May I Request A Striker X Blitz Mini Fic? I Was Thinking Along The Lines Of Striker Having A Nightmare

May I request a Striker x Blitz mini fic? I was thinking along the lines of Striker having a nightmare about something happening to Blitz, waking up in a panic, and being comforted by Blitz promising him hes okay? I'm a sucker for soft Striker x Blitz content.

send me prompts for mini hazbin hotel and/or helluva boss fics!

A/N: I hope this is okay, anon! Also, sorry for the wait. ; u ;

Striker’s used to having nightmares, and it takes a really bad one for him to wake up in a cold sweat with his heart pounding. 

It takes him a moment to completely come back to reality, to recognize the living room he’s in and the couch he’s on. He blinks away the remnants of sleep and runs a hand over his face before settling back into the corner he’d dozed off in. When he pulls his hand away from his face, he turns toward the only source of light in the room at the moment, a TV playing that same horse movie he’s seen more times than he can count by now. 

He sighs and curses quietly under his breath. 

“Everything okay, Cowpoke?” Blitzo asks from the other end of the couch, brow furrowed just a little. Striker glances at him, and then back to the movie. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he replies, using one hand to wave off any concern. 

“Kinda hard not to when you’re rattlin’ up a storm in your sleep and jerking awake like someone just hooked your balls up to jumper cables,” Blitzo replies with a little grin, using his knee to nudge at one of Striker’s legs. 

Striker snorts, and can’t quite bring himself to grin. “It was just a nightmare,” he says dismissively. “We all get ‘em, and they ain’t nothin’ to worry about in the end.” 

“If you say so,” Blitzo says and shrugs, dropping it. As frustrating as Blitzo’s own emotional closed-offness can be sometimes, it can be a blessing in disguise. He knows better than to pry when someone doesn’t want to talk. 

That, however, doesn’t stop him from forcing his way between Striker’s legs and laying out against him as the other imp lounges against the corner of the couch. Wordlessly, his arms come around Striker and he lays his head against his chest.

The awkward attempt at comfort and demand for physical attention doesn’t go unnoticed, and Striker lets his tail find Blitzo’s in turn, tangling them together loosely. 

Striker sighs again, and places one hand between Blitzo’s shoulders, idly rubbing at the base of one of the spines there. He tries to enjoy the weight of Blitzo against him, the low hum of his purring, and pretends the blood on his hands in his dream hadn’t been his.