#dargon writes

You linked your arm with his as you both wandered into The Three Broomsticks, seeking refuge from the chill autumn wind. His black cloak billowed dramatically behind him, as it usually does, before finally resting along his figure once he was out of the cool breeze. Madam Rosmerta acknowledged you both with her usual warm smile. “Ah, Professor Snape! And your lovely wife as well. Welcome back!” she greeted you as she wiped down the bar. “The usual table by the fire?”

Your steps faltered. Wife? You never told her that you were married before. Severus stiffened beside you, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. You glanced up at him, expecting a sharp correction like he would carry out to his students, but he merely nodded curtly. “Yes, that will do.”

Rosmerta hurried off, oblivious, while you slid into your seat at the table across from the brooding professor. As you admired the warmth of the fire, you couldn’t help but notice Severus’s expression. His brows were furrowed, his dark eyes distant in thought. 

“Wife?” you teased softly after the inn keeper had delivered you both a drink, nudging his knee under the table. “I’m surprised you didn’t correct her.”

He took a slow sip of his firewhiskey. “It seemed unnecessary. The woman prattles enough without encouragement.”

But there was something in his voice, a warmth beneath the drawl, that made your heart skip a few beats. You studied him, the way the firelight softened the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the stray silver strands in his black hair. “It didn’t bother you?”

He set his glass down with an audible clink. “Should it have?” he asked slowly, his gaze meeting yours. “We’ve been together long enough that assumptions are… inevitable.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you replied, finally taking a sip of your own drink. 

—

Severus barely closed the door of chambers before his lips were on yours, his kiss hungry and fierce. His hands pulled you closer, pressing you against him as he mapped the curve of your waist, the lines of your shoulders. In his mind, though, he thought about what it would be like to be married to you. To wake up to you each morning in his bed, to have your laughter echoing through these cold stone walls, a ring shining on your finger as a declaration of his devotion. The thought made him deepen the kiss, a low groan escaping him.

You smiled against his lips, your own hands reaching up to undo the ungodly amount of buttons he had along his robes. “You’re imagining it, aren’t you?” you asked, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Tell me, my love, what would it be like if we were married?”

He exhaled sharply, his dark eyes meeting your own as he busied himself with the fastenings of your own robes. “You’d be insufferable,” he said, but his tone was fond and tender. “You’d fill my shelves with unnecessary knick-knacks, beg that I leave my papers to come read with you only to wind up talking about my day instead, and overall, you’d be like an annoying bug that wouldn’t leave my office even if the door was left open.” 

You laughed softly as he slid your robes off of you. “You’d love every second of it, though.”

He didn’t deny it, instead, he finished undoing the rest of the buttons of his own robes, letting them meet with yours on the stone below. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring your taste, savoring the way your body arched into his. 

You guided him back, pressing him down onto the satin sheets of his bed, and he let you. He let your hands slide down his body and settle on his waist. He let you crawl your way over top of him and straddle his hips. He let you tease him by rubbing the fat head of his cock against your clit. And finally, he let you toy with his chest as you sunk down onto him, taking him inch by inch into your wet heat. His hands gripped your hips, gently guiding you as you rode him. 

“You’d make such a good husband,” you gasped out, nails clawing for purchase against his skin as he buried himself to the hilt. 

He groaned, low and deep in his throat, as his cock throbbed deep inside you. His own nails dug into the flesh of your hips, leaving small crescent marks in their wake. 

You teased him by sliding up, stilling when it was just his tip left inside you, before circling your hips down with a breathy moan. “Such a good husband,” you repeated, continuing your teasing. “Letting me have you like this, letting me take care of you like a good little wife.”

A breathless whimper escaped his lips as his hips bucked up to meet your own, hands guiding you to go faster. A loud moan slipped past your lips as he angled himself to go deeper, to press against the bundle of nerves that rested inside you with each desperate thrust. “That’s it,” he cooed, fucking up into you with a precision that left you breathless. “My beautiful wife, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

You swore your heart stopped when he finally called you his wife, heat gathering quickly in your core. You leaned down, bringing him into a sloppy kiss, his tongue clashing with your own. The sounds of your wetness filled the room with each thrust, only adding more fuel to the fire in your belly. “Severus,” you gasped against his lips, hands tangling into his hair and gripping desperately at his shoulder. 

“Yes, wife?” he hummed, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke, as if he knew the effect that one word had on you. Turns out, he did, for in the next moment he guided your hips as you came around him with a cry of his name. “That’s it, good girl,” he coaxed, gently guiding you through your orgasm as he picked up the pace, now chasing his own high as his thrusts grew sloppy. “You’re going to be a good little wife and let me fill you, yes?” he asked, titling your head up to meet his gaze, his aching cock throbbing against your pulsating walls.

You nodded, too blissed out to respond, but that was all he needed. He spilled into you, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go, a strained whine escaping from his lips. For a moment, you both stayed like that, joined together and breathless, basking in the afterglow. His hands rubbed soothing circles into your hips, before he pulled you up for another kiss, slow, sensual, but just as passionate. 

“You did so good,” he praised, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. Gently, he slipped out of you, maneuvering you to rest beside him on the sheets. As if on instinct, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair, which was now tangled as well as greasy, but you didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You treat me so well, my dear, my sweet husband” you hummed contentedly, smiling down at him as you pulled him in closer. Severus sighed, relaxing into you and your touch. Perhaps the idea of marriage would be coming sooner than he had thought, because for once in his life, he finally felt cared for, loved, and, dare he say it, happy.

“My king,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost melodic, as you climbed the last of the steps to stand before him. “You carry too much. Let me bear it with you.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, but his hand extended, long fingers curling around your own. “You think to ease me, meleth nín?” he questioned, voice like velvet yet laced with the day's exhaustion. “The burdens of a king are not so easily lifted.”

You stepped closer, standing between his parted legs, the throne’s grandeur framing him like a god. “Then let me try,” you whispered, your hands moving to rest on his shoulders, feeling the tension that coiled within his lithe frame.

His eyes darkened, a spark of intrigue cutting through the fatigue. “On my throne?” he inquired, his brow arching as he asked the question. His hands, however, were already sliding to your hips, pulling you towards him. “Bold, even for you.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing his pointed ear as you spoke. “You need this, meleth. Let me serve you.” Your fingers worked the clasps of his robes and tunic, the fabric parting to reveal the pale, sculpted planes of his chest. He didn’t stop you, instead, his grip on you tightened, a low hum of approval rumbling in his throat.

Straddling his lap, you settled onto the throne, the hard wood beneath him a stark contrast to the warmth of his body. His hands guided you, lifting your gown to pool around your thighs, exposing the bare skin that awaited beneath. “No undergarments?” he commented, a rare playfulness in his tone. “My consort plans her seductions well.” 

“Only for you,” you replied before kissing him deeply, your tongue teasing his own. He tasted of wine and elderberry, a sweetness that had you craving for more. He kissed you back with just as much passion, fierce and possessive, fingers digging into your hips that urged you to grind against him. You did.

You shifted in his lap, feeling his strained arousal through his garments. With practiced ease, you freed him, hands traveling along the length of him. Long, slightly curved, and elegant, just like the rest of him—perfectly suited for the Elvenking. His eyes connected with yours, intense and commanding, as you positioned yourself above him, teasing his tip with your slick entrance.

“Ride your king,” he ordered, voice low and rough, hands moving to help guide you, careful instead of forceful. He wanted you to take control, to take care of him as much as he takes care of you, to ease his worries and remind himself of only you, if at most for a fleeting moment.

You sank down slowly, savouring the stretch, the way he filled you completely. A moan escaped you, echoed by his sharp intake of breath. “Thranduil…” you gasped, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you began to move, your hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

His head tilted back against the throne, eyes half-lidded but never leaving yours. “Yes, meleth… like that.” His voice was a caress, but the strain beneath it told you how close he was already. He’d hold out, though, for you. His hands roamed up your sides, cupping your breasts through the gown you wore, thumbs lightly brushing over them until they peaked against the fabric.

You moaned, loud and uncaring. Your nails clawed against his chest as you rode him faster, adjusting your position until he pressed against the spot that made stars appear in your vision. Every twitch and throb had you clenching around him, the new angle making you feel even fuller than before. You knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

The entire time he watched you, as if you were the embodiment of all that was ethereal. And to him, you were. He watched as you slid yourself along his length, slick glistening along the base. He watched as your breasts bounced with each movement, hands still caressing them gently. And lastly, he watched as your eyes fluttered shut, face contorting into pure bliss as you came around him, crying his name like a prayer. “My queen,” he rasped, the word a vow as much as it was an endearment. 

“Let go for me,” you whispered, coming down from your high, leaning onto him to nip at his sensitive ear, a gesture that always drove him wild. His hands took over, fully guiding you along his aching length. His hips bucked up to meet your own, an attempt to drive himself deeper. A guttural moan tore from his throat, echoing throughout the throne room as he finally let go, body shuddering as he spilled into you. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you flush against him as he pulsed within you, giving you the last of his warmth. You collapsed against his chest, both of you panting as he finally stilled, feeling your combined juices leak from where you were still connected, creating a mess along your thighs.

You could stay like this for hours if he’d let you, with his arms wrapped around you, his lips brushing against your temple as you both basked in the afterglow of your shared time together. “You’ve saved me tonight,” he murmured, voice soft enough just for you to hear, the king now replaced with the man who loved you. “This throne feels lighter with you upon it.”

You kissed his jaw with a tender smile, resting your head along the crook of his neck. “Don’t get too comfortable,” you hummed, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin that laid there. “I’m not done ruling you yet.”

He laughed, a rare, rich sound that warmed you more than the rays of the sun ever could. “My insolent wife,” he teased, but his eyes shone with gratitude and love. “I am always yours to command.”

Lucius was everything you’ve ever wanted. He was tall and imposing, with hair like platinum thread and eyes that could both freeze or burn, depending on his mood. His cane always tapped rhythmically as he moved, a symbol of power that never failed to make your legs feel like spaghetti. Sometimes, you’d catch him watching you during dinners, his gaze lingering on your form for a fraction too long. To most, it seemed as if he was silently judging you, as if he was trying to calculate if you were good enough for his son. But you knew better. There was hunger there, buried beneath all those icy layers of his pride. And tonight, while Narcissa was away and Draco retired early, you had your chance to prove it.

You’d dressed for it, too, in a simple black dress that hugged your curves. Innocent enough to pass as evening wear, but short enough to tease. Slipping into the library where Lucius often was, you found him by the fire, a glass of finely aged wine in his hand along with a book. He didn’t look up at first, but you knew he was aware of your presence. 

“Good evening,” he drawled, his voice like velvet over steel as he finally addressed you. “Shouldn’t you be attending to my son? Or has he bored you already?”

You stepped closer, your heart feeling as though it would pound straight out of your chest. You feigned a childish pout that you’d practiced in the mirror nights beforehand. You wanted to see him break, to make this untouchable man surrender to the taboo thrill of having someone young like you. “Draco’s asleep, Mr. Malfoy. And I… Well, I couldn’t sleep. The storm scares me,” you replied, your voice lifted higher, seemingly innocent, with your hands twisting in the hem of your dress like a nervous schoolgirl.

He finally looked up, arching a perfect brow. “Scared? At your age? How quaint,” he remarked, as if he were uninterested. But you noticed the flicker in his eyes that told you otherwise. Amusement? Intrigue? It didn’t matter, it was enough for you to press forward. You closed the distance, practically scampering over until you were beside his armchair, perching yourself on the armrest like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Daddy— I mean, Mr. Malfoy,” you corrected with a giggle, letting the slip hang in the air. You noticed how his grip tightened on the book he was holding, the pages bowing under his force. “You’ve always been so strong,” you continued, batting your eyelashes as you leaned in, your breath ghosting the shell of his ear. “Protect me from the storm, won’t you?”

Lucius set his glass down with a deliberate clink. While his expression remained indifferent, you noticed the way his throat worked as he swallowed. “What game are you playing, girl? You’re a companion of my son. This is hardly appropriate behavior.”

You slid into his lap then, shameless and brash, with your legs still dangling over the side of the armchair. You felt him stiffen against you, but made no effort into pushing you away. “But Daddy,” you whined, tracing a finger down his chest, over the fine silk of his shirt. “Draco doesn’t make me feel safe like you do. He’s just a boy, I need a real man to take care of me.” Your hips shifted subtly, grinding against him. A smirk graced your features when you got your desired effect, feeling the evidence of his interest stirring beneath you.

His hand shot out, taking a hold of your wrist, his grip firm. “Enough. You have no idea what you’re toying with,” he commanded, voice low and dangerous. His eyes, however, were filled with desire, betraying the very words that fell from his mouth.

You pouted again, wriggling closer. “Please Daddy? I’ve been such a good girl, but sometimes… I get these naughty thoughts. About you.” You leaned in, pressing a faint kiss to his jaw, then another lower on his neck. “I dream about you punishing me when I’m bad… or rewarding me when I’m good.” Your free hand slid lower, slipping between your bodies to massage him through his trousers. Finally, you felt him fully harden under your touch. 

Lucius hissed, his control over the situation fraying. “You insolent little—” But his words were cut off when you ground against him harder, your dress riding up to expose a matching pair of lace panties. You had known Lucius since your third year at Hogwarts after you become friends with his son, however, you were no longer a child anymore. Making him realize that was the key to unlocking his restraint. 

“Tell me to stop, Daddy,” you whispered, nipping at his ear. “Or… show me what happens to naughty girls who tease their elders.”

That did it. With a growl, Lucius skillfully pinned you down onto the plush rug before the fire, his book long forgotten as it stuck the floor with a loud thump. His form loomed over your own, the fire casting your shadows across the library's floor. “You want to play this game?” He snarled, his hands shoving your dress up past your waist. “Then you’ll play by my rules, little one,’ he stated, his fingers hooking into your panties, yanking them down with a rip of the fabric. You gasped, the cool air immediately hitting your exposed core, but he gave you no time to adjust.

He knelt between your legs, his sharp features twisted in a mix of lust and loathing. “Daddy’s going to teach you a lesson.” His mouth descended, tongue flitting out to taste you, precise and demanding. You arched into him, crying out softly at the contact, forcing him to press a hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pet. We wouldn’t want Draco to hear how his best friend begs for his father’s cock.”

The words alone sent a rush of excitement through your veins. He lapped at your folds with precision, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Without warning, he pressed two fingers into you, curling them against your gummy walls until he found the spot that made you squeal. You whimpered like a scolded child as he sucked hard at your clit, pleading against the hand over your mouth as your own reached down to tangle into that perfect hair of his. 

Lucius groaned against you, the vibration going straight to the heat in your core. “Such a tight little thing. All for me,” he praised, though his tone was sharp and demeaning. He added a third finger, the stretch a delicious burn that pulled you closer towards your climax. “Come for Daddy, and maybe I’ll give you what you really want,” he taunted, abusing your small cunt with his long fingers.

The command tipped you over. Ecstasy ran through you, your walls clenching around his fingers as your cries were muffled against his palm. He didn’t relent, working you through it until you were trembling and oversensitive, like it was all second nature for him. 

His lips glistened with your arousal as he pulled back, a feral look in his cold grey eyes. He swiftly unfastened his trousers, pulling them down and freeing his impressive length. You couldn’t help but admire him, mouth practically drooling as you took in the sight of his cock. Long, veined, and already leaking from the tip. “On your knees,” he commanded, the hand that once covered your mouth now gripped your jaw. “Show Daddy how sorry you are for your teasing.”

You obeyed eagerly, tongue darting out to wrap around his throbbing length before taking him into your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the head, tasting the saltiness that beaded up for you. It wasn’t long before Lucius was threading his fingers in your hair, forcing you down onto his length until you took him whole. “That’s it, good girl,” he commended, guiding your rhythm as you struggled to take all of him down your throat. The praise made you hum appreciatively, vibrating around him and drawing a rare moan from his lips.

He used your mouth until tears dripped down your face, your nails digging into his thighs to ground you. He pulled you off of him then, pulling you up and maneuvering you until you were bent over the armchair. In one swift thrust, he entered you, your wet heat swallowing him whole. The sudden fullness was overwhelming, and he gave you no time to adjust as his hips snapped into your own at a rapid pace. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. “Seducing me under my own roof.” Each word was punctuated with a deliberate thrust, his hands roughly gripping your ass, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he spread you apart for him.

“Yes Daddy!” you moaned in response, pushing back against him to meet his thrusts. The once quiet library was now filled with the sounds of skin against skin, the squelching of your juices, and the sounds of your wanton moans mingling with his grunts. It echoed through the isles of books, and drowned out the crackling of the fireplace. You were surprised that Draco hadn’t awoken, hadn’t discovered you in the library getting pounded by his fathers cock. A part of you almost wished that he would, your imagination could only do so much to determine his reaction.

A sharp thrust broke you out of your daydream before Lucius’s pace faulted, he was close and it showed. He reached under you, lithe fingers snaking down to rub your clit. “Come with me, pet,” he panted out, pressing you closer to him. You couldn’t help but to obey, your body convulsing around him, milking him dry as he spilled into you with a guttural curse. You felt him throb inside you, his own body shuddering as he wrapped his arms around you. “This changes nothing,” he murmured, but the arms around your waist told you otherwise. You made him give in, and the game was far from over.

You sat on the edge of the armchair next to the fireplace, with your skirt hiked up past your thighs. You could feel the heat of the crackling fire on your exposed skin, but not even the sound of the fire could drown out the racing beat of your heart as you watched him. Draco’s eyes met yours, stormy grey and full of desire and conflict. He knew what this meant. If his father ever found out that the Malfoy name was tarnished by his son's tongue worshipping someone like you... the thought alone made his cock twitch in his trousers, a shameful thrill that he couldn’t deny. 

“You’re filthy,” he murmured, his voice a low hiss, his hands gentle as they parted your legs wider, placing them over his shoulders. “And yet, I couldn't care less.” His breath ghosted over your exposed core, making you shiver in anticipation. He leaned in, his nose brushing against your thigh as he breathed you in, inhaling your scent like it was a forbidden potion he was about to consume.

With a growl of surrender, Draco’s mouth descended. His tongue flicked out tentatively at first, tracing the seam of your folds, tasting the evidence of your arousal. You gasped, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan into your cunt. He flattened his tongue, lapping at you now with deliberate strokes, savoring the way your hips bucked against his face. Wet sounds filled the room, obscene and intoxicating.

“Fuck, you taste like sin,” he whispered against your clit, before sucking it between his lips. “So sweet, so perfect.” It felt like he was finally free, finally able to make his own choices for once, without the suffocating eyes of his father and the dark lord watching over him. It was his own way of rebelling, even if it was in private. He circled the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue, alternating between soft sucks and firm licks that left your mind reeling. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place while you writhed against him.

Draco Malfoy, heir to pureblood legacy, with his face between a mudblood’s legs. Your legs, to be exact. His chin slick with your essence, moaning like a man possessed as he buried himself deeper. He dipped lower, his tongue plunging inside you, desperate to taste more. His tongue followed in rhythmic thrusts while his thumb found your clit, rubbing it in small, tight circles.

“Draco,” you called out to him, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. For a brief second, your eyes met his own. “Fuck,” you moaned, for the look in those stormy greys alone had you trembling. Your head fell back against the headrest as your fingers trembled with their grip in his hair.

You could feel him grinding against nothing, his own need ignored in favor of your own. “Please,” he muttered, the word muffled against your skin. “Come for me. Show me what a filthy little witch like you can do. I need to taste it.” 

You whined at his words, practically submitting yourself to his demand. Your climax built with each tentative lick, before it came crashing over you in waves as Draco worked you through it. His mouth was relentless, continuing even after you were trembling and overstimulated, as if he couldn’t get enough. He lapped at you until he had his fill, savoring every flavor you had to offer and every gasp that fell from your lips. When you finally cried out that you couldn’t take any more, only then did he pull back, a smug smirk plastered on his face. His lips glistened with your slick, eyes dark with unquenched hunger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the smirk was now gone, replaced by something vulnerable and reverent. 

“See what you’ve done to me?” He said softly, still on his knees before your wrecked form in the common room. Slowly, he rose to sit beside you, gently pulling you into his lap where you could feel his arousal press firmly against you through his pants. “I’d risk it all just for this. For you.”

You were kind, infuriatingly so, with a warmth that seemed to pierce through his carefully crafted defense. You sought him out each day without fail, even when his demeanor was cold enough to freeze hell itself. You’d generously give him herbs at the end of each week and curiously ask him about anything that your brain could possibly think of. You’d question him on his potions, brewing methods, and even sometimes about his life outside of Hogwarts, as if he were a man that was worth knowing. Tonight was no different, as you had come to him for help in brewing a particularly complex potion that would help cure a disease in one of your plants. By now, though, the lesson had ended and the cauldron had long grown cold. You now sat on the edge of his desk, eyes trained to him with an intensity that made his throat tighten. 

“Severus,” you called out, your voice soft but deliberate. “You don’t have to keep your distance. I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips curled into a familiar sneer, though it lacked its usual bite. “You presume too much,” he muttered, turning to rearrange a row of vials that didn’t need rearranging. His hands, however, betrayed him as they trembled with each movement. You had a way of doing that, unraveling his resolve without even trying. Your laughter, your gentle teasing, the way you’d always say good morning to him, the way your hand would occasionally brush his as he stirred potions—it was maddening.

You slid off the desk, aiming to close the distance that rested between the two of you. Gently, you placed a hand along his back. He stiffened under your touch, but didn’t pull away either. “I’m not presuming,” you told him, your voice lower than before, earnest despite your teasing lilt. “I want to be here, to be with you.”

His breath caught the moment you uttered those words. He had to dare himself to turn around, his dark eyes finally meeting your own. You were close—too close for his liking—as he could catch the scent of lavender and soil that clung to you. It was nearly intoxicating. Severus thought about pushing you away, retreating into the safety of his solitude, but he couldn’t will himself to move. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, giving into the overwhelming feeling bubbling up within his chest. Desire. It was a foreign feeling for him, one that he kept buried away beneath years of discipline and self-loathing.

“Severus,” you whispered, your hand reaching out for his own. He flinched at the contact, but made no move to pull away. Your touch set his nerves aflame, yet at the same time it managed to anchor him. “Let me see you.”

Your words were like a spell, crumbling his defenses before he could even realize it. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours tentatively, as if he was expecting you to recoil. To change your mind as soon as he touched you, to finally realize he wasn’t what you would ever want, what anyone would ever want. You didn’t. You kissed him back, and he could feel the smile that sat on your lips through the kiss. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, one opting to rest there while the other snaked higher to the nape of his neck. You pulled him down, closer to you as you deepened the kiss. His heart pounded, a traitor to his composure, and he found himself guiding you back to the desk, his hands shaking as they settled on your waist.

He kissed you with a hunger he didn’t know he could still possess. His long fingers traced the curve of your hips, and you sighed into his mouth. He found himself wanting to hear it again, to please you and know that he was the cause of your moans of pleasure. His hands moved lower, slipping under the hem of your robes and hiking them up past your hip. You gasped, arching into his touch once his hands finally caressed your bare skin. The sound was electric, sending a jolt through him that settled low in his body, hot and insistent.

“Severus,” you murmured, voice breathless as his hands finally made it between your thighs. You clutched his robes tightly as he pressed a finger to your aching core, exploring you. He relished in every reaction you gave him—every soft moan, every shiver, every gasp of his name left his mind reeling. He focused on you entirely. On the way your body responded to his touch when his thumb circled your clit, on the way you tilted your head for him to trail hot kisses down your neck. With each one he could feel your pulse racing beneath his lips. He was utterly lost in you, in this impossible reality that someone, that you, truly wanted him.

For once in his forsaken life, he finally held hope that he could let himself go. When the heat rose within him, he didn’t fight to keep it at bay. He embraced it, embraced the way you were making him feel with each gasp and moan that fell from your lips. It wasn’t long before he was grinding against nothing, spurred on by the way you threw your head back as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched you, couldn’t believe that you were letting him touch you where few ever have. When your hands reached for him, tangling in his hair and pulling him down into a hungry kiss, he couldn’t take it anymore. The flood of emotions suddenly became overwhelming. He gasped out your name, body shivering as a wave of pleasure ran through him as he came. The moment was short lived, however, as he suddenly froze against you, like a deer in headlights.

Quickly, he withdrew himself from your body, his face burning red with shame and guilt. Surely now you would see just how pathetic he was. He was nothing but a repulsive and repressed man that wasn’t deserving of the touch of another, let alone their love. “I—,” He started, but found that the words came out dry and hoarse. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say, because deep down he knew that he had ruined it. He had finally exposed himself as the pathetic, untouched man that he was, and the evidence was now staining his robes. He was prepared to flee from the situation entirely, to retreat back into the shadows of his chambers alone where he belonged. You wouldn’t let him, though.

“Severus.” You called, your hand reaching out to cradle his own. You looked up at him as you linked your fingers together with his. He swore he stopped breathing as soon as your eyes locked onto his. There wasn’t a trace of the anger and disgust that he expected to see, only a soft look of longing, laced with heavy desire. As if you knew he would try to run away, you lifted your other hand to his chin, forcing him to keep your gaze. Your thumb brushed his cheek as you simply told him “It’s alright, I promise. There’s no need to feel ashamed.”

“You don’t understand… I…” He started, fumbling with the words that caught in his throat. “What happened was… unacceptable. I’m not—”

“Severus.” You cut him off, your voice firm. He froze for the second time that night, unsure of how to proceed. Did you finally realize that he wasn’t worth it? That all he could provide you with was pathetic excuses and sob stories? His thoughts were cut off as you led his hands back to you, gently guiding his fingers to graze your core, which was now soaked and dripping. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes…” He answered, his fingers now coated in your slick. Merlin, he swore that you were going to be the death of him.

“I want you, Severus. All of you, just as you are,” You say, reaching to now brush your fingers against the scar that rested along his throat. He never told you how he got it, but you didn’t need to ask, you already knew about the role he played during the war. It was a miracle that he survived, even if he himself didn’t quite think that. You smiled softly as his body finally relaxed into your own. 

For once, he had no retort, no snarky remark or self degrading comment to make as your fingers gently traced the outline of his welted scar. Perhaps, he thought, it was okay to finally believe that someone wanted him, truly wanted him, even with all the baggage he kept hidden in the dark. He gave into that thought as he pulled you closer, his lips connecting with yours.

“You think I don’t notice,” he said, voice low and laced with a venom that froze the blood in your veins. He stepped in front of you, his presence borderline overwhelming as he glared down at you like a snake eyeing its next meal. “The way you smile and laugh,” he continued, leaning down ever so slightly. “The way you lean towards him. Do you think I’m blind?”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze head on. His eyes were dark, darker than usual, and swirled with emotions you’ve hardly seen him directed at you before. Anger, frustration, but most importantly, undeniable hunger. The sight sent a rush of blood straight to face, tainting your cheeks with a dusting of pink. “It was nothing, Severus. You’re overreacting.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “Nothing?” He parroted, his voice dropping down to a dangerous whisper. He leaned closer, shadowing over you completely. “You forget, my dear, that I am not a man who is keen on sharing.” You could feel his lips graze against the shell of your ear as he spoke. 

Your breath hitched once you felt the warmth of his lips against your neck. You never thought you’d see the day that Severus Snape would be jealous. At least, not like this. Not in a way that made your pulse race or sent a burning heat straight down to your core. “I’m not your possession,” you breathe out, testing the waters of this newfound territory. No matter how angry he was, you knew that he would rather die than hurt you, even if it was just a scratch.

“No,” he agreed, his tone soft yet unyielding. “But you are mine.” He pulled away, just enough for him to slide his hand under your chin, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. His touch was firm, possessive, and carefully calculated as he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. “It seems that you need to be reminded of such.”

Before you could respond, he guided you back towards the foot of his bed, gently gesturing for you to sit. You obeyed, hands clutching the dark navy satin sheets that adored the mattress. A color that fitted Severus well, you thought. You didn’t have much more time to think, though, before the man himself was pushing you down to the sheets below. His hands swiftly snatched your wrists, pinning them above you now that you laid on his bed. He loomed above you, with the lantern light casting his long shadow over your form.

“Severus,” you started, but fell silent the moment you gazed upon his scornful expression. 

“You’ve tested my patience,” he stated. You swore you stopped breathing from the dark look in his eyes. “Now, you will learn what it means to push me.”

He released your wrists, hands now sliding down to your robes. He unfastened them with a deadly precision that spoke for his control over the situation. Your breath quickened as he slid the fabric down your figure, exposing your body to the cool dungeon air, before mindlessly tossing them aside. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your neck, past your collarbone, before resting just shy of your breasts. 

You arch into his touch, sighing as the warmth of his fingers awakened every nerve in their path. You move to guide his hand over, desperately needing to feel his touch, but he pulled his hand back as soon as your fingers met. 

“You don’t get to decide.”

“But—”

“No,” he told you, cutting you off firmly, his voice akin to a growl. “You don’t get to take. You will wait, and you will beg, and you will remember who commands your attention.”

You wanted to be annoyed, to snap back with some snarky comment and shut him down completely. The heat pooling in your core, however, told a completely different story. He seemed to take notice of it, too, as his lips twitched into a rare, smug grin that made your heart palpitate. 

His thumb grazed over your chest, rubbing a few small circles over your perk nipples as a reward for your silence before sliding down lower. He teased you, as his hands would fall just short of your aching core. He spread them across your abdomen, circling the outline of your navel before resting them on your hips.

“Severus,” you whined, a feeble attempt to make him cave. 

He ignored you, opting to settle between the inside of your thighs instead, thumbs rubbing agonizingly slow circles just below your dripping heat. You squirmed, desperate to have his hands on you, on where you needed him the most. With each restless buck of your hips, he’d slide his hands lower, punishing you without saying a word. Minutes started to feel like hours, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Severus, please,” you begged, writhing in his hold.

“Please what?” he replied, his lips twitching up into a rare smile. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t entertained by your misery. 

“Touch me.”

He must’ve taken mercy on you, because within the next second his fingers were finally slipping between your folds. A moan of relief left your lips as he gathered your slick, spreading it up to your clit before massaging it with small, tight circles. Your hips thrusted up into his hand, a silent plea for him to go faster. He obliged, picking up the pace while you ground yourself on his palm. It wasn’t long before you were close, the heat in your core building until it was almost boiling over. Severus could tell, too, as he suddenly switched to a leisurely rhythm.

“Severus!” you cried, your body writhing at the loss of your orgasm.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his fingers pausing completely, leaving you trembling with need. “You think you can flirt with another man and walk away unscathed? You will wait until I allow it.”

You glared at him, your voice breathless but sharp. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. “You’re still here,” he said, his hands resuming their torturous treatment. You could’ve cried when he pushed his fingers in, blissfully stretching you open as your walls fluttered around him. His strokes were tedious, but he made up for it by lapping at your clit with his tongue, his nose pressing against your pelvis. Your moans filled the silence, your hands reaching down to tangle into his greasy hair. You were close, oh so close, until he suddenly pulled away, leaving you increasingly agitated.

You let out a frustrated groan as you threw your head back against the covers. “Severus, please,” you begged, your pride abandoned, forgotten along with your shame. Your nails clawed at the navy sheets below, seeking some form of comfort from the torment he was putting you through. “Let me come, I can’t take this any longer!” 

“Soon,” he hummed, his mouth returning to lick a long stripe through your drenched folds. “After you learn your lesson.”

Total switch. Some days he’ll be dominant, teasing, and denying your orgasm until you're crying and shaking and begging him to let you come, and other days he just wants you to ride him until he forgets his own name. He leans more towards you being the one on top most days, though. Don’t worry, he’ll still tease you even when you're riding him.

When it’s his turn, though… be prepared. Your first orgasm won’t be for at least an hour, maybe even longer if he’s feeling extra sadistic that day. Squirm too much and he might just tie you down and torture you with only featherlight touches until you’ve learned your lesson. It’s not fair, especially if he’s been teasing you all day already.

Sometimes he’ll perform magic tricks while he’s teasing you, leaving you wondering just how the card that’s suddenly in his hand is now coated in your slick. He’s completely naked, yet somehow he’s made feathers appear? Any prop of his is not spared from potentially becoming a toy to tease you with.

If he was back in the old world, you can bet he’d be using his magic wand for highly inappropriate things.

It wouldn’t take much convincing if any to convince him to cross dress. Crop tops? Short dresses? Mini skirts? Yeah, he’s down. Also down if you want to see him in a cute/ sexy fox or cat outfit. A set of ears and a tail that matches the color of his hair? He can’t get enough of it.

Also wouldn’t take much convincing to peg him. He’d love for you to push him down and fuck him until he forgets about all the manual labor Senku forced him to do that day.

If he’s willing to try pegging, he’s willing to try anal. Don’t be surprised when his thumb rims your hole, especially while he’s eating you out. 

Acts like he prefers receiving oral rather than giving, but it’s a total lie. He’d give anything just to please you, and absolutely loves to eat you out. He can’t help it, you just taste so good and moan so sweetly for him. It’s one of the few times he won’t tease you, but prepare to be overstimulated instead.

Loves to hear you cry and moan for him, even if he’ll tease you about it later. He thinks every noise you make is just too cute. He’d be lying if he said that hearing you beg didn’t stroke his ego.

Slight degradation kink, but honestly prefers praise. He doesn’t mind if you talk dirty to him and call him a whore on occasion, though. It gets him so riled up and needy when you tell him what you want to do to him, or vice versa.

Mouthy, mouthy, mouthy. Man has no filter, and the dirty things that come out of his mouth honestly shouldn’t surprise you, but they’re absolutely filthy, yet hot every single time. He’ll snicker about how he’ll bend you over the railing of the ship, or how he’ll finger you in Senku’s precious lab, forcing you to make a mess all over the table as a gift for him. Big talk for someone who shuts up as soon as you take him all the way in your mouth, deepthroating him as your nose rubs against his pelvis and the head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. 

Doesn’t expect you to throw the dirty talk right back at him but loves it when you do. Tell him how you just want to ride him in the hot springs while you both bathe, or how you want to see him in a pretty little maid outfit and all spread open for you when you get to your shared bed. It’ll soon turn into a competition on whose thoughts are more obscene.

He’ll get bold though, once he grows bored of just talking in private. He will absolutely come up to you mid-conversation with someone else and whisper absolute filth in your ear just to see you blush. 

Give him a taste of his own medicine though and do the same to him, just out loud instead so everyone can hear. He’ll always get surprised and embarrassed at first before an evil smirk spreads across his face. Two can play that game—trust me, the initial look on his face makes it all worth it. It’s rare to see the great mentalist flustered, especially in front of others.

Noisy! He can’t stay quiet for the life of him if you’re the one in control for the night, or at all if we’re being honest. He’ll be putty in your hands as soon as you touch him, whining and whimpering for more. And he has the prettiest whimpers, he’ll blush scarlet if you tell him that.

Whenever he’s not spewing filth, he’s spewing praises. Always lets you know just how beautiful you are and just how good you take him.

Gently tug his hair, he loves it. The strangled moan that he makes when you do is all the proof you need.

Enjoys having his nipples played with. Run your thumbs over them, lick them, suck them, bite them—you’re guaranteed to make him extremely needy.

Occasionally, or often, he’ll be a power bottom. He’ll fuck up into you and whisper the most nastiest things you’ve ever heard in your ear, all while having his face a shade a dark scarlet. He loves how it makes you tighten around him. If you want to knock that smirk off his face then pinch his nipples, it’ll shut him up temporarily. 

At first he wasn’t all that into the hickies you left him, but now he feels lost without the fading mark right above his collar bone. Every time it fades to a shade of light yellow, he’ll have you give him another. Don’t worry, he’ll give you a matching one if you’d like!

He’s not the most in shape guy in the world, but he does have a nice figure, especially when he has his back arched and he’s pressing into you just right, and you can see the slight outline of his ribs and the dips in his hips and gosh, he’s so damn pretty!

Loves when you call him pretty, especially while you’re riding or pegging him.

He’d be open to sharing, but he wouldn’t be the one to bring it up or initiate it, and only with people he trusted. Don’t be surprised if he gets a little jealous, though.

He’ll tease you in public, hands down. You’ll be having dinner or something and the next thing you know he has his hand on your thigh or pressed against your clothed clit under the table. Loves when you have to try and be quiet and act like his fingers aren’t buried in you knuckles deep, and pressing against you just right in a way that blurs your vision. You have to bite your lip relatively hard to keep quiet. Be sure to punish him for it later, though. He loves when you put him in his place by teasing him as well. Nip at his neck when you go to hug him, pull him in for a heated kiss just when he’s out of sight of the others, etc. You can get him to beg if you keep at it—if he doesn’t find a way to bend you over for him first, that is.

Has no problem about fucking you outdoors or in semi-public areas, the thrill of getting caught only makes him harder. Honestly, he might even prefer it if someone were to find you two, because then he could give them a once-in-a-lifetime show on just how good he fucks you.

Do I even have to mention he’s skilled with his fingers? Of course he would be, after all,  his fingers are the best part of him. All those years practicing the skills of sleight of hand has paid off in more ways than one. As soon as his slim fingers circle your clit you’re done for. He’s precise in ways you’ve never had before, and he’s quite skilled at reading you and memorizing exactly what makes you soaked and moaning, only to shift just slightly away from there and relish in the way you whine in protest.

He probably wouldn’t be a virgin by the time of the stone world, but he’ll take extra good care of you if you still are, though. Since it’s your first time, he’ll take control for it. Of course, he’ll still tease you, but he’s much more likely to give in since it’s your first time. He’ll let you come after denying you only once or twice, and as he finally presses himself in, he’ll make sure you're comfortable, even if he’s cursing about how tight you are around him.

He’s around 6” (inches) and on the thinner side, but it’s pretty with a flushed pink tip and a nice curve that presses against your walls and nerves with every stroke. You’ll be seeing stars by the time he’s done with you.

Comes about an average amount, and his taste is more on the sweeter side rather than salty.

Loves to come in you and on you, it doesn’t matter too much to him, and mostly depends on his mood. Though, with the world turned to stone, his options are limited.

He can last at most three rounds at a time, but most nights it’s around two. He’s not someone who’s suited to physical labor, so sex can take a lot out of him, but he’s also not like Senku and can handle more, especially when it comes to pleasing his lover. It’s something he also enjoys, so he tends to put more energy towards it.

More of a slow and hard kind of guy, he loves dragging it out and taking his time with you, but at the same time loves taking your breath away, quite literally. As soon as the head of his cock presses hard against those nerves deep inside you, you’re gasping for air and digging your nails into his shoulders or the sheets. He’s not against quickies or having you fast and rough, though.

You both tend to clean each other up when it’s all said and done, before he pulls you in for cuddles. Gen’s the clingiest right after sex with you. If it was anyone else, he’d pull on his clothes and leave when it was over, but he adores you with all his heart, and can’t stand to have you even an inch away from him. His arms will circle your waist and he’ll rub soothing patterns on your back, waist, and hips. Sometimes he’ll even play with your hair. He’ll always tell you that you did well, that you’re so beautiful, and tells you how much he loves you before he drifts off to sleep. If he has to get up the next morning without you, you’ll find flower petals in his spot instead.

If you get to stay in bed and sleep in, there’s a strong chance that you’ll be waking up to his fingers already deep inside you, pressing hard against the walls of your wet heat while his thumb finds your clit. 

He doesn’t care if you make a mess on the sheets or on him, either. Actually, that’s just what he’s aiming for. You can just imagine the devilish grin he’ll get when/ if you squirt for the first time. He’ll aim to make you do it over and over until he’s satisfied.

Honestly, this man can be a freak, you just have to be able to put up with that mouth of his.

It didn’t help his case that he’d also used his trickery—skills on you, too. A whispered suggestion for you to join him for material gathering instead of Chrome, feigning small injuries to convince you that he could use your help more instead of Senku, whispering not-so-subtle things into your ear in an attempt to see you flustered, so on and so on. All in good fun, right? But now, as genuine feelings were beginning to bubble up faster than one of Senku’s chemical reactions, he couldn’t help but regret his life choices. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and conflicted all at the same time. What if you saw his confession as just another act in his endless performance? He couldn’t have that happen. How could he call himself a mentalist if he can’t even convince you of his feelings? Was he too far gone to be saved?

He shook his head, a desperate attempt to silence the thoughts that plagued him. Now wasn’t the time for him to dwell, it wouldn’t solve his delima. He’d spent weeks planning this meticulously, scouting the location days in advance. It was a bit of a hike, but just a little ways across the stream was an open field of white daisies. He’s overheard you quite a few times state that you used to study flora, so surely you’d understand the symbolism. Daisies may be small wildflowers, but they’re the symbol of hope, innocence, and purity. A true expression that he was being genuine. It was the best he could do without any tulips or roses, flowers he hasn’t seen since his de-petrification. It would have to do. Besides, if the field of daisies wasn’t enough, he had a few more flowers tucked into his overcoat. And even if that didn’t work, surely you couldn’t deny that being alone in the middle of a flower field and surrounded by the night sky wasn’t romantic… right?

So as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of purple and orange, he was left with no choice but to follow through with his plan and hope for the best. He found you in the storehouse, exactly where he expected you to be, sorting through herbs that you had collected for the science team. Your hair caught the fading light, and for a moment he almost forgot his nerves. 

“My my, don’t you just look ovely-lay this evening,” he called to you, voice lighter than how he felt. “Fancy a little adventure? I found something that’ll definitely blow your mind, way better than any of Senku’s gadgets,” he claimed, a charming smile seeping across his face. 

You turned to face him, placing the last of your herbs on the top shelf to dry out. A skeptical smile tugged at your lips as you acknowledged him. “An adventure with you, Gen? That usually means trouble, or some form of hocus pocus.”

He clutched his chest dramatically, feigning a look of hurt. “Ouch! You wound me, but I can assure you that this is purely innocent. Scouts honor.” He winced internally as soon as the words left his mouth. Perhaps he overdid it on the theatrics… after all, he wasn’t even a scout. See? This is why she’ll never believe you.

To his relief, though, you laughed and set aside your gathering basket. “Alright, mentalist, lead the way. I won’t forgive you if you trick me, though.”

“No tricks,” he promised, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just… trust me?” He said, but it was quiet, more like a question than a statement. And the slight tilt of his head as he asked it made you curious. Just what in the world was he planning?

You eyed him inquisitively, perhaps for a moment longer than what you should’ve before nodding. “Sure. But… only because I’m curious.”

You walked in companionable silence at first, following the path that winded through the forest, leading up to the river. The water's surface reflected the light of the moon, ripples shimmering like a sea of diamonds. It was serene—the murmuring of the water, the chirping of crickets, the rustle of leaves in the cool night breeze. Gen couldn’t help but stare, memorizing the way you moved. Confident, graceful, as if you belonged to this stone world more than he ever would, despite also being from the 21st century. He doubted he’d have these feelings if he had met you then instead of now, his only experience with relationships were one time flings anyway. But he’s shared countless stories and laughs with you, stayed up late into the night just to talk to you, and even comforted you when you lost your footing and wound up pierced by a thorn bush on one of your gathering trips with him. He couldn’t deny that this was different, even if the new circumstances were partly to blame. Now, he couldn’t bear the thought of rejection that twisted uneasily through his gut.

Silently, he held out his hand for you to take, an offering to help guide you across the stones in the water that you accepted without hesitation. You didn’t say anything when he didn’t let go afterwards, though. It was unusual for him to be this quiet. Usually, he’d either be complaining about being roped into manual labor or telling you a story that oddly seemed to align with the current reality. You couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him, too. He always had this serenity around him, whenever he wasn’t spewing his snake oil everywhere, that is. But you had to admit that you admired his skills, not everyone could lie like him and walk away unscathed. You never did know what he was like before, but you knew this world had changed him—after all, it’s changed everyone. You knew that behind every slight of hand trick and deceptive word was a man who cared more than he let on. Not to mention he was absolutely stunning, with a pretty face and slim figure, and long fingers that now wrapped around your own like they always belonged together. You’d also be lying if you said you’ve never thought about what else his hands would be good at.

It wasn’t long before Gen stopped walking, effectively shaking you from your thoughts. The sight before you took your breath away. A sea of daisies that swayed gently in the night airs’ embrace, their white petals softly reflecting the light of the moon that shone brightly above. It almost seemed endless, flowers upon flowers, all in full bloom. You took a step forwards, turning your gaze to the sky above. After so many years, you never took the time to see how much the sky had changed. It was bright, much brighter than you’ve ever seen. A vast canvas of twinkling lights, unmarred by any light pollution or artificial glow. 

“Wow,” you breathed out, turning to face Gen with a smile that shone brighter than the stars. “Gen, this is incredible! How did you manage to find this place?”

He shrugged, playing it off like it wasn’t that big of a deal. “A magician never reveals his secrets,” he hummed, a teasing smile gracing his features for a moment, before turning into something softer. “But eriously-say, I thought you’d like it. A nice little break away from all the chaos of rebuilding society.”

You hummed in agreement, turning to tug him into the field of daisies with you. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he followed along behind you, until you were both knee-deep in the endless sea of flowers and could barely see the tree line. You knelt to touch a daisy, your touch gentle as you ran your fingers across the petals. “It’s so peaceful,” you told him, a sense of longing in your voice. “Like the world before… everything.”

He nodded in agreement, his hand slipping from yours as he spoke. “Indeed,” he replied, reaching under his coat and pulling out the bouquet he’d hidden there. This was it, now or never. “This new world is quite ary-scay, but… it’s easier if you have someone beside you that you can rely on.” 

He waited patiently for you to turn around and look at him, and when you did, you could’ve sworn that you had died and went to heaven, because before you was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. Gen, who stood before you with a dusting of pink over his cheeks, and a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands that were tied together with a thin vine as a bow. Gen, whose hair was partly in his face thanks to the night breeze. Gen, who had the light of the moon reflecting around him, casting him in a glow that made him look absolutely ethereal. 

“Here,” he murmured, thrusting the flowers towards you a bit too abruptly. His voice was soft, cracking slightly as he spoke. “For you.”

You accepted them, your eyes widening as you examined each flower, too stunned to say anything. “Gen…” you whispered, watching as he took his coat off and laid it atop the delicate daisies, the purple a beautiful contrast to the sea of white. He sat down on top of it, and gestured for you to join him. He didn’t even need to gesture for you, though, as you were already moving to sit beside him.

He placed his hands on top of your own, holding the bouquet with you. “Daisies, from this very field” he started, pausing for a moment to quell the growing nerves that bounced around inside him. “They represent the beauty you bring to this world,” he continued, now looking up at you instead of at the bouquet. “Forget-me-nots, they represent true love, and the remembrance of the ones closest to you.”

By now, you could feel yourself tearing up. You both knew that you already understood the symbolism of the flowers he’d just given you, yet he’s still taking the time to explain each one. No… it was more than that. It was more than just flowers. He was taking the time to explain himself to you. His feelings, his love, all resting in the palms of your hands.

“And Lavender,” he hummed, his hand now hovering over the plant's delicate petals. “A vow that I will always be faithfully devoted to you,” he finished, placing his hands in his lap as you set the bouquet to the side. “I know I'm not the most trustworthy person in the world, my words are my weapon, after all.” He forced a smile, small and awkward. “But every time I used them on you I… I realized that all I wanted was for you to be by my side,” he explained, fidgeting with the hem of his yukata. “It was then that I realized that… I had fallen for you.”

For a moment, it was as if you were too stunned to speak. “Gen…” you muttered, so quiet that he almost didn’t hear it. You felt tears prick your eyes, unable to stay put any longer as one trailed down your cheek. You were fast, then, pulling him into a hug as you buried your face in his shoulder. Never in a thousand years would you have expected something like this. You thought that falling for him was a lost cause, never expecting him to reciprocate those feelings back. “I love you,” you cried out, sobbing happily into his shoulder.

His arms encircled your waist, effectively pulling you into his lap. He laughed, a soft, warm sound that left your heart fluttering. Why was he so worried you wouldn’t believe him again? He finds the thought amusing now, especially since he didn’t even use half of his mentally prepared speech. He lifted your head to look at him, wiping away the remaining tears that trickled down your cheeks with his thumbs. “Now now, no need for ears-tay,” he teased, tilting your chin up to get a better look at you. 

“I just… never thought you’d like me the same way I liked you,” you replied, smiling up at him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“I should be saying the same thing,” he responded, pulling you into a kiss. His lips were soft, surprisingly soft for someone who spits venom on a daily basis. Perhaps it was because this wasn’t a part of his performance. It was him. And his lips fit perfectly against yours. You sighed against him at the feeling. It felt like something straight out of a fairytale, something too good to be true. You couldn’t help but pull him closer, to deepen the kiss as your hand trailed to the nape of his neck.

“I love you too,” he murmured as he broke away from the kiss, panting ever so slightly. His hand found yours, the one that wasn’t on the back of his neck, and he intertwined your fingers tentatively. “I guess the flowers worked better than I thought,” he laughed, pulling you in for another kiss. For the first time in ages, he finally felt… real.