Venom indulges Eddie's weirder kinks.

When Venom was quiet, and when he wasn’t shooting giant fucking tentacles out of Eddie’s body, Eddie couldn’t much feel his presence. Occasionally there was a flicker of something: of anger, of hunger. Right now there was nothing. So maybe Eddie had pissed him off. Or—and this was a thought that Eddie had not had before—perhaps he had hurt Venom’s feelings. He lay there, staring at the ceiling and listening to the couple banging next door. She was making a lot of noise. The blood came up his neck and face a little. And then a little more, now he knew that Venom would be able to feel it too.

or, why Eddie Brock can never return to his favorite coffee shop

Eddie briefly recalls some tentacle porn he’d watched just before Venom became a part of him. The copious vines holding her up and entering her every opening simultaneously. Fluids, from her or the monster who could tell, leaking from her mouth and pussy and ass. Oh, Eddie. Venom’s thought shook him, definitely not wanting to take their tongue out his mouth, How’d you keep this from us? Eddie had to be completely honest… he had absolutely no idea how he did either. ~ That good good tentacle fuckin' that Eddie so desperately wanted.

Eddie is lonely, but he doesn't have to be.

This might as well happen, right? Get possessed by an alien parasite, save the world, get fucked by an alien parasite… it’s all in the same vein. It’s not like this is any more fucked up than the rest of it.

The cellular union of Eddie Brock and Venom is not without consequences. Alternatively, Eddie goes into heat (or some alien equivalent of it). It's Venom's fault. "The need unfurls inside of him—doubled but easier to bear now that it is shared. He understands what must be done, has always known. It is as basic and primitive as breathing."

it's unlike anything, when you're lovin' me

The first time Eddie suggests they have sex, Venom is, more than anything else, extremely confused.

EDDIE. “Yeah?” STOP TALKING. A buzz of dangerous excitement lights up Eddie’s nervous system like a whole damn Christmas tree, like the hum of a neon sign in the quiet rain, the fear of a lightning strike eclipsed by awe for the subliminal, earthly tremor of thunder’s echo. He smirks, lazy. “Make me.” When Venom purrs, the vibration radiates through his veins, his muscles and bones, his pores, the chambers of his heart, as if a satisfied lion were not merely sitting on his chest but residing in his ribcage.   OR: Venom thinks "me time" is "we time." OR: Does it count as masturbation when your symbiote gets you off? OR: Teaching sex ed to your symbiote.