Venom X Reader for an aspiring actress? Possibly a meet up after a club performance?

thirsty-venom-posts:

You typically shift out of see-and-be-seen mode as soon as the makeup comes off. You don’t mingle after performances because the being on the receiving end of so many complements is not a comfortable place for you. Besides, everyone is usually drunk and the men tend to get a bit familiar with performers when they’re inebriated.

With the other girls out shmoozing, you have the long dressing room counter all to yourself. Off comes the wig – you shake out your own hair and give it a quick fluff – and then the makeup. You’re The Reigning Queen of the Well-Stocked Show Bag (Long may she reign!) and you keep washcloths and makeup remover (and tampons and double-sided carpet tape and Advil and bobbi pins and wig caps and a whole-ass military grade first aid kit) handy for nights when you just don’t see yourself rubbing elbows with members of the audience after curtain call.

—-

No makeup, no wig, no costume. You’re ready to sneak out of the venue and take a walk up the street a few blocks to the late night taco truck. Without your slap and sequins you should be able to make it all the way through the crowd to the entrance without being noticed.

Passing by the bar on your way to the door, you notice a broadly built, handsome man appreciating you with his eyes as he closes out his tab. The temptation to stop and talk to him is strong, but the siren call of tacos de lengua is stronger and really, nothing good can come from trying your luck with a stranger at a bar. Strangers at bars have let you down before, but tacos have never failed you.

You slip a $20 to the mountain of a door man on your way out and give him a quick kiss on his pock-marked cheek. You take care of the door man and he will always take care of you and that is the gospel truth, praise Jesus.

“‘Night Roy!”

“Night kiddo. Stay outta trouble.”

“I’ll do my best,” you reply over your shoulder.

It’s a busy night in the city with lots of people out of the street enjoying a warm summer night. Music and street vendors and drunk friends, sounds that make you feel a little less alone in the world.

You’re a block and a half from the best tacos de lengua in at least a 10 mile radius and an ice cold Coca-Cola hecho en Mexico when you hear a man’s voice call out your stage name behind you. You turn and see your handsome stranger from the bar. You decide then and there that asking him to come along with you to get a late night outdoor dinner is really the best of both worlds and after he apologizes for bothering you (“I just wanted to tell you in person that you were great on stage tonight. It was really something else”) the two of you head towards the sound of cumbia para bailar and the smell of an open grill.

—-

“So you like tongue, eh?”

Your new dinner companion, Eddie, finds your order of four beef tongue tacos on corn tortillas quite amusing and you’re not sure why. It makes him smile in a way that suggests both a private joke and rather explicit suggestion.

“I happen to LOVE tongue, thank you very much.”

He didn’t expect you to play along and your reply makes him blush. The pink in his cheeks give him a boyish appearance that strikes you as unexpectedly charming and you warm to him without meaning to. The two of you chat about the show and about your life as a performer while you eat. He seems reluctant to talk about his own work and life and is content to listen to you, leaning in with interest.

When you’re both finished eating, he asks you to dance. Music is playing loudly from the food truck – a playlist of popular songs by Selena, Grupo Niche, Bronco, and many others compiled by an enthusiastic prep cook named Hector possessed with both excellent taste in music and admirable knife skills – and patrons had been dancing in the street and on the sidewalk all night.

It’s nearly 2am. You wrap one arm around his shoulder and rest your head so close that he can feel your breath on his neck. His arm around your waist is holding you close to him, and his other hand is holding yours in the air as you both sway back and forth. You’re tired, but not tired enough to turn down a dance or two pressed up against Eddie’s muscular chest. He really is a gentleman. The tips of his fingers trace gentle circles in the small of your back and you give a soft sign of appreciation.

—-

Eddie walk you home and at the door of your building he takes your chin in his hand and gives you an unembellished kiss on the lips. He waits until you’re safely in your building with the door locked behind your before turning to walk back up to a busier part of the street to hail a cab.

“SHE LIKES TONGUE.”

“I know.”

“SHE WOULD LOVE US THEN, WOULD’T SHE?”

“I think she prefers beef tongue.”

“SHE’LL ONLY WANT VENOM TONGUE WHEN WE’RE DONE WITH HER.”