You balance your phone against a stack of books on the shelf, angling it just right so the couch and kitchen doorway are in frame. The red recording light blinks on. Perfect. You smooth your shirt, trying to act casual even though your heart’s already thumping with excitement.

“Hey baby,” you call out, forcing your voice to sound normal, sweet. “Can you come here please?”

You hear his footsteps before you see him—socked feet scuffing against the floor, the faint clink of a mug. Eddie Brock appears in the doorway, hair a mess like always, sleeves of his hoodie pushed up his forearms. He looks tired, but the second his eyes land on you, that familiar softness settles over his face.

“Yeah?” he says, brow creasing with instant concern. “What’s up? You okay?”

You pat the space in front of you, standing just close enough that he has to step into your bubble. “I’m fine. I just… wanted you for a second.”

That earns you a crooked smile. “You’re being weird,” he murmurs, but he steps closer anyway, setting the mug down on the counter behind him. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Venom’s voice hums low in Eddie’s head, curious and amused. She plots something.

Eddie huffs under his breath. “Ignore him,” he says automatically, glancing down at you. “So what do you need, huh?”

You don’t answer with words.

Instead, you grab the front of his hoodie, tugging him down just a little, and press your lips to his.

It’s not rushed. Not teasing. It’s warm and sure, like you already know exactly what it does to him.

Eddie freezes for half a second—like his brain just blue-screened—then he melts. Completely. His shoulders drop, tension draining out of him as he exhales softly into the kiss. One hand comes up to your waist on instinct, steadying himself like he might actually forget how to stand.

“Oh—” he breathes when you pull back just enough to look at him.

His eyes are dark, unfocused, lashes low. He blinks once, twice, clearly trying to reboot.

Venom purrs. We approve.

Eddie swallows. “What was that for?” he asks, voice quieter now, softer around the edges.

You smile innocently, thumb brushing his jaw. “No reason. Just felt like kissing my boyfriend.”

His ears turn red. Actually red.

“Well,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, a dazed grin tugging at his mouth, “next time maybe warn a guy before you… do that.”

He kisses you back then—slower, deeper—like he’s making absolutely sure you know exactly how much you affect him.

Somewhere on the shelf behind you, your phone captures every second of it.