#sympathy is their goal and when they get it you're in their web

[uncompromising-villainy]

When you're out of a toxic relationship and you realize you were both throwing hella red flags the whole way thru.

[plzu]

my form is but a wreck beneath you - (Miguel O'Hara x Venom!Symbiote!Reader)

summary: you find out the penalty that awaits you for breaking Miguel's #1 rule: don't let out the symbiote warnings: overstimulation, p in v sex, dubcon elements, no Y/N, implied venom x reader a/n: day 1 (don't look at today's date shhh) of @flightlessangelwings's kinktober 2023 prompt list: overstimulation. the unofficial part 2 of sleeping with roaches. title inspired by Sleep Token's Gods wordcount: 1.5k

“It's too much..!”

“Oh, yeah?”

An endless current of pleasure crackles forth from your core and prickles just beneath your flesh as Miguel mercilessly rocks into you.

“That's too bad,” he says, without an ounce of sympathy. “You're gonna have to keep taking it.”

His skin feels hot and heavy against you. When he speaks, his words come out in a low, gravelly murmur against the skin of your neck. The space between your bodies feels impossibly, deliciously wet. It makes for an embarrassing squelching sound as he repeatedly disappears into your achingly sore cunt; it does little to mask the raw-throated whining that tumbles incoherently from your gaping mouth.

You've lost track of how many orgasms he's managed to rip from you already.

Buzzing like a gnat in the foggy recesses of your brain is something like a gleeful coo from Venom within, like he's pleased with the position you're in. Go figure. It's his fault you're even in this position in the first place, but you're the one getting punished for it while he sits on the sidelines and observes.

Pervert.

This huge building was built for Spider-people, easy to traverse if you can swing on webs and can literally walk on walls.

You are not one of those people.

You're a nobody, who, through some unfortunate twist of fate that resulted in losing your best friend, ended up becoming a host for a symbiote.

As such, if you slip and fall whilst walking along one of the many long, suspended corridors in Miguel's headquarters, you don't naturally have a way to save yourself with your normal, human limbs.

Venom's limbs, on the other hand?

Well. Before you had time to even process the fact that you were falling, Venom emerged, completely encasing your frail human body with his so he can use his strong, inky tendrils to haul you both back up to safety.

Forget the fact that he could have potentially fixed your broken body, like he’s done before.

Forget the fact that literally any of the dozens of Spider-folk milling about could easily have come to your rescue.

Forget the fact that he could have simply shot out a single inky tendril, similar to the other web-slingers, without having to completely emerge himself. An action that only would have resulted in a warning glare from Miguel.

No matter how unintentional, you transformed into Venom in this dimension, breaking the #1 rule you have to follow in order to keep in Miguel’s good graces. (Relatively. The guy’s a huge grump). A problem you're now being bodily disciplined for.

Now you’re flat on your back, wrists shackled above your head by some high-tech handcuffs, completely at Miguel's mercy.

(Or lack thereof.)

He made you cum with his hands first, a disdainful sneer on his face as you clamped down on his thick, unforgiving fingers, crying out. He didn't stop, not as you squirmed helplessly against his hand, not as the second orgasm crested mere moments after the first, not as you bit your bottom lip raw in an attempt to suppress a cascade of apologies from spilling from your mouth.

Sorries were worthless, here. After all, the goal wasn't to get you to apologize (which you already did, on your knees). The goal was to see how long you can go, how much you can take, while keeping Venom contained. An exercise in self-control and obedience.

(It didn't matter that the symbiote was sitting smugly satisfied within, watching Miguel ravage your insides.)

(Like Miguel would trust you if you told him, anyway.)

Then he moved his attention to your breasts, harshly yanking both shirt and bra up at once to reveal your hardened nipples. He tweaked and tugged at them until you came yet again, pussy fluttering uselessly around nothing. (You didn’t even know it was possible to come like this.) Even after your bucking orgasm, Miguel continued rolling your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers until the pleasure turned to pain, and every contact made against them afterwards would just chafe. 

Every orgasm since then has been produced by the relentless thrust of his cock inside you. There's a moment's reprieve as Miguel slides nearly all the way out of you so he can maneuver the lower half of your body. His large hands grip the backs of your quaking thighs, spreading your legs wide open, completely displaying the abused, sopping wet mess of your cunt to him. Pushing your legs higher and further against your torso, he looks at the way your pussy frames his thick length, gleaming in your overflowing juices. Then he slides slowly forward, disappears into the aching clutch of your sex, making you whimper.

No matter how many times you've done this before, how many times he's stretched you out with the impossible girth of him, your pussy can never seem to fully accommodate his size, and he so rarely gives you the chance to get used to him.

No, that could be mistaken for affectionate. 

So you revel in the sweet pain instead, choke on it when he pummels into you with an angry, restless fervor.

Feeling the glide of his cock against your over-sensitive walls, you can't comprehend how this man has the stamina to keep going. You're both drenched in sweat. Some brown fly-away curls stick to his damp forehead, and it’d be endearing if he weren't so ruthlessly fucking into you, contempt in his crimson gaze. 

You don't know how much more you can take. But he's still ramming into you at a punishing pace. It's like he was made just to draw out both your pleasure and your pain, in whatever circle of Hell this is.

“Miguel, please,” you whine. “I don’t- nnh- I don’t have anything left..!”

“We’ll see about that, nena.” He hooks your legs over his broad shoulders and bears down further into you. The head of his cock presses deep against your cervix, the contact making you gasp, exhausted eyes flying wide open.

You wriggle in place, body instinctively trying to get away from the overwhelming feeling of him pressed so deeply into you. But it's fruitless. Trapped between the hard and unforgiving floor and the weight of Miguel's body, there's nowhere to go as he continues to fuck you senseless.

The sharp sting of pleasure that erupts in your core with every thrust muddies your thoughts until all that's left is a contiguous stream of Too much too much it's so good s-so good d-don't stop don't stop please-

A dark rumble in the back of your skull indicates a chuckle from the symbiote. He certainly finds it entertaining that even though Miguel has surely wrung out every last climax from you, even though your muscles ache from being manhandled, even though your insides have been rubbed raw, you still silently beg for more.

Miguel's thumb finds its way between your bodies to your already-swollen clit, making you jolt.

“I can't, I can't,” you sob, shaking your head. There's no way you can cum again, there's no way-

“You will,” he growls, rubbing erratic circles against the bundle of abused nerves. His cock is wedged firmly against your center, a stubborn pressure you can feel fill up your gut so fully. His hips rut against you, and you’d almost swear that he was trying to puncture your womb.

The dam keeping your orgasm at bay finally breaks under the persistent knocking of his head against that agonizing sweet spot inside of you, flooding Miguel's cock with your release, your mouth hanging open in a wordless shout. Your body trembles with the ferocity of your climax, limbs pulling taut until they finally go lax.

Your chest heaves with exertion. Your wrists feel uncomfortable in their restraints, arms almost aching with the desire of wanting to stretch in any other direction besides above your head, but unable to.

Miguel's cock twitches, and you realize he's still inside you, practically plugging you up.  

Between ragged breaths, you muster up the energy to blink bleary eyes up at him from between your trapped limbs. There's almost a hunger in his gaze, in the way his mouth hangs open and in the protrusion of his fangs. His chest heaves with less exertion than your own, tanned skin shiny with sweat.

It's these little moments where the anger and hatred for you seems quieted, replaced with something else, something almost tender and obsessive. Despite your exhaustion and aching limbs, it makes your heart flutter, and your pussy clamps down involuntarily around him.

This snaps him out of it with a grunt, and his lips pull back in a snarl.

He pulls back out of you, allowing your legs to slide off from the breadth of his shoulders. Your cunt aches with the sudden absence of his warm, heavy cock. You think with distant relief that this is it, that the torment of unending orgasms has finally ceased, but then Miguel moves his right arm up and firmly grasps the restraints of your wrists.

His face inches towards yours, tantalizingly threatening and permeating heat. You feel his cock slide against your slick folds, brushing abrasively against your clit and making you flinch in his hold.

“Now,” he mutters, words fanning against the damp skin of your cheek. “Let's do this one last time.”