the sound echoing off the marble walls.
He stilled for a long moment, buried deep, letting you adjust while he held you securely against the wall.
âFuck⊠you feel even better than I imagined,â he breathed, voice strained.
It was slow at first â deep, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you.
Because he was holding you up, every thrust felt impossibly deep.
Your bodies were pressed flush together, chest to chest, forehead to forehead, sharing the same hot, steamy air.
The position was essentially standing missionary, and Virgil took full advantage of it.
One of his hands stayed under your thigh, holding you open for him.
The other braced against the wall beside your head.
His hips rolled into you in long, powerful strokes â pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in to the base, grinding against your clit with every thrust.
The pace was sensual and deliberate. Not frantic.
He fucked you like he wanted to savor every second.
âLook at me,â he commanded softly.
When your eyes met his, the intensity nearly undid you.
His face was inches from yours, jaw tight, water cascading over his shoulders and chest.
Every time he bottomed out, a quiet grunt escaped him.
âYouâre taking me so well, beautiful,â he murmured between thrusts, voice hoarse. âSo deepâŠjust like that. Keep your eyes on me.â
He leaned in and kissed you again â messy, open-mouthed, and desperate.
His tongue moved in time with his cock, licking into your mouth as he fucked you against the wall.
The sound of wet skin slapping wet skin mixed with the steady rhythm of the rainfall shower filled the bathroom.
Virgilâs thrusts gradually grew harder, deeper.
He adjusted his grip, holding both of your thighs now, spreading you wider so he could drive into you with more force.
Every stroke dragged a moan from your lips.
He swallowed each one with another kiss, then moved his mouth to your neck again, sucking fresh marks into your skin while he pounded into you.
âYou feel so fucking good,â he groaned against your throat. âSo tight⊠so wet for me⊠I could stay buried inside you all night.â
He shifted the angle slightly, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. Your second orgasm was already building fast, coiling tight in your belly.
Virgil could feel it â the way you clenched around him, the way your moans pitched higher.
He pressed his forehead harder against yours, breathing ragged.
The angle had him dragging against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, and the way he held you â strong hands gripping your thighs, keeping you spread open for him â made you feel completely claimed.
âIâm so close,â you gasped against his mouth, nails digging into the back of his neck.
âI know, beautiful,â he murmured, voice rough and low. That accent thickened with lust. âI can feel you squeezing me. So fucking tight⊠like you were made for this.â
He kissed you again â slower this time, deeper, like he was pouring everything he felt into it.
His tongue moved lazily against yours while his hips maintained that devastating rhythm.
The steam, the heat, the constant stream of water, and the feeling of him so deep inside you was overwhelming.
Every sense was flooded with him.
Virgil shifted his grip, sliding one arm under your ass to hold you more securely while his other hand moved between your bodies.
His thumb found your clit and began rubbing slow, firm circles in time with his thrusts.
âLook at me,â he whispered.
Your eyes fluttered open and locked onto his.
The intensity in his dark gaze nearly undid you.
His curls were soaked, water dripping from his lashes, jaw clenched with restraint.
He looked devastatingly beautiful like this â raw, powerful, and completely focused on you.
âI want us to finish together,â he said, voice hoarse but gentle. âCan you do that for me?â
You nodded, barely able to speak.
His thrusts grew slightly faster, deeper, more purposeful.
The wet slap of skin on skin echoed beautifully in the shower.
His thumb never stopped its perfect rhythm on your clit.
The coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter until you felt like you were going to snap.
âVirgilâŠâ you whimpered, eyes starting to roll back.
âStay with me, beautiful. Eyes on me when you cum.â
Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.
A sharp cry tore from your throat as your walls clenched violently around his thick cock.
Your entire body shook in his arms, thighs trembling, back arching hard against the wall.
The pleasure was so intense it bordered on overwhelming.
You kept your eyes on him the entire time, just like he asked, watching the way his own control finally shattered.
âFuckâ thatâs it, babyâŠsqueeze me just like thatââ
Virgil groaned deeply, the sound guttural and raw.
His hips stuttered once, twice, then he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
You felt him throb powerfully as he came, spilling deep inside you in hot, thick pulses.
His face dropped to the crook of your neck as he rode it out, hips grinding slowly into you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure for both of you.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the water falling and both of you trying to catch your breath.
Virgil stayed buried inside you, holding you securely against the wall even as his legs shook slightly from the intensity.
He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, your jaw, your cheek, until he finally found your lips again.
This kiss was slower, sweeter, almost tender.
âYouâre incredible,â he whispered against your mouth. âSo perfect.â
He stayed like that for another minute, just holding you, letting the water rinse over your joined bodies.
Only when he felt your breathing begin to even out did he carefully pull out of you.
A soft whimper left your lips at the loss. Virgil hushed you gently, kissing your temple.
He lowered you slowly until your feet touched the shower floor, but he didnât let you go.
One arm stayed wrapped around your waist, supporting you as your legs felt like jelly.
The aftercare was immediate and effortless.
Virgil turned the shower temperature slightly cooler, then reached for your shampoo.
He washed your hair with careful, gentle fingers, massaging your scalp until you were practically purring. You returned the favor, running soapy hands over his chest and shoulders, tracing every line of muscle with quiet admiration.
He smiled down at you the entire time â soft, almost boyish â a stark contrast to the man who had just fucked you against the wall.
Once you were both clean, he wrapped you in a huge, fluffy towel and carried you bridal-style into your bedroom.
He dried you off slowly, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he touched â your shoulders, your wrists, the inside of your elbows, the tops of your breasts.
He was especially gentle when he noticed the faint marks heâd left on your neck.
After drying himself, he climbed into your bed and pulled you against his chest.
The sheets were cool against your overheated skin.
Virgil tucked you into his side, one arm wrapped securely around you while his other hand stroked slow, soothing patterns up and down your back.
âYou okay?â he asked quietly, lips brushing your forehead.
You nodded, nuzzling deeper into his chest.
He was quiet for a moment, then let out a soft laugh.
âI meant what I said on Fallonâs show,â he murmured. âIâm going to need that playlist.â
You laughed, the sound muffled against his skin.
Virgil smiled and tilted your chin up so he could kiss you again â slow, sweet, and lingering.
âI donât want this to be a one-time thing,â he said honestly, eyes searching yours. âI want to take you on a proper date. I want to hear you sing in person. I want to wake up next to you again⊠if youâll let me.â
Your heart swelled. You reached up and traced his jaw with your fingertips.
âIâd really like that, Virgil.â
He kissed you one last time, then pulled the covers over both of you.
With you safely tucked against his chest, his fingers still drawing lazy circles on your back, he whispered against your hair:
âSleep, beautiful. Iâve got you.â
As your eyes grew heavy, wrapped in his warmth and the faint scent of his skin, you couldnât help but smile.
The faceless artist had finally been seen⊠and the man sheâd admired from afar had turned out to be even better in real life.
