batmanwify - Tumblr blog

batmanwify · 2 months ago

Text

night in dubai | vinicus jr —————-> (one shoot)

vini jr x reader!fling!

Summary: After a wild night out in Dubai, two strangers—one of them unknowingly Vinicius Jr.—end up in a luxury hotel suite where passion overtakes them. Their connection is intense, fast, and unforgettable. But by morning, neither remembers how they got there or even each other’s names—only the feeling that something powerful happened between them.

disclaimer: smut, drink, curse, Contains strong sexual content

🎶 B.E.D. - Jacquees

The music was loud, the lights too bright, and everything was bathed in that honey-gold Dubai glow. You weren’t sure what pulled you into the VIP lounge of WHITE Dubai, but it was probably the champagne—or maybe the boy with the smile that felt like trouble.

You barely caught his name over the noise, something about “Vini,” but you were already dancing, your bodies moving like they’d known each other for years. He was confident, electric. Hands on your waist, breath on your neck. One more drink, another shared glance, and it all started blurring into heat and hunger.

Next thing you knew, you were laughing in a blacked-out SUV, his arm lazily thrown over your shoulder as the Atlantis rose like a mirage in the distance. You stumbled into his suite like it belonged to you both, the view of the night-drenched sea forgotten as soon as the door slammed shut.

Clothes hit the floor fast. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was teeth and hands and breathless curses. His grip was rough, mouth possessive, your nails dragging down his back like you needed to mark him as real. Everything felt like fire—urgent, wild, messy. Like you’d been waiting your whole life for that moment.

The room was hot.

Not just from the desert air seeping through the wide windows of the Atlantis suite, but from the tangled mess of limbs on the king-size bed. Skin against skin, breath against breath—moans echoing off the marble walls.

His mouth crashed against yours again, tasting like tequila and sin. His body hovered over you, chest slick with sweat, the scent of expensive cologne still clinging to him despite the heat between you. His lips found your throat, biting softly, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“You don’t even know my name,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He smirked against your skin, low and dark. “Don’t need to. I know this.”

One hard thrust. Your back arched. A strangled cry spilled from your mouth. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head, hips grinding into yours with a rhythm that felt punishing and perfect.

You clawed at the sheets, legs wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each time he moved, it was deliberate—possessive. Like he wanted to claim you, not just for the night, but for something longer. Like he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else ever seeing you like this.

His hand slid down, gripping your ass, fingers digging in before delivering a sharp spank that made your body jolt and your moan break into a breathless whimper.

“Vini—”

He paused, eyes locked with yours.

Your breath caught. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours, voice ragged. “Tonight, it is.”

He flipped you over without warning, dragging you to the edge of the bed. You gasped as your chest hit the sheets, his hand pressing into the small of your back as he slid into you again, harder this time. The rhythm was relentless. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak. Just felt—every thrust, every slap of skin, every deep groan that rumbled from his throat.

You felt your orgasm building, a pressure too intense to hold back. He leaned over, lips brushing your ear.

“Come for me.”

You shattered.

Moaning his name—real or not—you collapsed into the sheets as your body convulsed. He didn’t stop, didn’t let up until his grip tightened on your hips and his own rhythm faltered, broken by a deep, guttural groan.

Then silence.

He collapsed beside you, chest heaving, his body slick against yours. You turned toward him, dazed, your fingers brushing his arm. But his eyes were already closed, his breath evening out.

He was out cold.

You stared at the ceiling, the room spinning gently. A laugh escaped you, breathless and stunned.

And then—black.

⸻

Sunlight was brutal.

He woke first.

The sheets were tangled, his mouth dry, head pounding. He sat up slowly, the unfamiliar ceiling above him and the unfamiliar girl beside him making his stomach drop. His heart knocked hard in his chest.

What the hell happened?

He rubbed his temples. The room was a mess—half a bottle of tequila on the nightstand, a heel hanging off the desk chair, your phone buzzing faintly on the floor.

He looked over at you, hair wild on the pillow, mouth parted in your sleep. Gorgeous. But completely unfamiliar.

He didn’t even know your name.

You stirred slightly, frowning as your eyes fluttered open.

“…Where are we?”

His voice was hoarse. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

You both sat in silence for a beat, staring at each other like strangers. Because that’s exactly what you were. Strangers who shared something feral, intense—and completely untraceable.

He reached for his phone, his lock screen lighting up with messages from teammates. That’s when it hit you.

“You’re… You’re Vinicius Jr.?”

He blinked, realization slowly creeping into his expression. He was still shirtless, your scratches on his skin like evidence.

“You didn’t know?”

You laughed. “No idea. I was drunk, not brain-dead.”

He cracked a grin despite the headache, shaking his head. “Well. This is awkward.”

You rolled over, groaning. “That’s one word for it.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The sunlight kept creeping through the curtains, the silence stretching like a question neither of you wanted to answer.

But under it all, there was a tension still simmering—like your bodies remembered what your minds didn’t.

And that memory… wasn’t done with either of you yet.

Your head throbbed with the kind of ache that screamed too much tequila and too many bad decisions. You clung to the sheets, the cool fabric grounding you as you glanced around the room, your pulse quickening.

Clothes were everywhere. Or… what was left of them.

You spotted your dress—what was left of it—hanging half-off the corner of a chair. Torn at the strap, fabric ripped clean down the side like it had been handled without patience. Heat flooded your cheeks as fragments of last night hit you in flashes: the hallway, the elevator, the way his hands had grabbed at the hem like he couldn’t wait a second longer.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, tightening the sheet around you.

From across the room, Vinicius sat on the edge of the bed, bare back to you, head in his hands. His phone buzzed again on the nightstand, ignored.

You watched the muscles move across his shoulders as he ran his hands through his curls. The scratch marks you left were still red on his skin.

You swallowed hard.

He turned slightly when he noticed your movement, eyes meeting yours in the heavy silence. You couldn’t read his expression—somewhere between confusion and amusement.

“You okay?” he asked, voice still raspy from sleep… or maybe from the night before.

You tried to laugh, but it came out dry. “Define ‘okay.’ My dress is in pieces, I have no idea how I got here, and I just realized I slept with a footballer whose name I didn’t even catch until thirty seconds ago.”

He winced, then gave you a slow, crooked smile. “Yeah… that sounds about right.”

You sat up straighter, one arm holding the sheet in place as you reached for your phone on the floor. Dead. Of course.

“Do you remember anything?” you asked cautiously.

“Bits,” he admitted. “Mostly heat. And your voice. Saying my name like you hated me and wanted me all at once.”

Your stomach did a slow flip. You wanted to throw a pillow at him—or crawl back under the covers.

“God,” you murmured. “This is a nightmare.”

He leaned back, resting on his elbows, eyes raking over you without shame. “Could’ve fooled me. Last night felt more like a dream.”

Your gaze narrowed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

He smirked, then looked down, his voice dipping. “Not gonna lie… waking up next to a stranger isn’t my usual vibe. But…” He glanced at you again, softer this time. “You don’t feel like a mistake.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone.

The room stayed quiet a moment longer—sunlight creeping across the marble floor, the only sound the faint thrum of music still echoing from the beach club far below.

“Guess we should, um… figure out what happens next?” you offered, still clutching the sheet like a shield.

Vinicius gave you a slow nod. “Yeah. Maybe after breakfast. Or…” He paused. “Or we could pretend the night’s not over yet.”

Your heart pounded.

The question hung in the air.

And you weren’t sure which answer scared you more.

You stood, still wrapped in the sheet like a queen in exile, and strutted toward the chair where your ruined dress hung in surrender. You picked it up by two fingers, scoffing at its condition.

“Smooth,” you said, glancing at him over your shoulder. “But no.”

You turned back around, flashing him a smirk as you headed toward the bathroom.

“Gotta go.”

He let out a short laugh—low, surprised, maybe even impressed. “You always leave this fast after rocking someone’s world?”

You paused in the doorway, turning just enough to shoot him a look that could cut glass. “Only when I forget their name.”

Door shut.

And for a few seconds, all he could do was stare at it… wondering why a complete stranger had just made him want to remember her name more than anything else.

He was still lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows, when your voice called out from the bathroom—sharp, frustrated, and way too tempting.

“I need clothes! This dress is completely ruined!”

Vinicius grinned to himself, dragging a hand through his curls. The sound of your voice, even annoyed, lit a fuse under his skin.

“I told you not to wear something I’d wanna rip off,” he called back, voice dripping with that cocky, morning-after swagger.

You opened the door just enough to peek your head out, wrapped in a towel now—bare shoulders glistening slightly from the steam, lips still flushed, a line of annoyance on your face that somehow made you even hotter.

“And I told you I didn’t even know who you were. You think I dressed for you?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “That makes it even worse. You didn’t even try, and I still lost control.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat between your thighs betrayed you. You weren’t sure if it was the hangover, the adrenaline, or the way his voice sent tingles down your spine—but you were two seconds away from walking back in there.

“I’m serious,” you said. “I can’t walk through the Atlantis lobby in a towel.”

He got up slowly, stretching, his body all lean muscle and golden skin, still marked by your nails. He walked to the closet, opened a drawer, and tossed a black hoodie toward the door.

“Try that on. No pants, though—I like the look of you half-dressed and pissed off.”

You caught the hoodie with a huff, slamming the door shut again. But a smile tugged at your lips.

You pulled it over your head—soft, oversized, and smelling like him—and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Hair messy. Eyes still smudged with last night’s mascara. Hoodie hanging halfway down your thighs.

You looked like a girl who didn’t just survive a storm… you were the storm.

When you stepped back into the room, Vinicius turned—and his smirk dropped just slightly. You could see it in his eyes: he remembered more than he was letting on.

And you weren’t sure who moved first—but the moment your eyes locked again, the air turned molten.

The night may have ended hours ago.

But round two?

That was just beginning.

You stood in the middle of the suite, barefoot, legs bare, drowning in his hoodie—but nothing about you felt small. If anything, you felt charged. Alive. The tension between you and Vini crackled like a live wire.

His eyes swept over you slowly. No smirk now. Just a hunger that felt older than the night before.

You crossed your arms, playing coy, even though the way he was looking at you made your knees a little weak.

“I thought you didn’t remember anything,” you said, voice low.

He stepped closer. Just a few feet away now. His gaze didn’t waver.

“I didn’t,” he said. “But I’m starting to.”

You swallowed.

“And what exactly are you remembering?”

He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers dragging against your cheek longer than necessary. His touch burned like memory.

“That sound you made,” he whispered. “When I pushed you up against the window. When your breath fogged the glass, and you said my name like it hurt to say it.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You remembered it now—your palms flat against the glass, the city glittering beneath you while his hands gripped your hips like he was trying to claim the skyline through you.

He leaned in, lips barely grazing your jaw.

“Or the way you pulled my chain with your teeth,” he murmured, mouth trailing down to your neck. “Like you wanted to keep a piece of me.”

You didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t.

Because your hands were already on him—fingertips brushing the waistband of his boxers, skin to skin, your body already betraying every bit of common sense.

He walked you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered.

“Definitely,” he said, lips ghosting yours. “Still gonna stop me?”

You shook your head, breathless. “Not a chance.”

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was dangerous—like setting fire to a place you knew you’d have to escape from later.

But for now?

You let it burn.

#real madrid #soccer #hala madrid #jude bellingham #madrid spain #vinicius jr #footballwags #kylian mbappe #aurelien tchouameni #wags #vini jr #hot vini jr #fanfic

15 notes · View notes