Chapter Text
Angel is fucking exhausted, which is a feat considering how high on uppers he is right now. He’s got a literal handful of drugs running through his veins and it’s still not enough to combat the aftermath of a 12-hour dance shift, 3 johns, and a very handsy meal with his dealer where he paid for the drugs with cash and the burger with his mouth.
He should’ve stayed home, but he’d been looking forward to Drag night for ages, and Club Demona only did them once a month so he’d be damned, again, if he let himself miss the chance to bust out the new wig he bought. It felt worth it when he first got here and felt all the eyes lock on him, reveling in the joy brought on by a mix of MDMA, alcohol, and table dancing, but now it’s 2 am and he’s staring at the half-drank vodka soda in front of him like it killed his family.
Angel’s beautiful long wig is getting tangled at the ends from constantly brushing into people, and he’s pretty sure the end of it accidentally slipped into someone’s drink so it’s starting to get sticky. His dress is no longer the fun kind of tight and now it’s like with every shift of his body he can feel the latex restraining him, choking him despite the heavy v cut that lets his ‘tits’ out. His makeup, at least, is still perfect. He can see his reflection off the mirrored shelves of booze across the bar. He looks nice enough, and he’s gotten to 2 am without anyone trying to roofie him, so maybe it’s time to call it a night. Angel drains his remaining vodka, face scrunching only slightly at the burn before setting it down. No tab, he hadn’t had to buy any drinks for himself, he could just go before his luck ran out. Just as he starts to stand up he can feel someone slide into the space next to him, arm pressing into his side.
“Can I buy you a drink, gorgeous?”
Angel freezes, turning to look at who just offered. He has to tilt his head down quite a bit before finding her. It’s a cyclops woman, makeup dark and sexy, hair long and shaggy and pink. He’s never been into women, though he’s taken a few as clients if they paid enough, but he doesn’t think she’s looking to spend more than a few bucks on another vodka soda.
“I don’t swing that way, dollface, but thanks.”
If his voice puts off the cyclops she doesn’t show it, her grin only widening as she waves the bartender over. “That’s alright, babe, can I buy you one anyway?” It’s the sort of offer that has ended badly before for Angel. The kind where someone pretends to be generous, only to slip something in that gifted drink the moment he turns away. The kind that’s had him waking up in alleys, panties at his ankles. He stopped accepting those pretty fast.
He doesn’t think she’s planning that, at least at first glance. There’s no way she’s got the strength to drag his lanky body anywhere without his consent unless she’s working with someone else. The bartender comes up, waiting expectantly. Fuck it.
“You order for me then, toots.”
“Two dirty shirleys, extra cherries!”
“Ooh, great choice, I love cherries!”
The cyclops laughs brightly at that, leaning on the bar as she turns to Angel. “I love ya too babe, bit forward though considerin’ your previous statement and all.” She gives him a cheeky grin and holds a hand out. “Cherri Bomb, at your service.”
“Angel Dust. Pleasure.” He takes her hand, shaking it delicately. She definitely recognizes his name, a look of surprise flitting over her face for a moment before she hides it with another grin. That’s interesting enough on its own, for her to know who he is and not comment on it. Worth him staying for that drink, at least.
The bartender returns with their drinks, both cocktails a beautiful vibrant red and topped with so many cherries they can’t see any liquid from above. Cherri passes the bartender some cash and waves off the change before holding her drink up towards Angel. “Let’s toast!”
The spider grins, despite his tiredness her energy is starting to feel contagious. It’s doing a way better job than the coke he’d snorted earlier, at least. “What are we toastin’?” He holds his drink up, ready to clink. The cyclops frowns, thinking hard for a moment before her smile returns.
“To us! A couple of bad bitches, havin’ a bitchin’ night!”
Angel rolls his eyes but his smile stays, leaning in and clinking their glasses together. “Alright, to us.”
One last drink turns into two, and then three, and then he’s taking a hit of the DMT Cherri offers him as they grind on each other on the dance floor, the appeal of two ‘chicks’ dancing up on each other enough of a sight that no men attempt to bother them. It’s fun, more fun than Angel’s had all night possibly. No parts marred by anyone groping him, or trying to slip a hand up his dress, the most action he and Cherri have is when she backs up into him, letting him lead their dance and choose how physical they get. His lower arms settle on her waist, moving them in sync with the music. Her back is warm pressed to him, and her ponytail tickles his face.
The early morning hours are a blur of pink and blue, the taste of cherry and grenadine staining his mouth red. Giggling and surprisingly gentle hands holding each other up, one of his heels snapping and the wobbly walking that followed until the other heel’s snapped off purposely by those same gentle hands. He’s being pushed down onto something soft, his eyes are so heavy, and there’s a lilting voice saying something to him he can’t comprehend.
Angel wakes up in a bed that is not his own. He’s slow to rise, blinking blearily as he returns to wakefulness, taking in what little he can see from his position. A blank ceiling doesn’t tell him much, but turning his head gives him a better answer as to where he is. The cyclops is asleep next to him, hands clutching a pillow to her as she sleeps deeply. There’s an ache in his chest when he sees her, an immediate regret at letting her talk him into that drink. He’d known better, didn’t he? She was playing a long con after all.
The spider pulls himself up as quietly as he can, pausing when he realizes he’s under her blankets, soot black and velvety. He pulls them back slowly, anxiety rising as he prepares to assess the damage when he realizes he’s still dressed. Completely. A hand raises to his head and he realizes he’s even still in his wig, even worse for wear after hours of sleeping on it than it was already. He looks back over at Cherri and sees her hair’s still in her half-updo, her red spandex still very much on as well.
This girl, so small she’s face height with his chest fluff, dragged his high ass back to her place just to sleep? Angel can’t remember the last time someone showed him kindness without expecting a reward. She asked him for nothing the entire night, he’s almost positive she bought all their drinks, gave him some of her drugs without asking for an exchange, and then brought him home with her so he could be safe.
He only realizes he’s crying when a tear drops onto his fluff, the damp cold making him jolt in surprise. The sudden movement stirs his bedmate and he scrambles to wipe his face to hide the evidence. The tears return almost immediately when he pulls his hands away to find no makeup on them. She’d wiped his makeup off for him while he was passed out.
“H’llo?” The cyclops’ accent is the heaviest he’s heard it, watching her as she lifts her head, looking at him with confusion for a moment before recognition sets in. “Morning, Angie! Ya alright? Need somethin’ for your head?”
Angel sniffs and shakes his head, smiling at her through the tears. “I’m fine, sorry. Morning Cherri. Thanks for takin’ me home wit’ ya.” She grins at him, laying her head back down and snuggling into her pillow a bit.
“‘Course, bitch! Couldn’t just leave ya there, could I? What kinda friend would I be then?”
“We’re friends?” He hates how choked up he sounds.
“Check your messages and you tell me!”
Angel looks around and sees his phone sitting on her nightstand, plugged into her charger. His heart pangs again and he tries to ignore it, picking up his phone and swiping it open. At the top of his contact list is her, Cherri Bomb 👁️🕷️💗, with the picture being a selfie he doesn’t remember taking, their cheeks pressed together as they try to both fit in the frame at the same time.
He opens their messages and sees a few from both of them. The first one is from 3:12 am, from her.
this is Cherri!
Duh
🖕
The next batch is much later, and mostly him.
Cherri whered u go
🥺🥺🥺
Rip to my new bestie she was a bad bitch
Cherri
Cherri
keep your tits on i literally told u i was going to the bathroom
Omg ur alive im so happy i dont need to find another friend
youre not gonna get rid of me that easy cunt 👁️🕷️💗
Adding that to ur contact name asap
There’s another batch but it’s mostly nonsense and a bunch of pictures they must’ve taken at the club, some of themselves or each other, many more just blurs of lights and colors.
Angel looks over at Cherri, who’s drifted back asleep in the short time it’s taken him to check his phone. He smiles, tugging the blanket further up on her before sliding out of bed. He takes in her apartment, it’s a bit rundown but still better than his current place, that’s for sure. Angel tugs his wig off, letting it drop to the floor as he heads for her closet, yanking the spandex dress down until it’s just covering his bottom half, taking a deep breath for the first time in what felt like ages. He scoops up the first shirt he finds that might fit him, an oversized red tee. It fits him like a crop top, his fluff peeking out from the bottom and his second set of arms fully bare, but it’ll work fine.
He heads for the kitchen, mind set on making a decent breakfast no matter what’s available. He’s in luck, bread on the counter and eggs in the fridge. Four arms makes cooking quick work, but he’ll take his time to make the best meal he can.
Least he could do for his new friend after all.