You and your husband, Severus, had just endured a playful argument about who was more clingy. He had accused you of always asking for kisses, and you have countered with your own teasing remarks.

"Fine, I bet you a million dollars that you'll be the one to kiss me first," he said confidently.

"Fine, I hate the taste of whiskey anyway," you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his bravado.

Days passed, and now it was evening. you sat in the living room, absorbed in a book when Severus entered the room.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, he handed you his black card and leaned in to kiss you, a triumphant smile on his lips. You couldn't help but notice that his mouth tasted not of whiskey, but of vodka. He had clearly lost the bet.