A Valentine’s Special
Alfie Solomons, Tommy Conlon, Johnny Davis, Harry Da Souza and Eddie Brock
Five stories following Alfie, Tommy, Johnny, Harry, and Eddie as they each attempt, in their own flawed ways, to make Valentine’s Day special for their loved one.
warning/tags: smut, minors DNI, grinding, unprotected piv, blowjob, creampie, pussy eating, f!reader, fingering
Alfie’s Valentine
It was February 11th, 1924, three days before Valentine’s Day, and you sat on the edge of the armchair, with your hands clasped tightly in your lap, watching your husband. Alfie lounged in his favourite leather chair, with a glass of whiskey balanced on one knee.
You’d been working up to this conversation all evening. Valentine’s Day had always been a silly, secret fancy of yours, even before you married him. As a girl, you’d dreamed of red roses and chocolates. Now, as Mrs Solomons, you wanted just a taste of that whimsy.
“Alfie,” you began, carrying the pleading note you knew he pretended to despise. “Love, have you thought about what we might do for Valentine’s Day? It’s only a few days away.”
He didn’t look up from the newspaper spread across his lap. “Valentine’s Day?” he rumbled. “What’s that got to do with us, then?”
You leaned forward, placing your elbows on your knees. “Come on, Alfie. We could make a night of it. Dinner out, perhaps? Or I could cook something special here. Maybe even a little gift exchange. It doesn’t have to be grand… Just something to mark the day.”
He folded the paper and set it aside on the side table. His eyes finally met yours, and you could see the amusement flickering in them. “A gift exchange? For Valentine’s Day? Nah, nah, pet. That ain’t our style, is it?”
“But why not?” you pressed, sliding closer until your knee brushed his leg. “It’s just one day. A bit of fun. I saw these lovely chocolates in the window of that new shop down the avenue, they were shaped like hearts! Or flowers. Roses, Alfie. You know I love roses.”
He took a long sip of his drink, as if he needed the alcohol to go through this conversation. “Roses, yeah? And what, a card with some soppy verse? ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, I run a bleedin’ distillery and so do you’?”
You reached out and laid your hand on his arm, feeling the wool of his vest beneath your fingers. “It’s not about the soppiness. It’s about celebrating us. You and me, against the world, remember when you used to say that?”
Alfie set his glass down with a clink and leaned back, putting deliberate space between your enthusiasm and his reluctance. “Celebratin’ us? Right. Well, I celebrate us every bloody day, don’t I? Wakin’ up next to you, sharin’ a meal, shaggin’ you every night, that’s celebration enough for any man. Don’t need some frivolous holiday cooked up by the Christians to tell me when to show my love.”
There it was, you knew it was coming… the moment he made this about religion. “I know it’s a Christian thing,” you said quietly, squeezing his arm. “I know it doesn’t mean anything to you, Alfie. But this… this is just a day for lovers. It doesn’t have to be religious. It could be ours. Something we make our own.”
He raised one brow, piercing you with his gaze. “Ours, eh? Nah, love. Valentine’s Day is a con, innit? Shopkeepers rubbin’ their hands, sellin’ overpriced tat to fools who think a box of sweets proves their love.”
“But it means something to me,” you said, raising your voice just enough to betray the frustration. You stood and began to pace in front of the fire, trying to burn off the ache building inside your chest. “Not the con part, maybe, but the gesture. The thought that you’d go out of your way just for me. Because you love me. Isn’t that what marriage is? Doing things that don’t make sense to you, but make the other person happy?”
Alfie watched you move, his expression softening for the briefest moment before it hardened again. “Love you? Course I do. More than life itself, yeah? But I show it my way. Remember that necklace last month? The sapphire one? That wasn’t for no holiday, that was ’cause I saw it and thought of your eyes. Or when I closed the bakery early to take you to the seaside? That’s love, pet. Real love. Not this manufactured bollocks.”
You stopped pacing and knelt in front of him, taking both his rough hands in yours. “I remember all of it, Alfie. And I cherish every moment. But why can’t we have both? The everyday love and the special days? I’m not asking for the moon. Just one evening. A candlelit dinner, maybe a card.”
He sighed and brushed his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re a persistent one, ain’t ya? Always have been. That’s why I married you, keeps me on my toes.” He paused, searching for your eyes. “But no, love. I can’t do it. Not Valentine’s Day. It’s not just frivolous, it’s… It’s not us. I don’t need a calendar tellin’ me when to be romantic. And frankly, I ain’t bowin’ to some saint’s day that ain’t mine. If I start now, where’s it end? Easter eggs next? Bloody Christmas?”
The words landed like stones. You felt the disappointment, yet you understood. Alfie didn’t bend on principles, and maybe asking him to celebrate a holiday that clashed with who he was felt like asking him to be someone else.
“Alfie, please,” you whispered, your voice cracking even as you tried to keep it steady. “For me. Just because you love me. It would mean the world.”
He lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your fingers. His beard tickled your skin in that familiar way. For one heartbeat, you thought he might give in, but then he shook his head. “No, pet. I love you too much to pretend. We’ll make our own days, yeah? Better ones.”
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and stood. Valentine’s Day would come and go without fanfare in the Solomons house.
The morning of February 14th arrived quickly. You woke up that morning, and for a moment you lay still, staring at the ceiling, expecting the day to pass like any other. No roses. No chocolates. No soppy gestures.
Then the door creaked, you turned your head, and there he was. Alfie was balancing a wooden tray as if it might fall if he moved too fast. Two slices of bread toasted unevenly, a smear of butter already melting into the craters, a couple of fried eggs, and a mug of tea.
He stood at the foot of the bed in his vest and braces, with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, looking like a man who’d just lost a very personal war.
“Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
You sat up so fast the blankets pooled around your waist. “You changed your mind.”
He didn’t answer right away, just set the tray across your lap with exaggerated care. Then he straightened, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared down at you, not angry, exactly, but with the exasperation that only came out when he’d done something he swore he never would.
“I have an infuriatin’, stubborn wife,” he said, each word bitten off. “Who happens to be so bloody good at gettin’ under my skin that I wake up at five like some lovesick fool and stand over a stove burnin’ eggs because apparently that’s what it takes to shut her up for five minutes.”
Your mouth parted, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “Alfie—”
“Don’t,” he warned, pointing one finger at you. “Don’t start with the eyes and the smile. I’m already regrettin’ every second of this.”
But he wasn’t done, he turned, reached behind him to the dresser where he’d clearly hidden everything, and came back with three things: First, a small bunch of red roses, six of them, the stems wrapped in brown paper. Second, a flat red box tied with gold ribbon, inside there were the heart-shaped chocolates you’d pointed out in the window two weeks ago. And third, a card. You opened it with trembling fingers.
To my wife,
who is maddening, beautiful, relentless, and somehow still the only person I’d ever do this for.
Don’t get used to it.
Happy Valentine’s Day, pet.
— Alfie
You looked up at him with stinging eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders like he wanted to disappear into the floorboards.
“Here’s all you wanted,” he muttered. “The fuckin’ roses. The chocolates. The card with the soppy words. Happy now?”
You didn’t answer with words, you set the tray carefully on the bedside table and then launched yourself at him. He caught you with a grunt and a half-laugh, as you wrapped arms and legs around him like you meant to climb inside his skin. Alfie carried you both back onto the mattress, making the bed groan under the sudden weight.
He landed on his back with you straddling his hips, your nightgown rucked up around your thighs, and he took his big hands automatically to your waist.
“You bastard,” you whispered against his mouth, crying as you laughed. “You absolute, beautiful bastard.”
“Language,” he rumbled, but his voice had gone rough in that way that always made you clench your thighs. “Thought we were bein’ romantic.”
You kissed him then, greedily, and Alfie kissed you back like a man who’d been starving for it, sliding one band up your spine to fist in your hair, clamping the other possessively over your ass.
You broke away just long enough to yank his vest over his head. The braces snapped against his shoulders as you shoved them down. His chest hair was coarse under your palms. You dragged your nails lightly down it, watching the way his stomach flexed.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed when you rocked your hips down against the growing hardness beneath his trousers. “Slow down, woman, or this’ll be over before it starts.”
“No,” you said, already fumbling with his buttons. “I’m not waiting. Gonna give you your gift right now.”
You freed his thick cock, already leaking at the tip and making your mouth water at the sight. Next thing, you shoved your nightgown higher and moved your underwear to the side. With trembling hands, you lined him up and sank in one slow slide, the stretch making you both groan.
Alfie’s head fell back against the pillow. “Christ almighty.”
You braced your hands on his broad chest, lifting yourself until only the swollen head of his cock stretched your entrance, before sinking back down in one long glide. You savoured every inch of him, dragging along your slick walls, the way he throbbed inside your cunt, pulsing against that spot that made your thighs tremble.
Alfie’s breath hitched, a low “fuck” rumbling from his chest as he jerked his hips up involuntarily, chasing more friction from your tight walls. Emboldened, you picked up the pace, moving faster and harder, slamming down with rolls of your hips that ground your clit against his pelvis on every thrust.
He roamed his hands possessively, squeezing your breasts, flicking his thumbs over your stiff nipples until you whimpered, then sliding down to grip your waist, your hips, finally clamping onto your ass with force. He spread you open wider, digging his fingers into the flesh as he guided you, urging you to fuck him deeper, like he couldn’t get enough of the way your cunt clenched around him.
He thrust up brutally to meet every downward slam, driving himself impossibly deeper. His heavy balls were smacking against your ass, and the slick squelch of your drenched pussy taking him again and again echoed in the room.
“Look at me,” he growled when you fluttered your eyes shut. You obeyed. “You wanted Valentine’s Day,” he rasped. “This what you had in mind, eh? Ridin’ your husband like he owes you money?”
“Yes,” you gasped, grinding down harder, chasing that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. “God—yes—”
He sat up suddenly, banding his arms around your back and crashing his mouth into yours. The new angle drove him deeper, and you cried out against his lips. Alfie slipped one hand between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with this thumb.
“Come on, pet,” he murmured against your throat, grazing your pulse with his teeth. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”
You shuddered, clenching and soaking him as you shook apart on top of him. He followed seconds later, a curse tearing from his throat as he emptied himself inside you, jerking and holding you down so tightly you’d probably have bruises tomorrow.
For a long minute, you stayed like that, with your foreheads pressed together and your hearts hammering in tandem. Then he huffed a laugh. “Happy fuckin’ Valentine’s Day,” Alfie muttered again, but this time there was no teeth-clenching.
You smiled against his mouth and kissed him softly. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Alfie.”
Tommy’s Valentine
You stepped onto the porch after a long shift, with your keys already in hand. The porch light was on, and there he was. Tommy sat on the top step, a small bouquet of grocery-store daisies gripped in one scarred fist. His hoodie was up, but not enough to hide the fresh split above his left eyebrow, blood already drying in a thin line down his temple.
You stopped short. “What are you doing here, Tommy?”
He looked up with eyes red-rimmed. He stood slowly, and held the flowers out between you like an apology.
“I missed you,” he said. “I fucked up. I know I fucked up.”
The tension from last week still sat between you. Him pulling away again, disappearing for three days after swearing he was all in, after whispering things against your neck that made you believe it this time. You’d finally said enough, and this time you’d meant it.
You stared at the flowers, then at the blood on his face. “You’re bleeding.”
“Training,” he muttered, touching the cut like he’d only just remembered it was there. “Caught an elbow. It’s nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, you could see the swelling starting. You sighed, already losing the battle with yourself. “Come inside. Let me clean that before you bleed all over the steps.”
He followed without a word. You flicked on the kitchen light, pointed to the chair at the table. He sat, still holding the flowers like they were evidence he was trying.
You grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink, wet a clean cloth with warm water, and stood between his knees. He tipped his head back obediently while you dabbed at the cut.
“Hold still,” you said, as your fingers shook a little.
He didn’t. His hands found your waist, first gentle, then tight, digging his fingers in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go, like he couldn’t help himself, he needed to touch you.
“Tommy—”
He pulled you closer in one rough motion, lifted you, and sat you across his lap so you straddled him on the chair, with your knees bracketing his hips.
“No,” you said, placing your palms flat against his chest to push back. “We need to talk.”
He looked up at you with desperate eyes. “Then let’s talk.”
You felt him, pressing his hard and insisting length through his sweats, right against you. The heat flooded your face all at once.
“Talk,” he repeated, as he dragged you forward in a slow grind. The thick ridge of his cockhead caught right against your clit. “What do you have to say?”
“I can’t talk with your… thing against me,” you snapped, higher than you meant it to be.
A ghost of his old smirk flickered, but it died fast. He didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened, sliding his thumb under the hem of your work shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. “For disappearing. For making you think I didn’t want this, or that I don’t want you. I panicked. Same old shit. Thought if I stayed gone long enough, you’d be better off.” He swallowed. “I was wrong. I’m always fucking wrong about that.”
“You can’t keep doing this,” you whispered. “One day you’re all in, the next you’re a ghost. I can’t keep waiting for the next time you disappear.”
You slid off his lap, feeling your legs unsteady on the kitchen floor. The heat was still buzzing between your thighs from where he'd been pressed against you, but the anger simmered in your chest.
You crossed your arms tight over your shirt, glaring down at him in the chair. "I'm still pissed at you, Tommy. Don't think a sorry and some flowers fix everything."
He leaned back, with that infuriating half-smile tugging at his busted lip, roaming his eyes over you like he couldn't help it. "You're adorable when you're angry."
You narrowed your eyes. "You should really watch what you say right now, because I'm this close to kicking you out." You held up your thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Don't push it."
Tommy's smile faded, but his gaze didn't waver. He reached out before you could step back, clamping his hands onto your hips with his strong grip. You gasped, moving your hands to his shoulders on instinct, but he didn't give you a chance to fight it. He pulled you forward in one smooth motion, lifting you effortlessly and settling you back onto his lap, straddling him again. His thighs were solid under you, and you felt him twitch against your core.
"Tommy—" you started, but he cut you off, sliding his hands up your sides, brushing his thumbs over the underside of your breasts through your shirt.
"Let me take you out for Valentine's. Dinner, whatever you want. Let me make it right."
Before you could answer, his mouth found your neck. His lips moved softly at first, then insistently, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. You tilted your head back without meaning to, a shiver racing down your spine as he grazed his teeth over your pulse point. Tommy rocked his hips up against you, the hard length of him grinding right where you needed it most.
"I'm tired," you managed to say with a breathy voice. "I don't wanna go out. And I don't wanna think about how you're gonna disappear tomorrow as if none of this happened."
He paused, tightening his hands on your hips, holding you flush against him. "Let me prove it," he said, locking his eyes onto yours when he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. "How much I'm in this. How much I want you. No disappearing. I swear."
His grip shifted, sliding one hand down to palm your ass, spreading you wider so he could grind deeper, the head of his cock catching and nudging your clothed clit on every pass now.
You searched his face, finding the raw honesty there that he so rarely let show. Your resolve cracked, just a little, but enough. "Tommy..."
You slid off his lap again and turned away fast, too fast, because the tears were already burning behind your eyes, and you didn’t want him to see them yet.
“Hey—” His voice cracked on the single word. He stood up quickly. “What’s going on? Talk to me. Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head because your throat felt too tight to answer. You walked straight into the kitchen, opened the junk drawer where you’d shoved everything you didn’t want to look at for the last forty-eight hours. Your fingers closed around the slim white stick. You pulled it out, held it behind your back for a second like it might burn you, then turned.
Tommy stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and searching your face. You held the test out between you, the little pink plus sign stark against the plastic.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you said, and your voice came out small and wrecked.
He stared at it. Didn’t move or blink. “From when’s this?” he asked finally, barely above a whisper.
“Couple days ago.” You swallowed. “I missed my period. Felt… different. Nauseous in the mornings, tired like I’ve never been tired before. So I bought one on the way home from the store last Thursday. It was positive.” You let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been sitting with it since then.”
Tommy’s face did something you’d never seen before, it crumpled. His eyes went glassy, he took one step, then another, until he was close enough to take the test from your fingers. He looked at it again, brushing his thumb over the little window like he needed to feel it was real.
You watched his throat work, the way his jaw flexed and released, the way his breathing hitched. Then he dropped to one knee and pressed his forehead to your stomach, both hands sliding to your hips like he was afraid to hold you too tight. A sound came out of him that was half a sob, and half a laugh.
“We’re gonna have a baby,” he said against your shirt. His voice cracked on every word.
You threaded your fingers into his hair, holding on. Tears slipped down your cheeks now. “Are we? Or are you gonna disappear again?”
He went still, then he pulled back just enough to look up at you. His eyes were red and wet, but steady. “No,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You searched his face. “You say that now. But—”
“But I’m here now. And I’m staying. You hear me? I’m staying.”
You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. He cupped your face with both hands, wiping at the tears you couldn’t stop with his thumbs. “I’m gonna be here for every doctor’s appointment. Every late-night craving. Every time you’re scared, or pissed, or whatever. I’m gonna be here when the kid’s screaming at three a.m. and when they’re graduating and every shitty, beautiful day in between. I swear it.”
A fresh sob caught in your throat. “You can’t just swear it, Tommy. You have to do it.”
“I will.” He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you so tight you could feel his heartbeat slamming against yours. “I’m not perfect. I’m probably gonna fuck up a hundred times. But disappearing? That’s done. I’m not losing you. I’m not losing this.”
You buried your face in his hoodie, breathing him in, and he kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then lower until his lips found yours. The kiss was slow, salty with both your tears, full of everything he’d never known how to say before.
He glanced down at your stomach, still the same, and something soft crossed his face. He placed one careful hand there. “Hey, kid,” he murmured. So quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “I’m your dad. And I’m already sorry for all the times I’m gonna suck at this. But I’m gonna try. Real hard.”
You laughed through the tears. Tommy looked back up at you. “I love you,” he said, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever said. “I should’ve said it more. I’m saying it now. I love you. And I love this kid already.”
You pressed your hand over his on your stomach. “I love you too,” you whispered. “Don’t make me regret believing you.”
“Let me show you how much I mean it.”
He didn't wait for more. In one fluid move, he lifted you like you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist on reflex, and he turned, laying you back across the kitchen table with surprising gentleness. The wood was cool against your back through your shirt, but before you realized, Tommy's hands were already at your waistband, hooking his fingers into your pants and underwear, tugging them down in one swift pull.
You lifted your hips to help him, and he dropped to his knees between your legs, nudging your thighs apart with his broad shoulders. His eyes darkened as he looked at your pussy, exposed and waiting, and he let out a low groan that vibrated through his chest. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he muttered, more to himself than you, before leaning in.
“You’re gonna be such a good mom. I already know it.” He nuzzled the soft mound of your pussy, inhaling like he couldn’t get enough of you. “This kid’s so fucking lucky already. Got you for a mother. Got you growing them safe inside you right now.”
His breath ghosted over your inner thigh first, making you squirm. He pressed a kiss there, then another higher up, his stubble scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. You reached down, threading your fingers into his short hair, but he caught your hand, pinning it gently to the table beside you. "Let me," he said, his voice muffled against your thigh. "Just let me."
You nodded, and he rewarded you with his mouth, finally, right where you ached. Tommy flicked his tongue out, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe up your slit, tasting you like he was starving. You arched off the table, a moan escaping before you could bite it back. Tommy hummed in approval, the vibration sending jolts straight through you, and then he licked you again, slower this time, savoring every inch.
He settled in then, without any rush, like he had all night to prove his point. Tommy sealed his lips over your clit, sucking it gently at first, then harder, circling his tongue with deliberate patterns that had your toes curling. One hand slid up your thigh, digging his fingers in to hold you open, while the other teased at your entrance, circling your hole, and pressing just the tip of his digits inside before pulling back, making you whine.
"Tommy, please," you gasped, bucking his hips toward his face.
He glanced up, meeting your eyes over the plane of your body, while his mouth was still working you relentlessly. "I've got you," he said against your folds, the words buzzing against your clit. Then he dove deeper, thrusting his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in rhythmic strokes. His nose nudged your clit with every push, and the dual sensation was slowly beginning to build your orgasm.
“You did this,” he said, voice muffled against you. “You made me a father. Me.” He sucked your clit harder for a second, making your hips jerk. “And I’m never gonna forget it. Never gonna let you down again.”
You gripped the edge of the table with your free hand until your knuckles hurt, as he alternated from delving his tongue deep, then retreating it to lap at your clit, sucking with his lips closed around it until you saw stars. Tommy added a finger, then two, curling them just right to hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur. His pace was unhurried but intense, pumping his fingers and flicking his tongue faster now, building you up inch by inch.
Sweat beaded on your skin, making tour shirt cling to your body. "Oh god, Tommy! Don't stop—"
He didn't, if anything, he went harder, twisting his fingers, pressing his tongue flat, and dragging it up before swirling around your clit again. The sounds were obscene, his low groans, and loud slurps mixing with your whimpers.
Your thighs trembled around his head as the pressure built, higher and higher, until you shattered. The orgasm crashed over you, making you lift your hips off the table and tear a cry from your throat. Tommy didn't pull away, he worked you through it, gentling his movements but not stopping until you’d drawn out every last shudder.
You collapsed back, as he finally eased off, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs while you caught your breath. He rose slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at you sprawled on the table. "Believe me now?" he asked.
You managed a weak laugh, sitting up on your elbows. "Maybe. But you're not done proving it yet."
Johnny’s Valentine
The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky in a pink and bruised purple. You waited on the front steps of your small house, arms crossed, wearing a black dress with red flowers, and a leather jacket zipped tight.
You heard the deep rumble growing closer. Johnny’s headlight sliced through the dusk first. The red bike rolled up and stopped at the curb. He swung his leg over the seat, his hair looked wind-tousled already, strands falling across his forehead. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and looked straight at you.
“Been freezin’ out here long?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Long enough.”
He gave you that small half-smirk, crushed the cigarette under his boot, stepped closer, and lifted the spare helmet from the sissy bar. Johnny set it on your head himself, careful as he buckled the strap. He brushed the edge of your jaw and lingered a second longer than was necessary.
He climbed back on, kicked the starter, and the engine barked awake beneath him. You swung your leg over, settled behind, wrapped your arms around his waist, and pressed your chest to his back. Even through the layers, you felt the heat of him. He reached back once, squeezed your knee, and then both hands found the grips.
“Hold tight, sweetheart.”
The town slipped away in smears of light. Johnny rode fast on the empty roads, leaning the bike into gentle curves so your body followed his without thought.
After twenty minutes or so, he slowed, flicked on the high beam, and turned off the pavement onto a narrow gravel lane you’d never seen before. The bike jounced over ruts, and you clung tighter.
The trees opened, and the river appeared. Johnny coasted to a stop in a small, cleared patch beside the bank.
He killed the engine and stayed seated a moment, then patted your thigh twice. You slid off, and Johnny followed, swung the saddlebags down, and set them on the ground.
You watched him unpack: a blanket first, shaken out and spread across the grass. Then a small cooler and a brown paper sack.
“Sit,” he said, nodding at the blanket.
You dropped down cross-legged. He settled beside you, close enough that your shoulder brushed his. He opened the cooler and got two beers out, twisted both caps off with his lighter, and handed one to you.
He tapped his bottle to yours. “Happy Valentine’s”
You both drank, and for a while you just sat, watching the river slide past. Johnny dug into the paper sack and pulled out two foil-wrapped sandwiches still warm.
“Benny’s lady made these,” he said, almost sheepish. “Told me if I was gonna do Valentine’s, I better not show up with some gas-station crap.”
You laughed and ate the sandwich slowly, trading bites, brushing your fingers together. When the sandwiches were gone ,he pulled you in closer, settling his arm heavily across your shoulders. You leaned into him, laying your head against his chest.
“Cold?” he asked after a while.
“A little.”
He shrugged out of his jacket without a word and draped it over your lap. It carried his warmth and his smell, leather and cigarette smoke. You pulled it tighter around you.
“Better?” he said.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He finished his beer, set the empty bottle carefully in the grass, and then he turned to you. One rough hand came up and cupped the side of your face, tracing the corner of your mouth.
“Happy Valentine’s, darlin’,” he said, almost quieter than the river.
You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him. He slid his fingers into your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen it. A low sound rumbled in his throat, and when you finally pulled back, you were both breathing harder, pressing your foreheads together, noses brushing.
He reached into the saddlebag again, and his hand came out with a small black velvet pouch. He tipped the contents into his palm: A thin silver chain, hanging from it was a tiny “J” charm.
“Didn’t want nothin’ flashy,” he muttered, suddenly looking almost awkward. “This way, everybody will know you’re mine.”
You stared at the little “J” resting in his callused hand.
“Johnny…”
He cleared his throat. “You gonna let me put it on you or what?”
You turned so he could fasten the clasp. His fingers were careful and warm against the back of your neck. When the chain settled against your skin, it felt right, like it belonged there.
He looked at it for a long moment, then at you. Something soft flickered in his eyes. “Looks good,” he said simply.
You touched the charm with your fingertips. “Yeah. It does.”
The river kept its steady murmur while the moon climbed higher. You sat pressed against Johnny’s side, you’d been kissing on and off for what felt like forever, lazy at first, then hungrier. Each time you pulled back to breathe, he’d look at you with those blue eyes, brushing your lower lip with his thumb like he was memorizing the shape of it.
He shifted, turning more fully toward you, sliding onto the back of your neck, threading his fingers into your hair. He tugged gently, not roughly, just enough to tilt your head the way he wanted. Then his mouth was on yours again, deeper this time.
You made a small sound against his lips, as you found the front of his shirt, bunching the soft cotton under his open jacket. He groaned, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap, straddling one of his thighs.
His free hand settled on your hip, and he broke the kiss long enough to drag his mouth along your jaw, down the side of your throat. When his teeth grazed the spot just under your ear, you gasped, tightening your fingers in his shirt.
“Johnny…”
He paused, his lips remaining against your pulse. “Yeah?”
You swallowed, feeling your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it. “I’m just… We haven’t…”
He lifted his head, searching for your eyes in the moonlight. “I know,” he said simply. “We don’t have to do anythin’ you ain’t ready for.”
You shook your head quickly. “I want to. I just…” You licked your lips, suddenly shy even after months of this, rides together, late-night talks in diner parking lots. “I’ve wanted to for a while. Just… first times with someone are always important.”
Something softened in his face, and he cupped your cheek with his rough palm. “Then we go as slow as you need,” he murmured. “Or we stop. Your call, sweetheart.”
You searched his eyes for a long moment. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, when you pulled back, you whispered against his mouth, “I don’t want to stop.”
He exhaled through his nose, a sound that was almost a laugh. Then he kissed you harder, hungrier, as a dam that had finally cracked. Johnny slid both hands under your jacket now, pulling your dress down inch by inch until the cool air hit your exposed breasts. He palmed one breast fully, brushing over the stiff peak in a lazy circle that made your back arch off the blanket.
He eased you down onto the blanket, and he followed, bracing himself on one forearm so his weight didn’t crush you. His fingertips traced the underside of your breasts, making you arch into his touch, and he made an appreciative sound as he lowered his head, kissing a slow path down your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. He took a nipple into his mouth without warning, flicking his tongue, then flattening to lap broadly.
Johnny switched sides, grazing his teeth over the stiff peak, and then soothing your nipple with another long and filthy lick. Spit glistened on your breasts when he finally pulled back, strings of it connecting his lips to your nipple for a second before snapping.
“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive. Bet I could make you cum just from this if I kept goin’.”
You bit your lip, but you couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped. He grinned and went back to what he was doing. Johnny slid a hand down your lower stomach, and you lifted your hips without thinking. He tugged your underwear down your legs, dropping them somewhere on the grass.
Johnny paused, flicking his eyes to yours. “Still good?”
You nodded fast. “Yeah. Just… cold.”
He leaned down, kissed the inside of your knee, then higher. “I’ll warm you up.”
He settled between your legs, and his mouth found you, with slow licks at first, exploratory, learning every hitch of your breath, every small sound you tried to swallow. When he sucked gently on your clit your jerked your hips, and he pressed one of his big hands flat against your lower belly, holding you still while he worked you with steady strokes of his tongue.
“Stay still, baby,” he murmured against you, the vibration of his words hummed right through your swollen clit. “Lemme take care of this pretty pussy the way she deserves.”
His tongue went back to work, flattening to lap from your entrance all the way up, then curling the tip to circle your clit in teasing rings. Every time you tried to buck he pressed down harder on your stomach, the pressure somehow making everything feel sharper.
“Johnny—oh god! It… It feels amazing.”
He pulled back only long enough to speak, his lips shiny with you. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet when you’re this close. Gonna make you cum all over my tongue, sweetheart. Then I’m gonna slide in deep and feel how tight you get right after.”
He dove back in without waiting for an answer. This time he sealed his mouth over your clit, sucking harder, pulsing his lips in a steady rhythm while the flat of his tongue flicked fast underneath. The hand on your belly slid lower, pushing two thick fingers inside you without warning, stretching you open. He curled them immediately, hooking right against that perfect spot, and pumped them in time with the suction on your clit.
You threaded your fingers through his hair, not pulling, just holding on. The pleasure built slowly, until your thighs started to shake. He didn’t let up, and when you finally came, it hit you like an overwhelming wave, your back arching off the blanket as you gasped his name.
He kissed his way back up your body while you trembled through the aftershocks of your climax, just soft open-mouthed kisses across your stomach, your ribs, your tits. When he reached your mouth, he kissed you deeply.
You reached for his belt with shaking hands. He helped you until his jeans were shoved down just enough. He was hard, his length thick against your thigh, leaving a streak of pre-cum there. You wrapped your fingers around him, and he hissed through his teeth, dropping his forehead to yours.
“Fuck, baby…”
You stroked him slowly, watching his face, the way he clenched his jaw, the way he fluttered his eyes half-closed. He caught your wrist after a minute. “Gonna make me cum if you keep that up,” he muttered.
You smiled, a little wicked despite the nerves still fluttering in your stomach. “Then get inside me already.”
Johnny huffed a laugh and shifted, settling between your thighs again. He braced himself on one arm and used the other hand to guide himself, nudging the blunt head against you.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
You nodded, your breath hitching. Johnny pushed in inch by inch. There was a stretch, and a faint burn, he was bigger than the guys you’d been with before. But he went so slow, pausing every few seconds to kiss you, to murmur against your mouth, “You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart… so fuckin’ good…” so the burning never crossed into pain. When his cock was fully seated inside you, he stilled, breathing hard.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You feel…” He didn’t finish, just kissed you again, letting you adjust.
After a minute, you rolled your hips experimentally, that seemed to be the signal he needed. He started moving with measured thrusts that dragged against every sensitive place inside you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your feet into the small of his back to urge him deeper inside your hole. The blanket bunched under you, the night was cold, but you were burning up everywhere you touched him.
He found a rhythm, steady without being rushed. Every time he bottomed out, you gasped, and every time he pulled almost all the way out, you whimpered at the loss. He slipped one hand between you, circling your clit with his thumb in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation made your head spin.
“Johnny—fuck—”
“Yeah? Right there?”
You could only nod, all words gone. He sped up just enough, still controlled and careful, but the angle shifted, and suddenly every stroke hit the perfect spot inside your walls. You clenched around him, and he cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering for the first time.
“Gonna cum,” you managed to say. “Johnny—Gonna cum again!”
“Do it,” he rasped. “Let me feel you clenchin’ around me.”
You did, harder than before, your whole body locking up as the pleasure ripped through you. He fucked you through it, drawing your climax out until you were shaking and gasping against his neck.
When the aftershocks finally eased, he pulled out, the sudden emptiness made you clench around nothing. Johnny groaned at the sight of you, your legs still spread, your dress bunched up, your pussy glistening and flushed from him stretching you open.
He wrapped one hand around his cock, still slick with you, and stroked himself hard and fast. His eyes stayed locked on where he’d just been buried inside you, watching the way your body fluttered like it was still trying to pull him back in. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasped. “All fucked-out and drippin’ for me.”
Two more rough pumps and he came, thick ropes spilling across your stomach. The first stripe landed just below your navel, the next higher, streaking over your belly button. He kept groaning your name, jerking his hips with each spurt like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
Eventually, he lifted his head, kissed you softly, then reached into the saddlebag for a rag he always carried. He cleaned you up carefully, almost tenderly, before tugging your dress back into place and zipping your jacket with clumsy fingers.
You caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Come here.”
He did, settling beside you on the blanket and pulling you against his chest. His heartbeat was still fast under your ear. After a while, he spoke. “You okay?”
You nodded against him. “More than okay.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Good.”
You stayed like that until the cold finally won. He helped you up, packed everything away, and when you climbed back on the bike, he wrapped your arms tighter around his waist than usual, like he didn’t want any space between you. You pressed your cheek to his back and closed your eyes. For the first time in a long time, the night felt exactly right.
Harry’s Valentine
You woke to the sound of knocking, followed by the murmur of male voices. The clock on the nightstand read 7:42 a.m. Valentine’s Day, and as you expected it, the bed beside you was empty, the sheets cool where Harry should have been. You rubbed sleep from your eyes, pulled on your silk robe, and padded barefoot toward the front door.
When you opened it, the fragrance hit you right away, almost making you cough. Three men in dark suits stood there, with their arms loaded with floral arrangements. Roses in every shade from red to pink, lilies, peonies, orchids, probably worth thousands of pounds.
“Morning, Mrs. Da Souza,” the tallest one said. “Mr. Da Souza sends his regards. Where would you like these?”
You blinked. “All… of them?”
“There’s more in the van,” another added. “He said, ‘fill the house.’ We took that literally.”
Behind them, two more men were already hauling in additional deliveries. You stepped aside, dazed, and watched how this SWAT team of florists placed the arrangements on every available surface: the entry table, the kitchen island, the living room coffee table.
One of them handed you a small card before they left. Harry’s handwriting read: Not enough flowers in London to make up for the nights I wasn’t here. But it’s a start. –H
You pressed the card to your chest and followed the scent of coffee and something buttery toward the kitchen. A man was already there. He didn’t look up from the pan when you entered.
“Good morning, Mrs. Da Souza. I’m Chef Laurent. Mr. Da Souza arranged breakfast. Eggs Benedict with black truffle hollandaise, brioche French toast, fresh berries, and a side of caviar blinis.”
You stared at him, perplexed. “Harry… hired a chef? For breakfast?”
“He was very specific.” Laurent smiled. “Sit. It’ll be ready in seven minutes.”
You sank onto a stool and watched him plate everything with precision. The food arrived looking like art, you took one bite and closed your eyes. It was obscene how good it tasted.
Halfway through, your phone buzzed, and Harry’s name lit the screen.
You answered. “You sent an army of flowers and a chef. Are you dying or something?”
A chuckle came through, the one that still made your stomach flip after all those years. “Not yet, love. Just trying not to be a complete bastard for once.”
“You know this doesn’t fix everything.”
“I know.” His voice softened. “But it’s Valentine’s. Figured I’d start by overwhelming you. Dinner tonight. Seven. I’ll pick you up. Wear the black dress, the one with the low back. Please.”
He hung up before you could argue.
The rest of the day passed in a strange haze. The flowers perfumed every room. You wandered the house, touching the petals, rereading the card.
At six-thirty, you slipped into the black dress he loved and added the earrings he had given you for your anniversary two years earlier. You stared at yourself in the mirror and wondered if tonight was just another meaningless attempt to make you forget about his absence, or if he actually meant it.
The doorbell rang at exactly seven.
You opened it to find him standing there in a charcoal suit. He looked tired, he always did lately, but his eyes softened when they landed on you.
“You look…” He exhaled. “Fuck. You look unreal, babe.”
“You clean up nice yourself.” You stepped aside to let him in, but he didn’t move.
“Got something for you first.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a slim velvet box. Inside was a delicate gold chain with a single diamond pendant.
You let him clasp it around your neck, his fingers brushed your skin, and lingered a second longer than necessary.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He offered his arm. “Car’s waiting.”
The restaurant was one you had only heard about. It was private, members-only. Inside, the lights were dim, and the ambiance was intimate. A single table waited for you in the back corner, with candles flickering, a bottle of your favorite wine already waiting for you. The maître d’ greeted Harry by name and disappeared.
Harry pulled your chair out and sat across from you.
“I know I’m shit at this,” he said quietly once the wine was poured. “The job… it takes pieces. I forget dates. I forget what you need sometimes, even when you’re right there. And I hate it.”
You swirled the wine. “You think flowers and a fancy dinner change that?”
“No.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “But maybe it’s proof I still see you. That I still want this. Want us.”
The first course arrived, something delicate and fancy you couldn’t quite name. You ate in silence for a moment.
“I booked the whole place,” he said suddenly. “No one else here tonight. Just us. No interruptions. No phone. No Harrigans.”
You looked up. “You shut down a Michelin restaurant for Valentine’s?”
“Perks of knowing people.” He offered you a small, crooked smile. “The owner owed me some favors.”
You laughed despite yourself. “Romantic.”
He reached across the table and took your hand, tracing circles over your knuckles. “I don’t know how to be good at being a husband. But I know I don’t want to lose you. Not to my own stupidity.”
When you finally left, the night air was cool. He walked you to the car with a hand at the small of your back. Fifteen minutes later, the car glided to a stop outside the house.
Inside, the house still smelled like a perfume bomb had exploded, the roses and gardenias and lilies were still crowding every surface.
He closed the front door with a click, shrugged out of his coat, and hung it on the hook. You kicked off your heels by the entry table.
No words came at first. Just his hand found the small of your back again, as he guided you toward the stairs.
As soon as you both stepped inside the bedroom, you reached up and loosened the knot of his tie, sliding it free.
He kissed you then, moving his mouth over yours as though he wanted to memorize the shape again. His tongue traced the seam of your lips until you opened for him. He cupped the back of your neck with one hand and slid the other down to grip your hip.
You walked backward toward the bed, his body crowding yours, guiding you. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress, he didn’t push, he just let you sink, following until he braced over you on one forearm, the other hand already working the zipper at the side of your dress.
The fabric pooled around your waist, and Harry paused, dragging his eyes over bare skin as though he hadn’t seen you in years instead of hours.
“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
You tugged at his shirt buttons, feeling impatient now. “Less talking. More touching.”
A low laugh rumbled out of him. “You’re bossy tonight.”
He let you strip the shirt off him, until he was down to skin and the faint scars you knew by heart. You traced them with your fingertips, and he shivered.
Then, you felt his lips moving down your throat, slow drags of his lips and tongue, as his teeth grazed just enough to make you arch under him. When he reached the diamond pendant, he paused and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right above it.
“Looks good on you,” he murmured against your skin. “Knew it would.”
His hands were everywhere then, sliding the dress the rest of the way off, unhooking your bra with ease, palming your breasts until your nipples pebbled under his thumbs. You gasped when he took one in his mouth, sucking it slowly, flicking his tongue in lazy circles while his other hand slipped between your thighs.
He found you already soaked, your cunt slick and swollen, your lips parted and glistening under his fingers like you'd been aching for him all day.
He dragged two fingers through your folds slowly, letting the wet sound fill the quiet room.
“Fuck, love,” he breathed. “This all for me?”
“Been thinking about you all day,” you admitted, your voice catching as he circled your clit with his fingers. “The way you looked at me in the restaurant. Seeing you is enough to get me like this.”
He lifted his head. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about this since I left the house this morning.”
He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, still working slow circles over your clit with his thumb. You moaned, lifting your hips into his hand. He didn’t speed up, just kept that steady, maddening rhythm.
“Look at this mess you’ve made,” he murmured, almost reverent. “Been walking around with your pretty little cunt dripping all day. Thinking about my cock splitting you open.”
You couldn’t answer, only whimpered, your thighs trembling as he added a third finger, stretching you wider, fucking into you with lazy thrusts that made your walls flutter and clench.
“That’s it,” he growled against the shell of your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth. “Let me feel how greedy you are. Squeeze my fingers.”
He crooked them harder, dragging over that spot that made your vision blur, while his other hand slid up to pinch your nipple sharp enough to sting. The combined sensation ripped another broken moan from your throat.
His fingers never faltered, pumping deep until your whole body shook, climaxing under his hands. He kept thrusting his fingers, prolonging your orgasm as much as he could.
After you came down from your high, Harry stood long enough to shed the rest of his clothes, trousers, boxers and socks, then climbed back over you, settling between your thighs. His cock was heavy against your stomach, already leaking at the tip. You reached down, wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him steadily. He hissed, jerking his hips forward.
“Easy,” he warned, but there was no heat in it. “Been too long since I let myself have you like this.”
You guided him to your entrance, slick and ready to take your husband, your folds swollen and parted, glistening with how badly you needed him. He nudged the blunt head of his cock against you, spreading your wetness as you tilted your hips just enough to invite him in.
He pushed in agonisingly slow, letting you feel every ridge as he sank deeper. Your walls fluttered around the intrusion, trying to pull him in faster even as he held back. The stretch burned sweetly, until finally he seated himself to the hilt, his hips flush against yours, his balls pressed to your ass, buried so deep you swore you felt him in your throat.
“Missed this,” he dropped his forehead against yours. “Missed you.”
Then he started to move with slow rolls of his hips that dragged against every sensitive place inside you. Each thrust pulled a broken sound from your throat. He caught them with his mouth, kissing you messily, sliding your tongues together while he fucked you with that same measured pace.
His hand found your throat, not squeezing it, just holding, resting his thumb over your pulse. The other pinned your wrist above your head before he shifted his angle, grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips.
“Tell me,” he growled against your lips. “Tell me how it feels.”
“So good,” you gasped. “It’s perfect. You’re so fucking deep—Harry—”
He groaned your name like it was torn out of him, as he snapped forward a little harder, the careful rhythm fracturing into something rougher. You felt every thick inch of him drive deeper, stretching you open until the blunt head kissed that spot that made your vision spark.
You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, digging into the muscle to pull him in, shameless, urging him to bury himself to the hilt again and again. The angle changed, and he bottomed out with a slap of skin on skin that echoed in the quiet room.
“Cum for me,” he murmured, but you could hear the pleading edge in his voice. “Want to feel it. Want to feel you soak my cock.”
Harry slipped his hand between your legs again, finding your clit and rubbing circles while he kept thrusting.
“Take it,” he rasped against your lips. “Take every fucking inch, let me feel that pretty cunt milk me. Gonna cum so deep inside you you’ll be dripping me for hours.”
It hit you like a wave. You cried out, arching your back, raking your nails down his shoulders. He fucked you through it, drawing it out until you shook.
He didn’t stop. “Again,” he said, almost feral now. “Give me another one.”
You didn’t think you could, but he changed the angle just slightly, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. His fingers never left your clit, and the second orgasm built slower, until it crashed over you in rolling pulses. You clenched around him so hard he cursed.
You felt him throb inside you, impossibly harder, the vein along the underside pulsing against your walls with every erratic thrust. He was losing it.
“Fuck—love. I’m gonna— I’m cumming.”
He followed you right after, burying himself to the hilt, cumming with a broken groan against your throat. You felt him pulse inside you, hot ropes of cum that painted your insides, leaving you filled with his seed.
He finally lifted his head, brushed damp hair from your face, and kissed you softly. “I meant what I said earlier. I’m not good at this, at being the husband you deserve. But I’m not ready to lose you. Not ever.”
You tilted your head up to look at him. “Then don’t disappear on me again.”
He exhaled, nodding once. “Trying.”
It wasn’t a promise, Harry didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep, but it was close enough.
Eddie’s Valentine
The kitchen smelled like burnt meat and slightly scorched garlic. You were out, running some errands, and Eddie had the place to himself. Well, himself and Venom.
Eddie wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist and glared at the smoking pan on the stove. “You’re doing this on purpose. I told you to watch the steaks.”
A low rumble escaped the symbiote’s mouth. “And I said you’re being a cheap-ass.”
“I’m not being a cheap-ass. I’m being romantic. There’s a difference.”
“Romantic is a dinner reservation. Romantic is someone else doing the dishes. Romantic is not you sweating like a pig while we ruin steak number three.”
Eddie flipped the ribeye anyway, the outside was charcoal, but the inside was still mooing. He sighed, sounding defeated, and slid it onto a plate to rest.
“I wanted to do this myself,” he muttered, reaching for the red wine reduction he’d been cooking for twenty minutes. “She likes it when I try. She said that last week. ‘I like it when you try, Eddie.’ Direct quote.”
Venom rolled his wide white eyes with disdain. “She also likes steak that isn’t burnt. And a boyfriend who isn’t too broke to take her to that Italian place with the garlic bread she loves.”
“I’m not broke,” Eddie snapped, louder than he meant to. “I’m… financially responsible.”
“Financially responsible guys don’t get pussy.”
Eddie nearly dropped the saucepan. “Jesus, Venom.”
“I’m just saying because this—” a black tendril slithered out of Eddie’s shoulder, pointing at the wilted asparagus, the lumpy mashed potatoes, the sauce that had separated into oil slicks, “this is not screaming ‘I value your vagina.’”
Eddie swatted the tendril away, and it snapped back like a rubber band and smacked him in the cheek. “Stop that.”
Venom retreated the tendril, but not before knocking the salt shaker into the mashed potatoes. Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose so hard his eyes watered.
“Okay. Listen. We have forty minutes. Forty. I can salvage this. I’ve got the backup chicken in the fridge, I can pan-sear it, throw some of that fancy herb butter—”
A black appendage emerged from Eddie’s forearm, hooking the fridge door, and yanking it open so hard the condiments rattled.
The chicken was gone. Eddie stared at the empty shelf. “Where. Is. The. Chicken.”
Venom let out a satisfied slurp. “I was hungry.”
“You ate the backup chicken. You absolute—!”
“I was helping. You were going to overcook it anyway.”
Eddie slammed the fridge shut. “I swear to God, if you touch one more thing—”
One black tendril oozed out of Eddie’s neck, wrapping itself around the bottle of expensive balsamic he’d bought specifically for the reduction, and tipped it sideways, pouring it onto the counter.
Eddie lunged, but Venom retracted the tendril just fast enough that he smacked Eddie’s cheek instead.
“OW! Fuck—you’re the worst Valentine’s date I’ve ever had.”
“I’m not your date. I’m your better half. And your better half says take her out before she walks in and sees you crying.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You’re looking a little wet.”
“I’m sweating!” Eddie dragged both hands down his face. “You know what? Fine. You win. I’ll take her to that stupid Italian place.”
The front door clicked open, and there you were, flushed from the cold outside, your keys dangling from your fingers. Eddie stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, with a spatula raised as he pointed it at the symbiote’s head. He looked at you, then at the sad little table with its single rose, then back at you.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re… early.”
You kicked the door shut behind you, flicking your eyes over the scene: the slightly crooked candles, the mismatched plates, the pan on the stove with the burnt steaks.
“Really?” you said, lifting your eyebrows with surprise. “You’ll take me to the Italian place? With the garlic bread?”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I, uh… I tried doing something special. With my own hands. Thought it’d be nice. Romantic, y’know? But—” He gestured vaguely toward the counter. “It didn’t work. At all.”
You stepped closer, shedding your coat onto the back of a chair. Your eyes softened as you took in the effort, the wilted attempt at asparagus, the potatoes clearly mashed by Venom, the fact that he’d even bothered with cloth napkins.
“That’s so sweet, Eddie,” you said quietly. “I really value the effort. Like… really.”
Eddie exhaled, dropping his shoulders. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. I love how hard you try for me. It means more than any dinner at a fancy restaurant.”
“It was my idea,” Venom said as he elongated the black mass of a neck, stretching it closer to you. “I suggested cooking. I said, ‘Eddie, let’s make it personal.’ I’m the romantic one.”
Eddie’s eye twitched with irritation. “You burnt three steaks and ate the backup chicken raw, you lying sack of—”
You laughed, patting the smooth curve of his head, making the symbiote purr like a cat. “I’m sure you tried your best, V. Thank you.”
Eddie huffed. “Yeah, sure. He tried his best to sabotage the entire night and then take credit for the one part that actually worked.”
Venom flicked his tongue out just once, in a teasing and mocking gesture, before he retracted his neck back into Eddie’s shoulder.
You closed the last step between you, slid your hands up Eddie’s chest, and kissed him slowly. Eddie groaned into your mouth, finding your waist and pulling you flush against him. When you broke the kiss, you stayed close, brushing your nose against his.
“Thank you,” you murmured. “For trying. For all of it.” Then you sank to your knees.
Eddie’s breath hitched. “Baby—”
You looked up at him through your lashes, already working the button of his jeans. “Let me thank you properly.”
He stared down, wide-eyed like he couldn’t quite believe the turn the night had taken. His hands hovered uselessly for a second before settling on your shoulders. You tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough until his cock sprang free, already half-hard from knowing what was coming. You wrapped your fingers around the base and gave one slow stroke,
Eddie tipped his head back with a curse. “Fuck.”
You smiled against the tip and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss there, then licked a long and wet stripe from the base to the head. You could feel how Eddie tensed his thighs under your palms, and so you took him into your mouth, slow at first, just the head, swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge while you worked the shaft in lazy twists of your hand.
Eddie looked down again. “Jesus… you don’t have to—”
You pulled off with a wet pop, just long enough to say, “I want to.” And then you swallowed him deeper.
He groaned louder this time, sliding one hand into your hair, pushing you softly, encouraging you to take more inside your mouth. You bobbed your head, taking more of him each time, letting your lips stretch around his thickness. Your saliva slicked him up fast, and you used it to stroke what your mouth couldn’t reach, twisting your wrist on every upstroke.
Venom’s voice slithered through the room. “Look at her. So good for us… so wet already, I can smell it.”
Eddie jerked his hips once, and you hummed around him in answer, the vibration making his lower belly clench. You pulled back until just the head rested on your tongue, then sucked hard, hollowing your cheeks.
Eddie tightened his hands in your hair. “Fuck—baby. Slow down, or I’m gonna—”
You didn’t slow down. You took him to the back of your throat, brushing your nose against his pelvis, and held there for a long second while your throat worked around him. Eddie’s knees nearly buckled, and a string of curses fell from his mouth.
You pulled off gasping, a thick strand of spit connecting your lips to his cock that you wiped with the back of your hand, grinning up at him like you’d won something.
You went back down, working him fast and sloppy in the best way. You cupped his balls with one hand rolling them gently, tracing the sensitive seam while the other wrapped firmly around the base, pumping in perfect time with the wet slide of your mouth. Eddie jerked forward in helpless little thrusts, he tried to hold still, tried to be polite, but he couldn’t. Each shallow rock of his pelvis pushed him deeper, and every time you met him with an eager moan around his length, he lost another piece of control.
Venom rumbled again. “She’s ours. Look how she takes us. Look how she wants it.”
Eddie’s grip in your hair turned almost painful. “I’m… fuck—I’m close. I can’t… I’m gonna—”
You moaned around him, encouraging every desperate twitch of his hips. You sucked harder—hollowing your cheeks and pressing along the underside, and that was it. Eddie came with a broken sound. Hot ropes of cum spilled down your throat in thick pulses, you swallowed greedily around him, trying to take every drop, milking him through it. You didn’t pull off right away, just kept your mouth on him until his thighs trembled and his cock jerked with overstimulation, too sensitive now for anything but gentle suction.
You sat back on your heels, looking up at him with that same soft and satisfied smile.
Eddie dragged a hand over his face, still breathing hard. “You’re… unreal.”
You stood, wiped your mouth again, and leaned in to kiss him, letting him taste himself on your tongue. He groaned into it, wrapping his arms around you like he never wanted to let go.
Venom’s voice came quieter now. “Told you cooking was a good idea.”
Eddie snorted against your lips. “Shut up.”
A/N: Heyyyy, so this is my little Valentine’s present for all of you beautiful people🩷
I hope you enjoy these Valentine’s Day stories. They’re not super long or overly detailed since there are five of them, so I tried to keep things short and straight to the point, but I still hope the smut was hot and the fluff was sweet. I’m sorry I didn’t write for all of Tom’s characters I usually write for, I really struggled with inspiration for these and my brain was completely fried😭
Also, a huge thank you to @mapping-out-skies for helping me out with some ideas for the Harry one
dividers by: @cafekitsune
