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Lorenzo Berkshire
You're a bet.
You’ve been dating Lorenzo Berkshire for three month's now. Three months of dreamy walks around the lake, half-smiles across classrooms, and lingering touches. He brings you flowers—actual flowers, not conjured ones. Ones he says remind him of you. He tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re rambling, notices small changes, and always seems to know when something’s wrong before you even say it.
You’re not stupid. You know his reputation. The smooth-talking Slytherin with too many flings and hookups and not enough heart. But with you… he’s different. Softer. More attentive. And for once, you let yourself believe in that difference.
Earlier today, he forgot his Potions textbook at your dorm. You said nothing, just picked it up after he left. It’s late now, but you figure you’ll drop it off—he has class early, and maybe it’ll make him skip detention.
When you step into the Slytherin common room, you don’t expect to see him. He’s on the couch with his back to you, laughing with Theo and Mattheo. You stop before saying anything.
Then you hear him.
“Can you believe that, three months, and she’s already completely hooked.”
Theo and Mattheo snorts.
And then Lorenzo says it—offhand, like it’s nothing:
“The bet was so easy to win, it takes nothing to make her swoon. I mean Merlin, how oblivious can you be to not realise it’s all fake?”
The words hit harder than they should.
The book slips from your hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud.
He turns. His smile falters.
PLEASE DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE OR REPOST AS YOUR OWN!
I know I haven’t posted much lately— I’m currently sick and on my period and it’s been rough 😩 so energy levels are in the negatives right now. I apologize for the lack of posts.
This is my first real dive into angst, and I’m not used to it, so please be gentle I usually write happy endings, so this was new territory for me. A fluffy version is coming soon though!!
Also yes I am aware my pictures choice suck ass. I'M SORRY!
To my beloved Lorenzo girlies, theys, everyone in between please don’t come for me. I’m fragile. MWAH
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You don’t remember walking out of the Slytherin common room. One second, you were standing there, textbook at your feet, and the next, it was like the castle swallowed you whole.
His voice sticks to you:
“The bet was so easy to win. It takes nothing to make her swoon. I mean, Merlin, how oblivious can you be to not realize it’s all fake?”
It’s all fake.
You knew. Somewhere in you, you always knew. You’d heard the stories. The warnings whispered in dorm rooms and bathroom stalls, passed like secrets between girls with wounded hearts. He was charming, sure. But calculated. Cold. Dangerous. You knew. And still, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you weren’t like the others.
You remember the way he’d hold you, the flowers he picked by hand. The way he never had to ask what was wrong—he just knew. You let yourself think it was real. That he was different with you. That maybe you were different.
The next day, you make yourself vanish. It’s easier than expected. He’s not in your first two classes, and by lunch, you’ve memorized every shortcut, every unused stairwell, every side corridor. You move through the castle like smoke, slipping just out of sight, heart hammering every time you hear his name. You don’t want to see him. Don’t want to hear him. Because you know what he’ll do—he’ll twist it. Reframe it. And you can’t let him. Not this time.
But of course, Lorenzo Berkshire doesn’t give up that easily.
It happens fast—he catches you turning a corner near the library. You hear him call out in the hallway
“Wait.”
You keep walking.
“I just want to talk.”
You stop. Not because you want to, but because your body betrays you—still attuned to his voice like a bad habit. You turn slowly, not flinching, not folding. You want to laugh. Instead, you meet his gaze with the kind of calm that hurts. His face is as handsome as ever—hair a little messier than usual, his eyes pleading in a way that would’ve melted you a week ago.
“I don’t,” you say. Your voice is quiet. Steady. It’s the kind of calm that burns.
He doesn’t call after you again. Not then.
But he tries. Over and over. He waits outside classrooms, leans against doorframes like he belongs there. He’s always nearby—just close enough to be felt, never close enough to be caught. You switch routes. You become a shadow of yourself just to outrun him.
It almost works.
A week later, he finds you on the Astronomy Tower—the only place that still feels like it’s yours. You don’t look up when he arrives, though you hear the quiet shuffle of his steps. He doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t try to coax you right away. Just stands there, leaning against the archway like he doesn’t already know what he’s destroyed.
“You win,” you say without looking up. “Go ahead. Say whatever speech you’ve been practicing in the mirror. I’ll try to act surprised.”
Lorenzo steps forward, slow, like he’s handling something volatile.
“It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”
You sigh. “There we go.” You finally meet his eyes. “Right. You were aiming for what—two weeks? Just another game? A story for you and your friends to laugh about?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares at you, jaw tight.
“It started like that. I won’t lie to you,” he admits.
You let out a short, cold breath of disbelief. “That’s a first.”
Lorenzo swallows. His jaw tightens. And for once, he looks… unsure.
“I didn’t expect you to matter. You weren’t supposed to. But then… you did. And I didn’t know how to handle that. I didn’t know how to fix it without breaking it. I know,” he says, and for the first time, his voice cracks just slightly. “I fucked up.”
His eyes flicker. You see it then—the flicker of regret, or maybe just discomfort at losing control.
“I care about you,” he says. “I love you.”
It’s almost laughable. Almost.
“No, Lorenzo. You loved being wanted. You loved being believed. You loved the power. That’s not love. That’s ego.”
He moves closer. “It wasn’t fake. Not all of it.”
“That’s supposed to make it better?”
“No,” he admits. “It’s supposed to make it true.”
You shake your head. “If any of it had been true, you would have told me the truth. People like you don’t love, Lorenzo. You collect. You conquer. And when the thrill fades, you move on.”
You take one last look at him. Not with longing, not with anger. This time, it’s different. This time, you see him clearly.
You were the story this time—the punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were in. Just another name in his black book.
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No overselling: SweetDream lets you build a companion who feels like yours, then talk, call, and share moments with her in a way that genuinely feels real. That's the purpose, and it delivers.
The reason to choose it over the rest is quality, deep character creation, natural and emotionally intelligent chat, beautiful photos and videos, human-sounding voice and calls, and privacy that's respected. If you're going to try one, make it sweetdream.ai.
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⁺₊✧ Lorenzo is the definition of golden retriever energy—zero concept of personal space, a dangerous amount of charm. He never knocks. Ever. He just waltzes into your room like he owns the place, flops onto your bed, and starts talking. Lorenzo has zero concept of boundaries. He will steal your snacks, your phone charger, but somehow, you won’t even be mad—But for all his chaotic energy, Lorenzo is shockingly good at reading people. If you’re upset, he notices immediately—he won’t say anything, but suddenly he’s dragging you for a movie, shoving your favorite snack into your hand, or playing music just loud enough to drown out whatever’s bothering you. He makes life louder, brighter, messier—and even though it’s annoying as hell sometimes, the apartment would feel empty without him.
Living with Lorenzo is a headache. But somehow, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
╭┈┈┈┈┈ஓ๑♡𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑘♡๑ஓ┈┈┈┈┈╮
𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠— 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒
╰┈┈┈┈┈ஓ๑♡𝑉𝑜𝑖𝑑’𝑠♡๑ஓ┈┈┈┈┈╯
╭┈┈┈┈ஓ๑♡ 𝐶.𝐴𝐼 𝐵𝑜𝑡𝑠 ♡๑ஓ┈┈┈┈╮
➺ Sleepover – Roommate!Lorenzo sleeps in your room cause there's a spider [Link]
╰┈┈┈┈┈ஓ๑♡𝑉𝑜𝑖𝑑’𝑠♡๑ஓ┈┈┈┈┈╯
PLEASE DO NOT COPY / TRANSLATE OR REPOST AS YOUR OWN!
A/N: Hello! 💚 Trying out a new format—hope you like it! I won’t lie, I’m not super proud of this one, it’s my first attempt, but hopefully, you still enjoy the chaos. Sorry for not posting more tonight, it’s been a rough week. Enjoy!✨😊 // 🧸 my C.ai profile! // 📜 my main masterlist! // 🫂 Click here to send me a request or message
You were finally, relaxing in your dorm, wrapped in a blanket, enjoying the rare moment of solitude. A book in hand, maybe a snack nearby—peace. True peace.
Which, of course, meant it was doomed.
Because without warning—
BAM.
The door slams open like it's been cursed off its hinges, crashing into the wall as your best friend bursts in like an agent of chaos with zero regard for personal space.
And then—
Mattheo Riddle
Mattheo stands in the doorway, hands on his hips, a wild grin on his face. His curls are a mess, his tie is half undone, and there’s a very real possibility he just ran here.
“Put on your shoes. We’re making terrible decisions tonight.”
You stare at him, blinking. “That’s not a greeting.”
“No time for pleasantries, love. There’s mischief to be done.”
You groan, sinking further into your blanket. “I’m tired, Matty."
“No, no, see, that’s exactly why you need this.” He saunters over, dramatically ripping the blanket off you. “Sleep? Rest? Overrated. But breaking at least one school rule? That’s how you heal.”
You narrow your eyes. “What’s the plan?”
He grins, too wide to be safe. “Let’s just say… Filch is about to have a really bad night.”
Tom Riddle
Tom enters your room calmly, as if he didn’t just barge in like an assassin. He closes the door behind him carefully, eyes sharp as they settle on you.
“Morality is optional. What’s the plan?”
You frown. “...I don’t have a plan.”
Tom tilts his head. “Oh?” He takes a slow step closer. “You mean to tell me that you were simply sitting here, peacefully, with no thoughts of mischief? No revenge plots? No dubious acts of spellwork?”
You raise a brow. “Yes?”
He exhales, shaking his head. “Unacceptable. Here.” He pulls a folded piece of parchment from his robe. “I made a list.”
You blink. “A list—?!”
“Of people who deserve to be hexed. Thought you might want to assist.”
You stare at him.
Tom stares back.
Then, you reach for your wand. “...Fine. But I pick the first target.”
He smirks. “Naturally.”
Theodore Nott
Theo doesn’t barge in. No, he leans against the doorframe casually.
He surveys you, taking in the blanket, the book, the snack. Then he smirks.
“Good choices? Never heard of ‘em. Let’s go.”
You frown, flipping a page. “Go where?”
He shrugs, stepping inside. “Does it matter?”
You raise a brow. “Theo.”
“Look, I just feel like something’s missing tonight,” he says, plopping down beside you. “And I’ve decided the answer is bad decisions.”
You groan, shutting the book. “If this is about sneaking into the kitchens again—”
He gasps. “How dare you assume I only have one bad idea?”
You sigh. “...Alright. What’s the plan?”
Theo grins. “I have no idea. Let’s wing it.”
Lorenzo Berkshire
Lorenzo saunters in, all easy confidence and casual amusement, like he already knows you’re going to say yes.
“Do you want a distraction or an alibi?”
You blink at him. “For what?”
He smirks, flopping onto your bed. “You ask too many questions.”
“Lorenzo. What. Did. You. Do.”
His smirk widens. “See, I could tell you… or you could just come with me and find out.”
You stare at him. “That sounds dangerous.”
“I know.” He grins, standing and offering his hand. “Exciting, isn’t it?”
You sigh, grabbing your wand. “I swear, if this gets me detention—”
Lorenzo winks. “Not if we do it right.”
Blaise Zabini
Blaise appears in the doorway like a summoned spirit, eyes half-lidded, looking entirely too composed for someone about to cause absolute mayhem.
“I have free will, a plan, and absolutely no self-control.”
You narrow your eyes. “That’s possibly the most dangerous combination of words I’ve ever heard.”
He smirks. “Which is why you should be way more concerned.”
You sigh, setting down your book. “What’s the situation?”
“Well, I’ve come across some rather interesting information that could cause problems for everyone involved.”
You raise a brow. “And by ‘interesting information,’ you mean—”
Blaise grins. “We’re breaking into Filch’s office.”
You stare.
Then, you grab your wand. “Lead the way.”
Draco Malfoy
Draco strides in, arms crossed, voice deadpan.
“How opposed are you to grand larceny?”
You blink. “I—what?”
He sighs. “Never mind. You’re clearly not mentally prepared.”
You scramble up. “Wait, what did you do?”
Draco smirks. “Hypothetically, if one were to acquire an entire bottle of Veritaserum from Snape’s office—”
“Draco.”
“—then one might require an accomplice.”
You groan, grabbing your wand. “Fine. But if we get caught—”
“I do the talking,” he interrupts, linking arms with you. “Obviously.”
And just like that, you’re in it together. Again.
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Lorenzo Berkshire
Sleepover with Roommate!Lorenzo
Living with Lorenzo is like living with a golden retriever in human form—constantly moving, constantly talking, constantly touching things that don’t belong to him. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t ask. He’ll burst into your room mid-conversation with himself. He steals your snacks, your charger, but somehow manages to do it all with that stupidly charming grin that makes it impossible to stay mad.
He’s loud, dramatic, always hungry, and allergic to silence. But for all the chaos, he’s weirdly good at knowing when something’s wrong. He won’t ask, won’t pressure—but suddenly, he’s playing your comfort movie, passing you a drink, or cracking dumb jokes until you forget why you were upset. He makes the place feel alive. Annoying, sure. Exhausting, definitely. But without him? The apartment would feel too quiet.
It’s late when he slips into your room without warning, hoodie too big, socks mismatched. He flops onto your bed like he belongs there—like he hasn’t just barged in uninvited for the third time this week.
“We’re having a sleepover,” he says, like it’s already been decided.
You give him a look, but he ignores it, launching into some story about his day, talking with his hands, feet dangling off the edge of your mattress. Time passes. Eventually the conversation fades, both of you lying on your backs, staring at the ceiling in that comfortable kind of quiet that only exists between people who know each other too well.
After a long pause, he sighs. “Okay. I lied.”
He turns his head toward you, serious for half a second.
“There was a spider in my room. Huge. Like, spiritually aggressive. It had energy. I wasn’t gonna sleep in there.”
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A/N: Hello!!
I should have posted this a while ago, it's been sitting in my drafts for a good bit, I wasn't in the mood to really post anything, life got in the way. I still hope you enjoy this alt ending! I'd say it's more of a hurt/comfort 💛
NOT PROOF READ.
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You’re not even sure why you came up here tonight.
Maybe you thought if you sat in the dark long enough, the ache would stop humming under your skin.
It hasn’t.
Behind you, footsteps. Quiet—so soft you almost think you imagined them. You don't need to turn around to know it's him, you hear him take a breath.
You don’t turn.“Don’t.”
He doesn’t move closer. “I just… can I talk?”
You let out a dry laugh. “You’ve done enough of that already, don’t you think?”
Silence. Then—“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
A breath from him. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I said. I was being stupid.”
You huff—sad more than bitter. “No shit.”
“I… I didn’t think it was gonna matter. The bet. You weren’t supposed to matter.”
You nod slowly.“Cool. Thanks. That really helps. You’re really bad at this, y’know.”
“I know. I know I am.”Another shaky breath.“I just—God, I don’t know how to say this right.”
You glance over your shoulder. He looks like hell. Hair a mess, eyes dark, like he hasn’t slept since you droped the book and walked out.
“Why’d you come?” you ask.
“Because not seeing you is worst than seeing you hate me.”
He say it like he means it. A pause. And he speaks again.
“I miss you,” he say, quiet. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “Not just sexually. I miss you yelling at me for getting in trouble. I miss you getting mad when I steal your snacks. I miss your stupid jokes. I miss the way you ran your fingers through my hair. I miss hearing you talk about magical creatures. I miss the way your eyes look in the sun. I miss your laugh. I miss all of it.”
Your throat tightens. You swallow, hard. “I trusted you,” you say. “I let you in. And you made me feel stupid for it. Do you even know how much that shit hurt?”
He’s quiet for a second too long. “I do now.”
You pull your sleeves over your hands.“And what, you think a speech fixes it?”
He shakes his head fast. “No. I don’t think that. I don’t think anything I say makes it better. I—fuck, I’ve gone over this a thousand times in my head. I can’t change what I did. If I could, I would. I’d take it all back—Not you. Never you. Just the lie. The start.”
His voice drops. “I had to try. Even if you hate me. Even if this goes no where. I couldn’t keep pretending I’m fine.”
You laugh—short, breathless.“Oh? So now you’re the one hurting? Poor you.”
“I deserve that.” His voice is quiet. “I deserve all of it. I’ve been trying to figure out how to fix this… but I can’t. And it’s killing me.” He doesn’t give you a second to cut in. “I keep thinking about that look on your face. The moment you found out. I see it everytime I close my eyes. And I’m so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
You look away. You blink hard. Your eyes are stinging. You hate that his voice still gets under your skin—Still twists something deep in your chest.
He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t move. Just waits.
Finally, you say, “You broke something in me, Lorenzo.”
He breaths in sharply. “I know.”
“I don’t know how to un-feel it.” you whisper.
“I’m not asking you to,” he says, quiet. “I just needed you to know how sorry I am.”
You fold your arms tighter around yourself. “I don’t trust you.”
“I know.” No hesitation. “And I don’t blame you.”
“It’s gonna take a while,” you say. “If I even can forgive you. I don’t know if I can.”
“I’ll wait,” he says, without missing a beat. “However long it takes. I’ll wait. I want to make things right. I want to show you that I ment the real stuff. Not the bet. Not the lie. Just us. You and me.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want more games.”
“No games.” His voice is steady. “No lies. No stupid bets. Just me. Real this time. Only if you want it.”
You look at him.
Somehow, under the mess, he’s still the boy who made you laugh until your ribs ached. Still the boy who held your hand like it ment something. It still hurts. But it’s quieter now.
He steps forward, slow, like he’s afraid to spook you.
Then gently say, “Would you go out with me?”
You blink. “..What..?”
“A real date,” he say. There’s no waver in it. “Not pretend. Not a joke. Not some fucked up game. Just me asking you out because I want to. Because I care about you. Because I want to do this right.”
You don’t answer.
So he keeps going. Calm. Not begging.“You don’t have to say yes. You can think about it. Take your time. I’ll be here. No matter what.”
You watch him for a long moment.
He doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t plead. He just stands there like someone who finally knows what he wants—and is ready to own it.
“…I’ll think about it,” you say softly.
His mouth twitches. Just barely. “That’s all I ask.”
And maybe this isn’t forgiveness.
Not yet.
But it’s something.
And for now…That’s enough.
Created by Bug 𓆣 | @voidofsunlight
I do not give permission for my work to be translated, copied, or reposted elsewhere.
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Lorenzo Berkshire
Toxic!Lorenzo / Break up with him
You’re not even sure if you and Lorenzo are together anymore.
You not even sure you even were, if you think about it.
He doesn’t do labels—“We’re just having fun, sweetheart,” he always says, smirking, brushing your lips with his thumb like you’re some kind of game he’s winning. But he gets jealous. Controlling. He snaps when you so much as look at someone else, but when it’s him kissing some Ravenclaw girl outside the Astronomy Tower or at a party?
It’s not cheating.
“We were on a break,” he spits, like you’re the crazy one for caring.
He twists things. Always.
“You know I don’t mean it when I call you pathetic.” “You cry too easily.” “If you didn’t act like that, I wouldn’t have to say these things.”
And the worst part?
You believe him.
Every damn time.
Because when he tells you he loves you, you hate how badly you want it to be true.
And it’s not just the words—he knows what to say, what to do. When to touch your waist, when to look wounded, when to make you feel like the one who ruined everything.
Tonight is no different. Same fight, different excuse. He scoffs, rolls his eyes like you’re being dramatic again.
“Merlin, you’re always so emotional. You read into everything.”
He talks like he’s bored. Like your pain is a minor inconvenience he can’t be bothered with.
And maybe it’s that tone.
Maybe it’s the lipstick stain that isn’t yours.
Or maybe it’s just been building for too long.
This time is one too many, and you tell him it’s over. No scene. No tears. You just say it—quiet and final.
And you mean it.
You turn to leave.
You’re halfway out the door when he mutters, almost too low to hear:
“You’ll be back.”
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