nine shots of firewhiskey
A broken heart, a drunken kiss, and a night that changed it all.
Mattheo Riddle x f!drunk!Reader
Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, drinking (characters aged up), cursing, saucy but no smut
✿ Masterlist | Part 2 | 1.9k words
The bass of the party music reverberated through your skull, the alcohol in your veins pumping along with the beat. The dim glow of torches painted the crowd as silhouettes dancing and drinking, while garbled strings of conversation and laughter passed through in waves.
Your senses were fried, and yet nine shots of firewhiskey were not enough to dull the ache in your chest. Just one more. You moved to grab another drink when your body flirted with the idea of gravity, tilting dangerously sideways.
You braced yourself for the cold, hard ground. Perhaps it would knock more sense into you. After all, physical injuries could be cured with the wave of a wand, and perhaps you just needed to remember what it felt like to heal. Of course, it was yet another thing that did not go according to plan.
Strong hands greeted you instead, pulling you into his warm chest. You looked up at dark curls tossed over soft, brown eyes accompanied by a smirk that promised mischief and misadventures. It was your best friend, Mattheo Riddle.
"Time to call it a night, yeah?" He leaned in, bringing his lips to your ear to cut through the noise as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.
You frowned like a kid who was told to go to bed just before your favourite show came on TV. "N-need drink," you stammered through the heavy haze in your head and heart.
How had it all gone so wrong? It started innocently enough: a school project with your classmate. You were equipped with your natural curiosity, interpersonal skills, and passion for excellence, yet nothing could have prepared you for Cedric's charms. His smile, sweet words, and corny jokes inched their way into your heart and made it their home.
Perhaps it was because he was different from your rowdy friends from Slytherin, or being with him was a reprieve from the pressures of academic life, but you fell hard and fast for him. And all the same, things crumbled hard and fast.
It began with a liplocked boyfriend against lips that weren't yours, to a spectacular revenge plan that cost weeks of detention and plummeting grades, which led to your parents nearly disowning you for disgracing the famile name. All because of a boy.
"I'll get you water." Mattheo motioned to Lorenzo with a nod. When you've been friends with someone long enough, that was sometimes enough to communicate.
Enzo's forehead wrinkled in concern when he saw you. Your proud shoulders now stooped, head hung low as you clung onto Mattheo, as if his steady arm could protect you from all the ways your life had spun out of control. His blood boiled at the thought of Cedric stealing the light from your eyes. He grabbed a glass of water and handed it to you.
"Anything else I can do?" He asked Mattheo while you downed the cup. "When are we going to avada He Who Must Not Be Named?" And no, they did not mean Voldemort. They stepped carefully around Cedric's name around you, like you were a landmine ready to implode at any moment.
Mattheo scoffed, holding you closer to him, "that wanker's not worth going to Azkaban for. Besides, I already broke his nose and arm. There's still has other things to break for next time, like his other arm and I'll cut off his--"
"This is just water," you hiccuped, accidentally spilling the remaining contents on your white blouse. Mattheo's eyes widened when his eyes locked onto your bra, becoming more visible each second as water seeped through the fabric. His throat tightened as he struggled to keep his desires in check.
Enzo swiftly handed his jacket to Mattheo and he covered you up. "Come on, party's over princess," he said, steering you through the crowd and into the dorms. He looked back at Enzo to nod goodbye.
"But I want - party!" You whined into his chest, your legs shuffling forward just enough to walk.
"Then we'll continue the party at the dorms," he appeased you, frowning. It was the first time he had said that line without meaning it as an innuendo. Oh the things he did for you.
Not bad, you thought, as you followed Mattheo. He was an anchor that thetered you to the eye of the storm that raged within you. In there, things were calm and it felt good to shut off your mind.
"Where's your key?" He asked when you stopped in front of the door.
"Just wand your use," you mumbled, slowly shaking your head.
"I don't have my wand." He blinked and sighed. "Fine, we'll go to mine's." But just as you took your next step, your legs turned to jelly and you were halfway to the floor when those strong hands caught you again.
"Damnit, y/n," Mattheo muttered under his breath as he lifted you up, carrying you bridal style as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
He inwardly cursed you and your stubborn ways. He tried you warn you about getting together with Cedric but all he got from you were eye rolls and sharp remarks. Still, he hated the fact that he was right.
"Yay, horsey!" You giggled, tapping his back to giddy up. It was enough to quell his rage for he had not heard you laugh in a while. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to mask how proud he felt to have been the one who made you laugh.
Mattheo closed the door behind him as he gently laid you on his bed. He scrambled around, putting away books and knick knacks scattered across the room. "Stay here, I'll get you water," he said, moving to the other corner of the room.
Mattheo should have stayed. Without your anchor, you were returning to your senses. Your blouse was wet, you reeked of alcohol, and worst of all, the familiar ache pierced through your chest and it still felt like death. You wondered how you managed to stay alive.
While you were helpless against the pain, you could at least do something about that damned blouse.
"I got--" Mattheo said as he neared you, but froze at the sight of you in your bra and skirt, blouse crumpled in your hand.
You looked up at him, your anchor, then got on all fours, too wasted to walk, and started crawling towards him across the bed. He took you all in: your delicious curves, the way your messy hair framed your face, and just how little your bra covered from that angle.
"Matty..." you called for him, but the alcohol slurred your speech and it sounded soft and breathy like a moan.
Mattheo closed his eyes and took a sharp intake of breath, willing his blood to rush back up to his brain. "For fuck's sake, y/n, you know I'm not a gentleman. Don't test me."
He grabbed Enzo's blanket and threw it over you like a shroud. You flailed against the sudden fabric that descended upon you. In the darkness, it was hard to tell up from down.
Clearing his throat, Mattheo climbed over to you and pushed the blanket down your face. "You'll catch hypothermia or whatever-the-fuck with what you're doing." And you'll kill me too in the process, he thought.
"I've already caught whatever-the-fuck," you replied stubbornly, blinking to focus your gaze at him. For all his crude remarks and sharp edges, he had a soft centre that you only ever saw when you were alone with him. You wanted - needed - to drown in it. "Kiss me."
"Why would I do that?" Mattheo asked, heat creeping into his cheeks.
"Don't you want to?" You asked, eyes searching his. His eyes shifted to your lips and you held your breath.
"Fucking irrelevant, y/n, you're drunk and--"
He didn't deny it and that was all you needed. You tugged at his curls and soon his lips crashed into you. A thunder clap broke free from the storm within you and it electrified you.
You let your senses take over, moving in ways that felt good. Fingers tangled in his curls, the taste of mint and cigarettes intertwined with alcohol, soft moans between shallow breaths. His lips were softer than you expected and it awakened something you didn't know laid dormant within you.
Nine shots of firewhiskey couldn't compete with how intoxicating Mattheo felt. He was everywhere, from the butterflies in your stomach to the ache that pooled in between your legs. And there he was too - Mattheo with his giant hug when you needed to cry, a drinking buddy when you wanted to forget, him and his stupid antics cheering you up. How had you not seen it before?
It was an irrevocable truth you could not go back from. You've heard of religions who marked their years before and after their savior. In the same vein, there was now a before and after Mattheo. Your best friend who suddenly could be more.
As you drowned in euphoria and epiphanies, Mattheo was right there with you. He played this game so many times before, different girls on this very same bed. Both always left a winner, satisfied for the night. And yet with you, he felt nervous.
He witnessed how love brought you to life and all the ways it hollowed you out when it left. The stakes were too high and he didn't like his chances. It wasn't even a game. You were never a quick fuck he'd forget about the moment sunlight streamed through the windows. And Salazar, you were drunk.
Your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, clumsily undoing them one by one. His growl voiced his frustration as it took every last ounce of his willpower to grab your wrists and pin them above your head. "I can't," he said and his heart sank at the confusion on your face.
"You don't want to fuck me?" You asked, your voice tinged with hurt.
"It's not about what I want," he argued, struggling to put the onslaught of emotions into words.
"But you do it with everyone else."
"You're not everyone else," Mattheo said, caressing the side of your face with his free hand as if his fingers could tell you what his words could not.
You scoffed, "sure just break my heart again, Riddle. Two for one special."
"You're drunk," he pointed out flatly. "I--"
"Since when did you become so honorable?What? You respect me too much to fuck me?"
"I'm no fucking saint, princess." He shot back. I just want it to be real, he thought. "Look," he said, eyes pleading with yours. "When you're sober and you still want me, I'm all yours, okay?"
You turned your head as the first drops of sobriety flowed through your veins and your face burned with shame, "sorry."
"I'm not sorry," Mattheo replied. "We'll talk tomorrow after coffee and eggs. For now, let's just rest, okay?" Mattheo offered as he released your arms and tucked you in Enzo's blanket, tucking away his share of sentiments and discoveries along with it. He wrapped his arm around you and brought you into his chest. That was all that mattered for now.
You nodded. He squeezed your arm in response and you relaxed into him. He was still your anchor. It was safe for you to surrender to the sweet dreams that waited for you on the other side. Somehow you just knew everything was going to be alright.
✿ Part 2 | Masterlist