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cham-chammity · 3 years

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Drunk Striker (Fanfic Oneshot)

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Background info (TW: mention of suic!de):

In my AU or whatever you wanna call it, Striker was raised by his dad (Buck) and his aunt (Cassandra). Striker's mother died at childbirth, so Cassie helped her little brother Buck raise Striker. Buck suffered from Depression and a Panic Attack disorder (Striker inherited the panic attack part). Because of this, it lead to Buck commiting suicide about a year and a half prior to Striker joining I.M.P. Striker's parents were only 16/17 when he was born, so partially due to the shorter age gap he was very close with his dad. My oneshot takes place around the two-year anniversary of his dad's death.

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The taste of hot, straight whiskey burned Striker's throat as his lips met the one of two newly opened bottles of alcohol he purchased. He let out a relieved breath, as the western imp hadn't drank good whiskey since he last left Wrath. He also needed a distraction from the gut-wrenching memories trying to re-surface themselves in his head, memories he knew he'd be sobbing himself to sleep if he didn't force back down.

Taking another swig, Striker plopped down at the kitchen counter and took off his hat. The one dim light above him illuminated a sickly yellow glow, causing the bottle in the imp's hand to look like an old bottle of piss. Striker smiled at the thought, Blitz definitely would say something like that in the current situation. Speaking of his boyfriend, his small smile turned into a frown. Blitz wouldn't be home for awhile since he insisted he go spend the night out with Barbie. She was barely out of rehab; the twins hadn't seen each other in months. But that wasn't the driving reason why he told Blitz to go out for this particular evening. He didn't want Blitz to see him like... this. Striker needed to stay strong for Blitz, he couldn't let his mate see the weak, sad, drunk side of him. Blitz would probably just tell him to man up and push through it. Striker was strong. He can handle these things on his own. He didn't need comfort. Just a few drinks and sleep and he'll be good. Right?

Striker sat there taking in as much of the burning liquid he could handle, like a parched cactus in the dryest possible desert. Blackout drunk wasn't his go-to--nor his favorite--way out of these things. But it did the job. Sure, he knew how unhealthy it was, but at least he wasn't one of those 24/7 drunk-ass rednecks that did it thrice a week.

Striker was barely finished with the first bottle when the sound of familiar footsteps approached the door to their apartment. The door swung open and Blitz loudly barged in (per the usual), catching Striker comepletely off-gaurd.

"Hey babe, I'm back! You will not believe what-- whoah, why is it so goddamn dark in here?" Striker hissed and squinted as Blitz turned on the brighter kitchen lights, adding to the throbbing headache Striker could feel coming.

shit, Striker thought to himself. He isn't supposed to be home for another hour.

"You're back early, though' you'd be out for another hourer.. ssso." Blitz cocked his head in concern as Striker spoke. His accent was thicker than usual. He also doesn't normally do the hissy s thing unless he meant to or was drunk. And judging by the nearly-empty bottle of whiskey along with Striker's distraught appearance, he was definitely drunk.

"Babe, why have you been drinking? Alone? Basically in the dark?"

"Ssssno big reason, juss... ta pleasure mahselfss' all."

Blitz stood in thought for a moment. Striker never drank 'just because'. He always had good reasoning behind it, so something definitely was up. The crimsom imp walked over and sat down next to his mate.

"I came home earlier because I'm worried about you. You've been acting... off the past few days. You've hardly been eating, you're quiet, withdrawn... and I can tell you're tired as well. Now I'm really glad I came home early seeing you're trying to pass yourself out with a bottle of alcoholic-looking piss."

Striker sighed and lazily rested his head on a propped up arm. "Yeah, you're right ah guess," he muttered softly.

"So tell me, what's wrong?"

Striker sucked in a sharp breath at the question. "Iss nothin' ah can't handle on mah own. I'm alrigh'. I'll prolly juss go on n' hit the hay fer t'night."

As Striker stood from his seat, a blotched hand grabbed his arm yanking him back down on the stool he was sitting on.

"No."

"Wut?"

"I said no, Striker. There is clearly something wrong and I need to know what it is. I'm not going to let you shove it under the rug. And you definitely, by the looks of it, can't handle it on your own."

Striker looked at the floor, feeling nothing but shame for his weakened state. "Ah can't let ya see me like this though. Ah need ta be strong fer ya Blitz..."

A hand gently angled Striker's head up as calm, yellow eyes met tired, blown-out ones. "Hey, who was it that said no matter who you are, everyone has something deep under the tip of the iceberg?"

Striker took a moment to think before responding. "Ah did?"

"Yes. Who was it that said no matter what, there is going to be something dark in everyone's past?"

"Ah did."

"And who was it that said they'd help me heal those deep wounds and be there for me and stay with me every step of the way?"

"Ah did."

"You did, Striker! And you still continue to help me. But here's the thing, babe... our relationship here is a two-way street. I'd be quite an ass of a boyfriend if I wasn't here for you as much as you are for me. You are the strongest, bravest imp I know. You've always been strong for me and I know you always will. And just becuase you're vulnerable, doesn't make you weak."

Striker sat in stunned silence for a few long moments, before finally giving in.

"Mah dad. Two years ago t'day. He uh.. he passed." Blitz listened as Striker slowly slurred out the words, the crack in the taller imp's voice ripping a tear through his heart. He'd never seen or heard Striker close to crying before, let alone actually cry at all. "We were..." A long pause. "We were very close." Blitz wrapped his hands in Striker's and gave them a tight squeeze. "Ah misss him sss...sso goddamn much."

And with that, Striker broke. He finally let out the loud, ugly sobs he'd been gulping down the past hour. Blitz embraced him in a tight hug and wrapped their tails together, gently rocking his mate side to side while softly stroking his hair. Striker's shoulders violently shook as he took in harsh gasps and let out heart-wrenching sobs.

Blitz felt tears brimming in his own eyes at the sound of his lover's painful grief, the sharp claws tightly gripping at his shirt causing him to hug his lover tighter.

Neither imps knew how long Striker cried for, but once his sobs calmed down to quiet cries, Blitz helped walk him back to their room. He was pretty tipsy after all.

Blitz helped Striker strip down to his boxers as he did likewise. They both lied down on their bed and Blitz cradled his lover in his arms, placing a soft, gentle kiss on Striker's forehead.

"I love you so much, Striker," he whispered in his ear. "I'm always here for you, as you are for me. Don't ever forget that."

Striker gave Blitz's hand a tight squeez in response. He was too drunk and tired to muster any words, as well as his soft cries blocked any other noises that dared escape his mouth. But the hand squeez was more than enough for Blitz. He held Striker tightly the rest of the night, the taller imp fading in and out of crying spells before eventually entirely passing out.

Blitz refused to fall asleep until all he could hear was the soft breathing from his mate in his arms. As Blitz was finally able to drift to sleep himself, he was thinking up of some hangover breakfast ideas to make for his partner in the morning. Or afternoon, that'd work too. Striker needed the sleep after all.

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I originally post my fanfiction on my Wattpad (@cam-illeon). Hope y'all enjoy!! I might do a Drunk Striker pt. ll

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