First foray into the Reader Insert style of writing! People liked it on AO3, so I thought I'd post it here as well! All credit for the inspiration for my first Reader fic goes to mintstermonsters and thirsty-venom-posts on Tumblr for their wonderful Venom Prompt drabbles!

.

.

.

Your life had become weird.

Usually, life was a boring day to day grind. Made all the harder by the unmerciful life that encapsulated living on the streets. Even more complicated was being female while living on the streets - women were often prey to the lowlifes that wandered the City.

Things had happened in the past, most of them not your fault, and the result had landed you wandering the streets of San Francisco. Longs years of struggling to survive, of going hungry, of being beneath the notice of the 'common' folk. It was draining to say the least.

Still, you'd managed to eek out enough to survive. The guitar you'd treasured throughout your life was your lifeline. You could sing and you could play - two things in your favor.

Every day, you'd make your way to your favorite corner, just across from a small coffee shop, dressed in torn jeans, sneakers and the most presentable tee shirt you owned, leather jacket tied around your waist. Your guitar case and the backpack that held all you owned on the ground at your feet, you'd croon out the lyrics of one of the several dozen songs that you knew, calloused fingers plucking at well worn strings of your acoustic guitar.

Lots of people walked past, but a few stopped to listen, tossed a few dollar bills into the open case. When the morning rush was done and the street was silent, you trekked your way over to a small open market. One good thing about the living in San Francisco - there were plenty of fruit and vegetable markets and various craft and miscellaneous crap stands open year round, and the large markets drew a fairly good crowd everyday.

It was only when your stomach started growling loud enough that several people gave you weird glances that you stopped playing, slinging the guitar onto your back as you knelt to count out the coins and crumpled bills in the case. It wasn't much, but enough for a fairly good meal.

There was a lull, between two and three in the afternoon, where you trekked to your favorite restaurant - a small diner that had a waitress that didn't treat you like the scum of the earth for being a street rat. She even gave you a free piece of pie from time to time, when the nice cook was working in the kitchen.

On the days where you only had enough for a vending machine lunch, you spent time at the Library, tirelessly Xeroxing sheets of music for new songs to add to your repertoire or printing them off of sites on the Internet. Though photocopying pages was a hit to your limited finances, music was the one thing in your life that brought you happiness, so going a little hungry in exchange was something that you could rationalize. At least acoustic versions of songs were popular, it made finding songs that you liked easy.

Quitting time for the masses started at three sharp, and back to the corner across from the coffee shop you'd be, singing and playing for your livelihood. People were still in a hurry, but at the end of the day, more would stop to listen to the old tunes you were playing. 'Hotel California' was a favorite that had many a coin and crumpled bill dropping into your open guitar case.

It was while you were strumming the chords to the chorus of 'Iris' that you noticed the man walking towards you. He had his head down, frowning, murmuring to himself. You didn't see a Bluetooth earpiece on him, but these days, there was no real way to tell who was crazy and who was on the phone.

He was almost past you when the song had him jerking to a stop, his oddly intense gaze landing on you as the lyrics left your lips. It was a little unnerving, like being watched by some dangerous predator, but long practice of dealing with the public kept your voice from wavering, your fingers from missing a note.

"And I don't want the world to see me. 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken. I just want you to know who I am."

He stood there, the expression on his face akin to one that would have looked more appropriate if you'd flashed him or hit him over the head with a crowbar. Still, you were used to the weirdness of people, so you gave him a brief smile in between stanzas as you continued singing.

You would have kept a wary eye on the odd dude, but your attention was diverted away from him as a mother and child stopped to listen, the little girl, no more than six, giving you a big toothy smile as she dropped the five her mum had given her into the guitar case. You bowed to her, returning the smile, laughing internally as the girl giggled and retreated to hide behind her mother.

The strange fellow was still there when the song ended, and you shifted your weight as you rose your gaze to his, tensing in preparation of a fight - it wouldn't be the first time some asshole tried to either grope you or steal your hard earned money. He might not have looked like the type to steal from some poor street performer, but you'd been ripped off by beautiful people and lowlifes equally before.

Honestly, you were getting ready to kick him in the nuts if he so much as twitched in your direction when he finally moved, pulling his wallet out from his jeans and pulling a real life twenty out of it. Holy shit, it was a twenty. You couldn't remember the last time someone had given you a twenty.

"Love the music," he said, that odd predatory look gone now, only calm steel blue eyes and a roguish smile as he held the bill out to you. "You've got a lovely voice."

It took a moment for your brain to remind you to answer. Perhaps said brain was upset that there was to be no nut-kicking. "T-Thanks." You calmly - calmly not at all like the starving musician you were - accepted the twenty, slipping it into the pocket of your jeans. And then, so you wouldn't sound like a total idiot added: "Glad you like the tunes. As thanks, you can request practically anything - except country. I don't do country. To be honest, I'm not a fan of the twanging."

"How about a cup of coffee?"

"Uh..." A cup of coffee? You? Him? You tried to remember the last time someone had asked you out for coffee and came up with nothing. "Ah...wha... I'm all out?" Idiot. You were an idiot.

Thankfully he didn't laugh at the stupidity that was currently you. He actually looked dismayed. "Too forward?"

Some insane part of you rushed to make that kicked-puppy look on his face go away. "Uh... no? No... No! It's just... No one's ever... offered? Like, ever?" Really, when was your brain going to kick in and re-engage your ability to speak like a normal person? "I mean... Why?"

He took pity on the bumbling mess you were currently emulating. "Why not? We- I - really liked your singing."

You blinked at his odd 'faux pas', but couldn't deny that a chance to have coffee with a ruggedly handsome guy didn't exactly happen very often. Or ever. Usually the only offers that came your way was either from some drugged out idiot, gang member, or a dangerous pimp that wanted to get into your pants.

And it wasn't as if you had better things to do - the after work bustle was pretty much done, and with a twenty in your pocket along with whatever the hell was in your case, you did have enough money to live for another day.

What the hell. "...Sure. Alright. Coffee."

Over some enormously, stupidly, expensive cup of coffee and a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies - you were doing your best not to eat them all - you learned that his name was Eddie Brock, that he used to be a reporter, and that he was a steadfast fan of the blues, rock and roll, and absolutely no country, thank you very much.

He kept his questions in a safe territory that plainly skirted around why you were playing the guitar on a street corner every day. You did the same about why he wasn't a reporter anymore - the grimace on his face when he'd mentioned it had plainly screamed 'please don't ask'.

You commiserated over the death of B.B. King, and the loss of Koko Taylor, then argued over each of your favorite songs of Eric Clapton before agreeing that Joe Bonamassa was possibly the next big artist for the Blues - Eddie seemed highly amused when you admitted to sneaking into a concert to hear him play.

It was honestly one of the best times you'd had in months, possibly a year. Maybe two.

He even bought you another round of coffee, and, when your damned traitorous stomach had growled - you'd groaned and dropped your face into your hands in shame - another plate of cookies and two muffins that were easily twice the size that normal muffins were supposed to be.

You did your best not to wolf down the offered food like the starving person you were. Even used a napkin, all proper like.

He seemed oddly happy about making sure you had your fill. Frankly, you were too happy about having a full belly to be overly self-conscious about it.

It was only when the barista started closing up that you realized that it was dark, and that the two of you had been talking for hours. It had gone by fast, too fast, if you wanted to be honest with yourself.

So you found yourself awkwardly standing in front of him, outside of the shop, your guitar slung onto your back and your backpack on your right shoulder. He didn't look any more enthused about ending the day either, but really, they couldn't keep standing there like idiots.

"Gimme a few days to make some green, and next time, I'll buy," You offered, doing your best not to blush at the blatantly happy look he gave you.

"I'd like that. So I'll... see you around?"

You nodded. "You know where to find me."

Throwing a wave his way, you turned and headed down the street, towards Golden Gate Park, where a bench with your name on it was calling. You glanced back once, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, only to stop and blink when your gaze encountered empty sidewalk. Weird.

Still. You were tired, and a full stomach was making you sleepy.

It didn't take more than twenty minutes to trudge to a secluded place in the Park, where the park bench that you usually slept on was situated. You'd spent hours dragging it away from the nearby pathways a month ago, sweating and cursing as you moved it to a spot where, hopefully, no one would notice you. Last thing you needed was to wake up to some bum dry-humping you. Again.

It wasn't comfortable, and the night was cool enough that you needed to put on your jacket, but you were used to the lack of give that a wooden bench afforded. Shoving your backpack under your head, you stretched out as much as the bench would allow, hugged your guitar case to your chest, and did your damnedest to fall asleep.

You don't know how long you managed to sleep. Maybe a couple of hours. It was the sound of loud, raucous laughter and the noise of shattering bottles that snapped you awake, heart hammering in your chest.

Whoever was making all the noise was way, way, to close for comfort. It didn't even take a second thought to gather up your belongings and try to creep away, inwardly cursing when a flashlight illuminated you, a high pitched catcall cutting through the night.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Craaaaap.

"Hey. Hey, Donnie. Maybe she's here to party? She's got a guitar and everything!"

"Yeah! Hey, girlie, you gonna give us a concert?"

"Fuck no," left you before the little censor dude in your head could stop you.

The trio laughed, obviously drunk off their asses, but not drunk enough that they didn't pose a real threat.

"C'mon, c'mon! Just one song?"

"Yeah! We'll let you party with us and everything!"

Barf.

"We'll make it worth your while!"

Double barf.

Whichever asshole was holding the flashlight shone it right into your eyes, doing a damned good job of blinding you. It made you pause, cursing as you rose a hand to protect your eyes as you started to back away.

Retreat failed as soon as you felt someone grab your backpack, yanking at it and throwing you off-balance. You spun into the yank, fist lashing out, feeling a nose give way beneath your knuckles as a howl of pain left whichever moron you'd managed to clobber.

Abandoning the bag felt like a kick to the gut, but some toiletries and spare clothing weren't worth your life. You slung your guitar onto your back as you turned and made a run for it, crying out when something hard - it felt like a thrown flashlight - cracked you in the back of the head.

Cursing, you tripped and crashed to the ground, grunting at the impact. Rapid footsteps preceded the kick that landed to your ribs, a cry of pain escaping you as you curled up in an attempt to protect yourself.

"Stupid bitch broke my fucking nose!"

"Get the guitar! I bet we can pawn it for some of the good stuff!" Hands grabbed at you, the metal on metal sound of a switchblade being extended making you try to scramble to your feet only for another kick to knock the wind out of your lungs, leaving you to wheeze helplessly as yet another strike impacted with your left side.

The strap to your guitar case went slack, and you realized that one of them had cut it off of you. The thought of losing your guitar - the only thing of your old life that had any real meaning left to it - made you lash out blindly, aiming high. A pained grunt and a curse let you know that you managed to kick someone in the balls.

Small blessings.

With one trying to stop the bleeding from his nose, and the other now winded - if you were lucky, his nads were residing somewhere in his stomach - you had enough time to get to your feet. Swaying slightly, you dodged another kick aimed in your general direction, then made a grab for your guitar.

Unfortunately, it was a move that was predicted, as the switchblade that was now embedded in your right forearm could attest. You stared at the hilt of said knife stupidly, idly noting that the blade of it was completely sunken into your flesh.

This really wasn't your night.

Well, shit. Might as well go for broke.

Cursing, you threw yourself at the one holding your guitar, tackling him to the ground, the case flying from his grasp as you attacked, ignoring the pain of the knife in your arm as you punched and kicked and kneed him in the ribs.

Arms grabbed you, lifting you up and away from your target. You thrashed, screaming, kicking, scratching, biting. You tried everything you could think of to try to get away, aiming for shins and knees, elbow rising up and back to hit the moron on the left in the face. A shriek of pain escaping you seconds later when the knife was yanked from your arm, hot blood wetting the inside of your sleeve.

You had no choice but to go limp when the blade was placed at your throat.

"Aren't you a feisty one," growled the one who was holding the knife. "You'll be lots of- GHK!"

"YOU DARE TO HURT OUR LITTLE STAR?!"

The voice was a deep growl, enraged, a noise full of violence and hatred and the promise of pain.

One moment the guy to your right was there, the next he wasn't. A rapidly distancing scream made you think that he had been bodily thrown across the Park. Though that was impossible. Maybe you were concussed.

Still, it made the second idiot that was holding you let go and turn to face the direction his friend had vanished to. You mule kicked him in the knee for good measure before you staggered away, clutching at your bleeding arm in a valiant attempt to stop the blood from flowing.

The third one had finally managed to get to his feet from where you'd tackled him, only the night came alive - inky darkness surging forward with a horrible snarl. Something huge moved, hitting the flashlight and making it spin dizzyingly, screams from the two remaining men momentarily overshadowing the terrible wet sounds of someone being ripped limb from limb.

You weren't stupid. You grabbed your guitar where it had been thrown and started to make a run for it, your breath wheezing as the pain in your left side made getting enough air nigh impossible. There were more screams from behind you, more wet popping sounds, before the voice came again, this time without the malice.

"OUR LITTLE STAR! WAIT! WE WON'T HURT YOU."

Oh crap, it must be talking to you.

There was movement behind you, some large mass moving in the darkness beyond the light from a nearby light post, black shadows coming alive. Gods, it was a nightmare in real life.

Adrenaline gave way to pure panic as you tripped, dropping to your knees in the dirt, tears starting to gather in your eyes as you hugged your guitar case to your chest. "Please don't kill me!"

"WE WOULD NEVER HURT OUR STAR." Some deep bass rumble, like rocks in a tumbler, rolled out of the darkness, and your eyes widened, wheezing breath getting caught in your throat when you looked up at it.

It was huge. Almost seven feet tall, wide shouldered, muscled like an Olympic weight lifter, pale white 'eyes' and a mouth full of fangs. A long tongue licked at it's bloody talons, curling around the digits to clean them of gruesomeness before it was pulled back into that great maw.

Holy fuck, you were about to die.

It didn't seem all that happy to see the terror on your face. Again that weird rumbling, rock-grating sound, came from it. Was it... holy fuck... was it purring?

"W-Wha... what..." Oh Gods, you knew what it - what he - was. He'd been all over the news, picture plastered everywhere. "Y-You're Venom."

He looked absurdly pleased. "YOU KNOW OF US?"

You bit back the first retort that came to mind, not wanting to piss him off. You'd seen what he did to people he was pissed off at. Worse yet, you'd read horror stories about what happened to the people who crossed his path. "N-Newspapers... I read about you in the newspapers."

"BAH. THEY PRINT LIES. WE DON'T RUN AROUND KILLING AT RANDOM. WE CHOOSE OUR PREY VERY CAREFULLY." He moved then, towards you, and you froze as he crouched next to you, reaching out with one long, dangerous, talon, slitting the leather sleeve of your jacket as if it was paper. You couldn't hold back a noise of pain as he peeled the leather, sticky from your blood, from your arm, baring the ugly, bleeding, gash from the switchblade. "OUR POOR LITTLE STAR."

You frowned. Maybe it was the shock settling in, maybe you were losing your mind. But you didn't get the feeling that Venom was going to kill you. Why bother showing worry if his intent was to fillet you? "Why... why do you keep calling me that?"

"LITTLE STAR? PEOPLE CALL THE MUSIC MAKERS ON THE RADIO 'STARS'. WE LIKE YOUR MUSIC BETTER," and he gave you a happy, if slightly terrifying, grin, "SO YOU'RE OUR LITTLE STAR."

You didn't have anything to say to that. Luckily, he seemed too engrossed with eyeing your arm to notice. You hoped he wasn't hungry.

"OUR OTHER HALF SAYS YOU NEED STITCHES. WE'LL BRING YOU TO A HOSPITAL."

"...I can't afford to go to the hospital," you admitted, glancing away when Venom looked at you worriedly. "Besides, some of the doctors don't treat the homeless."

"THEN WE WILL BRING YOU TO OUR NEST!" He seemed absurdly happy about this. You were less so. "WE HAVE WHAT OUR OTHER HALF CALLS A 'FIRST AID KIT' THERE."

You opened your mouth to argue when he curled his right hand into a fist, something shooting out from the back of his hand and onto your arm. Baffled, you looked down, blinking at the odd stuff - webbing? - that was hiding the wound from view. You were still stupidly staring at your arm when he moved again, far too quiet for someone that huge, and you gasped as you were lifted off the ground, held against a wide chest like you were some breakable, treasured, thing as he rose to his full height.

And, of all things, Venom moved to grab your guitar case, an inky black tendril looping around it and lifting it to his back. A similarly black oozy bit curled itself around your waist, tethering you to him, the warmth of it seeping through your tee shirt and warming your flesh. You could feel the talons of his hand clutch at your hip as he effortlessly hefted you close and carried you out into an open patch bereft of trees.

"HOLD TIGHT, LITTLE STAR."

You were going to ask why, when he rose his free arm, more webbing shooting out, and the next thing you knew you were swinging through the air at a speed generally reserved for airplane takeoffs. Everything went by in a blur, and you couldn't help the high pitched noise of alarm that warbled out of you when you saw how high the two of you were, your hands latching onto the arm that was wrapped around you.

A rumble left the large chest you were hiding your face against as the two of you left the borders of the Park and headed into the city proper. "SHH, LITTLE NIBBLE. YOU'RE PERFECTLY SAFE. WE'D NEVER DROP YOU."

"It's not the fall, it's the sudden stop," you blurted out in a moment of snark, feeling his chest vibrate at the low, deep, chuckle that left him.

You tried to keep track of where Venom was bringing you, but damn, he was fast. He'd slowed his web-slinging a little when he realized you were hesitantly looking around, but things still went by way to fast for you to figure out where the hell you were.

Ten minutes later found you dangling in his grip again as he twisted and landed on the side of an older building, sticking there like the spider that was emblazoned across his back and chest. A nearby neon motel sign cast odd coloured shadows across Venom's inky black hide as he wall crawled over to a fire escape, righting both of you before he reached out to open an unlocked window.

Seriously, you couldn't understand how he could be so nimble, but he got the two of you through said open window without dropping you, and carried you over to a couch, setting you down as if you were made of glass. Which, judging by how your ribs and arm felt, wasn't too far off at the moment.

"WE KNOW YOU'RE STILL AFRAID," he frowned as he knelt in front of you, tall enough that even kneeling, you were still at eye level with each other. "OUR OTHER HALF WANTS TO TEND TO YOU. HE THINKS IT WILL HELP YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT WE ARE."

That had been bugging you for a bit. "Other half?"

"YOU'LL SEE. WE'LL TAKE CARE OF YOU, LITTLE STAR." Venom did that odd purring/rock tumbler sound again, and you did your best not to press yourself back into the couch when one large taloned hand rose to tenderly brush your hair out of your eyes.

You watched, shocked, as that inky blackness uncurled from Venom's face and neck, little tendrils twitching away to bare a human face. A rather concerned human face that you recognized all too well. "Eddie?!"

"Um... Hi?"

"'Hi?!'" You knew your voice was about three octaves too high, but really, what the hell else were you supposed to do? "What the fuck?!"

You must have looked like you were about two heartbeats away from completely freaking out, because he rose his hands placatingly towards you as the blackness moved around him, forming jeans and that hoodie that he'd been wearing when he'd taken you out for coffee. "We'll explain everything, we promise. Just, let us take care of that arm before the webbing dissolves completely and you start bleeding again."

It took everything you had not to kick him. It would have made you feel better, but self-preservation quickly reminded you that kicking Venom was a ridiculously bad idea.

You'd known Eddie for a handful of hours, not enough to build up the trust he was asking you to put in him.

But... he trusted you enough to show you that he was Venom. Brought you to his place - a place that you could lead police to if you wanted to. A place where you were certain that someone would be able to hear you if you started screaming.

And he-slash-Venom had saved you from a fate that you didn't want to think about. A fate that happened to women on the street far too often. Those men were probably planning on raping you and possibly leaving your corpse in the Park for some poor morning jogger to find. And Venom, of all people, the monster of San Francisco that had a reputation for killing first and never asking questions, had treated you like a treasured possession.

Your head hurt.

"...okay," you murmured, finally, sighing when the worry on Eddie's face morphed into a relieved smile.

You really needed to figure out a way to harden yourself against the kicked puppy look.

So you valiantly didn't run screaming from the apartment when he left you to go get the first aid kit. If you were honest with yourself, you felt like hammered crap. Your ribs were killing you, your right arm felt like it had been filleted, and, yup, a quick feel confirmed that you had a rather impressive bump on the back of your head.

You needed to win the lottery in order to get a vacation from your life.

Eddie returned just as you were starting to think that he was hiding from you, carrying a small bright orange case with the standard white cross on it. He retook his spot in front of you, pulling a coffee table close so he could sit on it, the piece of furniture creaking a little at his weight as he set the case onto the couch next to you and started rifling through it.

After shucking out of the remains of your leather jacket, you stared at him expectantly, until he sighed and shot a wry smile you way.

"Remember that airplane crash in the Park a few months ago?" he asked as he pulled out a pack of steri-strips and a roll of gauze. When you nodded he pressed on. "It wasn't an airplane. Think spaceship. I don't really know where it came from, but the Life Foundation took a real unhealthy interest in it. They found symbiotes, like my Other. Thought the aliens could help them push humanity to it's next step of evolution. I was a reporter at the time and I... pushed some buttons, got a little too close to the truth. So they ambushed me, used me for one of their experiments."

"And you became Venom."

"Yup. Took a bit to work out a good partnership - for the symbiote to get used to me. It's predatory by nature. It didn't really understand things like morals at the time. But I can either be a happy host or a pain in the ass host, so we worked out some boundaries. It can hunt all it wants - but only the bad guys, like the assholes that did this to you."

You absorbed that for a moment, blinking as Eddie gently tugged at the webbing on your arm, little black symbiote tendrils extending from his sleeve, interweaving itself into the web and tenderly peeling it away from your skin. The ugly gash started weeping blood again, and Eddie moved to press a gauze pad to it, murmuring reassurance when you winced.

"That's why you looked at me weird when you heard me sing Iris. It was the symbiote, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. We like your voice. And the lyrics kinda... hit a little close to home."

"Oh." Weren't you the pinnacle of conversation? Shaking your head, you let out a sigh and rose your free hand to massage your aching temple. "And the 'little star' nickname?"

"Ah, yeah. I... We, like you. You're pretty and interesting and an amazing singer. We liked our date with you."

You did your best to keep from blushing. Honestly, no one had ever called you 'pretty' or 'interesting' in... You couldn't come up with a time frame. Probably never. "T-Thanks?" Idiot. You really were an idiot. "I mean- Yeah. I liked it too. This is just... Not the way I thought my night would go."

"We're glad we were patrolling the Park," he told you as he put some Polysporin onto the wound then gently started closing the gash with the steri strips, the sensitive, abused, flesh sending a wave of pain up your arm.

"Me too," you admitted softly, mustering up as much of a smile as you could when he rose his gaze to yours. "I owe you one."

He shook his head. "You owe us nothing. Well, maybe another cup of coffee someday soon? If we haven't completely scared you off, that is."

"I'm overwhelmed, but not... not scared off."

"We're glad." A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he finished with the steri strips and started wrapping your arm with gauze. "For a moment there, you looked like you wanted to run screaming from the building."

"With my luck tonight, I probably would have run face first into a telephone pole," you snarked back with a matching smirk, relaxing a little when he chuckled.

He finished bandaging your arm, tying off the gauze with a little bow that made you snort. "There, all done. You can crash here tonight if you want. The couch is a little old, but it's comfy."

You opened your mouth to gently turn him down, then paused and gave it some thought. You were hurt, exhausted, and still a little bit in shock. Your head was throbbing along with your heartbeat, and really, you had zero drive to go sleep on another Park bench. In fact, you were sure that you'd be avoiding the Park like the plague for the next few months.

Sighing, suddenly so tired your bones ached, you met Eddie's gaze again, a small part of you touched by the real concern there. "You sure you don't mind?"

"We wouldn't have offered if we did."

"Okay." You honestly couldn't remember when anyone had shown you real kindness beyond throwing some change at you. And in one day, this guy - and an alien of all things - had bought you coffee and food, gabbed about Blues with you, saved your life, patched you up, and was now offering you a safe place to sleep.

Being overwhelmed wasn't doing anything good for your headache.

"Good. Give us a minute, we'll find you some blankets."

"Thank you."

"Don't worry about it."

You worried about it.

Sighing, you looked down at yourself. Disheveled, dirty, hair in disarray, blood spattered, and he called you pretty? You spent a moment trying to fix your hair, combing your fingers through it and picking bits of grass out of it before smoothing your tee shirt into place. Mourning the loss of your backpack with the spare clothes in it, you propped your elbows on your knees and lowered your face into your hands.

Your life was officially weird.

And goddamn, your head hurt.

Nearly silent footsteps made you look up, blinking tiredly as Eddie carried a blanket and pillow over to you, along with a glass of water, and thank God, a bottle of tylenol.

"Thought you might want some painkillers."

"I'd stick them to my veins if it was an option," you admitted with a crooked smile, liking his easy chuckle as he handed the water and tylenol to you. "Thanks."

"No problem." While you chugged down the maximum amount of pills that the bottle said you could have, Eddie puttered around you, readying the couch for you to sleep on. "There. All done. We still have some patrolling to do, will you be alright on your own?"

"Yeah. I'm just gonna crash. Go. Save more people. Do your hero thing."

He froze halfway to the window, turning wide steel blue eyes towards you. "Hero?"

You toed off your sneakers, pausing to relocate the pillow to the opposite site of the couch so you wouldn't be lying on your busted ribs. "Well, yeah. You save people right? Makes you a hero in my book."

There was a long moment of silence before a low rumble emanated from behind you, making you stiffen as you twisted to look at Venom.

"YOU CALLED US A 'HERO'."

"Yeah."

"NO ONE CALLS US A HERO. THEY USUALLY JUST SCREAM AND RUN AWAY."

You winced a little at that. "I'm sorry. In my defense, I'm not used to seeing people ripped apart."

"OH. OH NO, LITTLE STAR. WE DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT." He moved forward, reaching over the back of the couch to lightly brush the curve of a talon across your cheek. "WE'D FORGIVE YOU EVERYTHING."

"...why?"

He gave it some thought. "YOU ARE LIKE US, IN A WAY. ALONE, SHUNNED, MISUNDERSTOOD." You glanced away at that, feeling too exposed, eyes hot, hands clutching at the edge of the couch cushions you were sitting on. It must have shown, in the slouching of your shoulders, the tension in your frame, because he made that weird purring sound again, leaning down over the back of the couch to nuzzle at you. "SHH. NO TEARS, PRETTY LITTLE STAR. WE DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE YOU UPSET."

"It's been a long night," you muttered. It took effort to reign in your emotions, gathering them up and shoving them down into the pit of your stomach, where the chasm of numbness that allowed you to survive lay. You were too raw, too unsettled and off balance. God, you'd give anything for a stiff drink. Or five.

Venom ran his talons through your messy hair, the motion oddly soothing. "YOU WILL BE SAFE HERE TONIGHT. WE WILL BE NEARBY, CLOSE ENOUGH TO COME TO YOUR AID IF YOU NEED US. GET SOME SLEEP, OUR STAR. THINGS WILL BE BETTER IN THE MORNING. WE'LL BRING YOU COOKIES!"

The absurd joy in his voice, as if cookies would fix every problem in your world, pulled an involuntary laugh from you. "Cookies?"

"CHOCOLATE CHIP! WE LIKE CHOCOLATE." With a final nuzzle, Venom pulled away, giving you a pat on the head of all things before heading for the still open window. "SWEET DREAMS, LITTLE STAR."

He was gone before you could come up with a suitable answer. You were beginning to think that everything that had happened that night was the beginning of your descent into madness.

Rubbing at your face, you spent a long moment staring down at your feet, idly noting that you really needed to invest in socks that didn't have any holes in them. "Fuck."

Tired, drained, and just unable to process anything else, you flopped down onto the couch, hissing at the pain in your ribs. Once the sharp agony had lessened to a dull throb, you swung your legs up onto the cushions, then curled up onto your good side.

Yawning, you threw an arm out, groping blindly, before managing to tug the blanket that Eddie had draped over the back of the couch down onto yourself, wriggling a little until you were settled.

The couch was comfy.

.

.

.