Killing Is Forgiving - (Killer Croc x Reader)

3. - Nightmares and Embraces

"Nightmares might come in dreams, but they continue to live on when you're awake."

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((Y/n)'s P.O.V.)

I woke up in which I assumed was the middle of the night. My bladder was ready to erupt and I had to throw away this discomfiture. I was shocked when I found myself locked between Killer Croc's unsurprising robust embrace, but didn't really care about it since somnolence still got half of me. I carefully loosened his embrace and freed myself, then shuffled towards the backside of the pile of trash bags where I fell as I dragged my left foot.

Once my nature call was fulfilled, I wore my pants and readied to go back to sleep when I noticed a worn-out wool blanket, camouflaging itself amongst the bags of trashes. I immediately brought it with me, and as soon as I reached Croc's side, I caressed his lulled scale-ish hand before I finally wrapped ourselves with that blanket I found. It's not the best, but it surely did the job to keep us warm, because I was surefire that Killer Croc didn't know the feeling of warmth other than fire, which is indeed warm, but harmful at the same time.

I wondered if he already knew how embrace feels like. Me hugging him tonight could probably be his first time. I guess me between Croc's embrace was also the first time I knew how embrace feels like. Pure, sincere embrace, by the way.

Janice pulled away, her eyes twinkling with morose.

I've encountered hypocrites and two-or-more-faced people and could tell how unwilling they were and insincere, especially when my infamous dad spread rumors about me getting HIV. If only they knew who transferred it (if it exists in me).

Apparently, one didn't have to resemble a crocodile-ish creature with pointed fangs and intimidating claws, scales, and a bald head to be scorned and rejected by society. Being an unwanted, illicit child who'd been defamed and had been fucked five times by its own father is enough. Monsters create monsters, and I could've become one.

And I swear on my life that I would never become one.

But, then again, it's probably still a process.

I wished that I didn't have to call Waylon Jones as Croc since, right now, he's more humane than every other person I'd ever met, Caden, my co-worker at the pizza parlor is indeed nice, but I don't think he wants to be my friend (or maybe it's just me?).

Janice pulled away, her eyes twinkling with morose.

At least, he's super friendly and nice. I would like to call him Waylon so much, despite Waylon who told me that I have the privilege to do so. But this feeling inside of me... I was afraid to call him that way.

I was afraid of this warm, fuzzy feeling.

This warm, fuzzy feeling that grew inside of me towards him the second he refused to consume me.

This warm, fuzzy feeling that I feel when I fell asleep on his shoulder during our unexpected late-night conversation.

This warm, fuzzy feeling that I feel when I woke up and found myself held between his embrace, which I recall that I wasn't sleeping like that the first time.

I wished this feeling was known by him. Known by Croc. Known by Waylon.

I wish he felt the same way as I did, although I knew this feeling's too fast to be judged as 'affection'. I mean, him being a hurt creature who sadly became a villain? I assume he's not really great at showing affection.