(This is a self indulgent bit of smut I’ve had planned for a while. With the new Venom trailer out, I thought it would be a perfect time to post it. Contains:Size difference, domination/submission, tentacles, and stomach bulge.)
You suddenly awake with a start as a loud thud echoes through your room. You sit upright, and look around the darkness. Your window is wide open, letting in the moonlight from outside. In the shadows, you make out the shape of an unfamiliar form.
You reach over to the nearby wall, flipping on the lights. With the room illuminated, you can finally make out the strange form. Suddenly, your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes widen.
Standing on the other side of the room, is a towering humanoid creature. Powerful muscles ripple beneath his black, oil like skin. Claws tip his giant hands. His mouth is filled to the brim with rows of sharp teeth. His eyes are blank, and milky white, and a white spider shaped symbol adorns his chest.
You guys wanted it, and I wanted to write it, and here it is! It’s a bit long, actually! Hope you enjoy. :3
It’s been a pretty good day so far. You’ve had a productive shift at work, you weren’t behind in anything you needed to do, the weather was nice, and you’d gotten off work for your lunch break without any delays. You were excited about the fact that you had an entire hour where you didn’t need to run any errands or anything, and you went wandering toward Central Park to enjoy the relaxing atmosphere.
Well, that good day ended about five minutes after you’d gotten there.
Apparently, some super-villain or other had decided it was a prime day to rob a bank, and they’d also decided that running through Central Park was the best way to escape, pursued, of course, but none other than Spiderman himself.
Your father had once said of his eldest daughter, “God didn’t maker her pretty, he made her busy.” Your father loved you in that stoic, rural Pennsylvania way that made him want what was best for you, so he instilled in you an unimpeachable work ethic and taught you to value that work ethic above all else. Years later, when you grew into your sturdy body and your wholesome face, you discovered that you really are pretty. But you’re still busy.
When you moved away from Lancaster County to explore everything a large metropolitan city could offer a sturdy, pretty girl you quickly found that your capacity for toil was appreciated. Thanks to generations of hardy, grain-fed farm women passing down their knowledge from mother to daughter, you knew your way around a kitchen. Thanks to your own adaptability, you found your way around a commercial baking operation. Now you’re the lumbar vertebrae of small family-owned bakery that maintains a coffee shop in a part of town where the rents were just cheap enough, but you don’t have to take your car battery inside with you when you came home from work.
Like all bakers, your shift starts in the wee small hours of the morning. You do your baker’s work while serving reasonably strong coffee from the good glass-lined, stainless steel airpots that keep it hot and fresh-tasting until your relief comes in at 9am. You watch over your breads, your pies, your pastries, and your small dining room – a pre-dawn weigh station for the last of the night hawks and the first of the sparrows.
Your father was a fine dairy farmer in his day, but your mother could put weight on a Holstein who had spent a tough winter nursing a calf like no one else, and in that way you take after her. When a regular comes in at 3am to nurse a black coffee and enjoy the warmth and smells of the commercial ovens against the rain and cold of the outside, looking muscular but showing the telltale signs of hunger in cheekbones accentuated by a distinct lack of body fat, your keen instinct to make sure every living thing within your sphere of influence is well-fed takes over and you pop a day old gruyere and chives scone in the toaster oven and plate it. You set it next to his coffee nonchalantly, the way you bus tables or roll silverware.
“I can’t sell this day-old,” you offer flatly. “Do me a favor and eat it so I don’t have to throw it out.”
You turn away before he can reply. You are not shy, but you do not press for friendship and you won’t start today. The regular does not refuse your day old scone.
The next morning, far enough ahead of the dawn that there are still stars out, he comes in and before you make a pass through your dining room you set a pair of chocolate croissants in front of him. They are a bit chewy from being left out overnight under a glass cake dome, but they are edible when warmed. He leaves with a small paper bag of day old pastries and a loaf of your good Jewish rye bread tucked under his arm. In your mind, you begin referring to him as your regular. He is a handsome bull calf who would do well at the state fair if you could just put a little weight on him. And he has a gentle face like your unmarried uncle, the one who was always in community theater productions of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Music Man and the like. The one who emails a few times a month and sends you a thoughtful gift at Christmas time.
It’s 2am. The good, strong coffee is brewing and the ovens are preheating. You have not yet opened the dining room to the reluctant insomniacs of the city, but you will soon. You don’t like to spend too much time completely alone. Even the company of the silent and sullen is better than no company at all.
You take a break shaping puff pastry dough into croissants to walk to the front of the dining room and unlock the door. You flip on the open sign and begin walking back to the kitchen when you hear it flip off behind you. Then you hear the door lock. You have not yet turned around. You are a woman alone in a bakery at 2am and you are not ready to turn around.
“LITTLE MORSEL.”
It’s time to turn around. Everything is moving slowly and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. You pivot on one foot so that in turning around, you put a few more inches between yourself and the voice you just heard.
The voice belongs to a monster. The monster is tall with muscles rippling under black oil skin that is somehow both fluid and completely solid. You are suddenly reminded of the black oil sunflower seeds your mother fed to the hens to keep them shiny and fat in the winter.
You were not bred to be rude to strangers, even strangers with oh so sharp teeth and oh so big eyes, how better to do whatever he wants to do to you, my dear.
“What can I do for you?”
“GENTLE CRUMB, DO YOU FEAR US?”
Your brow furrows. You’re not sure how to answer, but you know that you should answer, that you should keep this great black oil beast talking so that he doesn’t rip your throat out.
“You’re much bigger than I am.”
“THAT WE ARE. YOU ARE JUST A LITTLE TREAT.”
You’ve never been referred to as “little” before. Buxom, thick, curvy, stocky even, but never little. Hell, to this thing everyone must be little.
“YOU ARE A GOOEY MORSEL.”
The thing begins to salivate. Up until this point, you had actively avoided considering its mouth. Its (his? their?) wide, toothy, smiling mouth and viper of a tongue seemed to grow ever closer and you felt glued to the floor.
“WE WONDER HOW SUCH A SOFT, GOOEY LITTLE MORSEL MIGHT TASTE.”
You’re incredibly sore. Your lats and traps, your quads, even the muscles deep in your abdomen ache. You’re accustomed to regular and intense workouts – it’s no accident that you’re strong for your size – but you pushed your body to its absolute limit and now the delayed onset muscle soreness is keeping you from sleep.
Your great big demon of a boyfriend is curled up around you in bed, taking slow, deep breaths like a sleeping dragon. You’d feel bad for waking him up to massage the soreness out of your muscles, so you decide to sweeten the deal. You turn towards him and bury your face in his well-muscles chest, running your lips up the cleft between his firm pectoral muscles. You make your way up his neck with your lips and find his angular jaw. He sighs and purrs like a recumbent panther, wrapping his thick arms around you. He rolls onto his back and pulls you into a straddle, enjoying the way your bare thighs feel around his waist. He has absolutely massive hands, and now he uses them to cup your ass cheeks. Nodules of his inky flesh reach around you to kneed your sore back. The leviathan underneath you can sense the inflammation and tensions in your muscles and his cool skin pressing into you feels incredible. Lay your chest against his, pressing your breasts into his abdomen.
He is utterly massive. You feel so small against the firm, warm wall of his body. His prehensile tongue reaches down to stroke the back of your neck.
You come home to find him asleep on the living room floor. You held your breath because you knew if you woke him he would be angry. As much as you wanted to see and touch him, you cherished his good moods more. You didn’t want to ruin his entire night just because you were selfish.
You tiptoed past him. You could feel his purring from deep within on the floor as you crept past. You smiled at the beast laying on your floor. You opened your bedroom door slowly and quietly, as not to wake him. A small creak came from your door and you felt your heart sink. You heard a growl behind you, so you decided to turn and take your punishment like an adult.
“He’s still asleep,” You thought, “Thank God!”
You crept into your room, closing the door with the same precision you had used to open it. You sat your purse down and laid yourself across your bed. You slowly kicked your shoes off on the floor, as not to make too loud of a sound. Work had worn your body. You were physically and mentally tired. You curled up into a ball on your bed. Resting your eyes soon turned into sleep.
The scratching of your door woke you. You heard him hiss your name. You jumped off the bed and swung the door open. “Why… didn’t you wake… me?” He growled. “V-Venom, I didn’t want to disturb you! You looked-looked so happy there in the floor. I-I know how much you enjoy your na—“ His long finger pressed against your lips. He hissed, “Pleasure… Venom craves… you.”
With one swift motion, he had you pinned against he bed. He had ripped your top layer of clothing from you in the blink of an eye. He stuck his long tongue deep inside your mouth, moving it to massage you. You moaned against him, his body temperature engulfing you. You removed your bra and panties before him, he watched each of your movements carefully. You laid underneath the beast as his tongue massaged down your body. It ventured in each crevice it could: under you chin, between your breasts, around each of your nipples. He snarled with enjoyment.
The creature pulled your legs closer to him, placing them over his shoulders. He licked a trail from your lips to your stomach. Before you could tell what he was doing, he stuck his tongue deep inside of you. You moaned his name loudly. His tongue was long. Long enough to touch everywhere and anywhere that could possibly pleasure you. His tongue continued with sharp, erratic motions for quite sometime. He brought you close to the edge, but before you could finish he pulled away.
You reached for him, but he pinned your arms down. “Ve-Venom, pl-please!” You called out for him. The Beast towered over you, he was breathing heavily. He slid inside you, filling you to the hilt. You moaned in appreciation. The friction was just what you had been wanting. You wanted him inside you, he wanted to be inside you. The sensation between your legs was incredible, but it became euphoria when he began thrusting. You held the sheets below you as he continued to thrust his way inside you. You heard a popping noise; you quickly realized it was the corners of the sheets popping from the bed itself.
You felt a knot in your stomach as Venom picked up speed. His fast motions caused you to reach your first climax. You screamed his name as you clenched around him. Venom growled with appreciation for the nosies you made for him, “My prey… all mine.” Your body was already aching, but Venom was not finished with you. He stuck his tongue down your throat once more as he continued to thrust you up the bed. The sheets balled up underneath your weak body. “Mine,” he continued to hiss as his pumped inside you. You continued to orgasm with the beast. He knew how to please you, what made you scream for him, what made you want him even more, what made you His.
Venom continued to push inside you until he spilled inside you as he reached his climax. You shrieked his name as he pulled out of you. The monster laid beside you, pulling your weak, shaky body on top of his. Your breathing was in sync with his. “My… my pr… Princess,” he whispered into your ear. You rubbed his chest, “My Prince.”
You both laid in bed together for he night, holding each other. He purred with joy and relaxation. You could listen to him for hours. “Venom… I… lo-lov-love… my… princess~” He hissed as he fell into a deep sleep.
If you no longer want to be tagged in my Venom x Reader Fics, please do let me know. Or if you would like to be tagged in future posts, let me know! //
Patata Paradaisu 