Furyan Imagines

Not sure how this will work/take off, so we'll see.

YOU CAN PICK: (A) Whether you think of Riddick as simply being a criminal or (B) You think that Riddick is a person who has more to him than meets the eye

"What? Click your fingers and he's one of us now?"

You were right smack in the middle of the small train of humans who had survived the Hunter-Gratzner crash, following behind Shazza and Johns, close enough that you could hear the irritation in the free-settler's question.

"I didn't say that." You could almost hear the smile in John's reply. "But at least this way I don't have to worry about y'all, uh, falling asleep and not waking up."

Jack pushed past you, angling himself to face the two adults leading all of them. The teenager had somehow found a pair of partially-broken goggles and worn them in emulation of the famed murderer trailing behind all of them. "So, can I talk to him now?"

"No."

Imagine Riddick comforting you after you had a bad day

(Campfire GIF credit: Gifer)

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that he made a fire. Fire was a signal; it gave away his position too easily unless used as a misdirection. Riddick had learned a long time ago he could eat plenty of food raw and deal with it just fine. He could throw a fur coat onto himself and handle the cold just fine.

But today, as dusk fell, he kept his goggles on and threw on more wood onto the small fire he’d built. It felt like it was gearing up to be a chilly night.

Holding two sticks with pieces of cooked meat speared through them in hand, he sat himself down beside you, knee close but barely touching yours. Then, he offered one to you. “Eat up.” His voice was quiet, words said only for your ears even if no one else was about. It held none of the snark you knew he could give if he wanted to. “Fire’s dyin’ down soon and it’s going to be cold.”

Imagine Riddick taking care of you when you’re sick

“Drink.” Water first, then food if your body could take it. You knew that that was what Riddick was assessing. You would’ve done the same in his position.

With a groan, you reached for the shallow stone dish filled with clear liquid. It was a soothing wetness down your throat.

The big man didn’t exactly hover - he wasn’t one to do so. He went back to gutting and cleaning whatever food he’d caught, but you knew he was watching you. With a slight jerk of his chin, he indicated you should continue to sweat your fever out.

Hey, thanks for sending this request in. I appreciate it.

Imagine reader is sweet summer child medic who has (reluctantly) offered to help on John's crew given their shape after catching Riddick (for who knows how long). Reader insists on treating everyone, yes including Riddick fuck off Johns. and everything going fine till Johns starts getting handsy...

(Doctor Martha Jones GIF credit: Tenor)

You’d taken care of Boss Johns first. The rough tumbles he’d taken on the way to retrieving the power nodes showed up in deep scrapes and ugly purple and black bruises over his arms and hips. 

Dahl winced only when the medbay’s door had slid shut behind you, as she gingerly removed the brace she wore to support her spine. Not Riddick’s work for this at least, but Santana’s. Old injuries died hard, especially in this line of work, and the scuffle with Santana had only made things worse for the second-in-command.

Luna, bless the kid, had gotten through this entire event surprisingly unharmed. Why someone like him became a merc, you’d never wrap your head around.

Now, you set the medical tray down before the infamous convict. The jagged hole in his leather vest concerned you the most. Briefly, your eyes meet his silvery ones and your hands reached his vest unaccosted, starting to examine the best way to cut around leather melted into skin. 

Well, at least he knows what’s not harmful to him.

You nearly stabbed the pair of scissors you were holding into Johns as you suddenly felt hands wrap around your arms and pull you to the side. Away from your current patient.

“Hey, whoa.” Johns held his palms up. “Might be better if you left him alo-”

“I’ll do what I like.” There. You hope you sounded authoritative but not aggressive. You’d tended to all the rest as their medic. Now, your patient was Riddick, whether Johns liked it or not. “And you’re not going to stop me.”

A deep chuckle came from the chained-up man behind you, followed by the tapping of metal on metal. You turned, both your and Boss John’s attention now back on Riddick. The scalpel that had been on your tray was somehow now in Riddick’s hand. In Riddick’s chained-up hand.

“Now, are you gonna work on me, doc, or do I have to do it myself?” 

Imagine being the only one to be kind to Riddick, making sure he has some food and water while Santana ridicules you for getting so close to him. Boss Johns simply let's you do your thing, knowing that once you put your mind to an idea, it gets done. Riddick naturally takes a liking to you, and teases Santana about it, to your amusement.

You made your way in-between the tables, dodging the chairs that had been left messily around by the other crew, the boss who was clicking his tongue at you right at that moment as you walked past him from a distance. You tuned out what Santana was saying at you. If Dahl hadn’t already punched the other man once, maybe you would’ve done it by now.

All right. Maybe Moss or Lockspur would’ve done it.

You might’ve been a merc, but Boss Johns and his crew had showed you better. You could beat someone unconscious to restrain them but didn’t have to inflict more harm while they were chained up; you could take someone prisoner and still treat them with basic dignity.

“So who’s takin’ your food from you now, Santana?” Riddick’s voice carried across the co-op station as you neared him, the trace of a clear smirk lacing his voice.

A small laugh escaped you as you placed the tray of food and water beside the large man. “Yeah, I’m not going to hand-feed you, Riddick,” you said even as you lifted the cup of water to his lips. There was no way else to go about it without releasing him.

Being a skittish individual, observant but allusive, jumpy. Takes hits if they’re thrown at them and not others. Except some get thrown at a friend, now there’s blood everywhere. Your panicking, it’s happened again. Riddick’s reaction?

Even in the midst of all the chaos of blaster shots firing, dust being kicked up by missed shots, and punches being thrown, Riddick knew where each of you were at the back of his mind, where each of the slammers was as they took down the guards that came.

This group - you had all insisted you were up to the fight, up to breaking out of this shithole of a slam. And maybe you weren’t too sure of following his lead at first. He hadn’t seemed to care whether any of you followed or not. But you hadn’t wanted to be fodder for anyone, and hell if you’d let your friend be fodder for the guards.

Those goggled eyes turn towards you, probably seeing how hard you were swallowing, the hitches in your breaths, the desperate way you scrubbed your knuckles against your shirt to get the sticky liquid off.

Imagine being a doctor in Boss Johns' crew; the sweetest little thing Riddick has ever seen with your flowing dress and soft smiles. Everyone feels protective of you. And then both Riddick and Santana take an interest in you, and everyone is on edge. Riddick is surprised that you're not phased at Santana's brutal death, and starts liking you even more.

(Doctor Joan Watson GIF credit: Giphy)

As the dull thud of Santana’s head falling into the box echoed in the sudden quiet, as Diaz’s yeah, let’s cut ‘im loose and Dahl’s half-choked that was five seconds broke the silence, Riddick cast a discreet glance your way. Not that you were the only quiet one at that moment, but you could definitely feel his eyes on you.

The concerned looks that passed between the surviving members of your own crew was something you’d grown used to, but this time, you just gave a small shrug, indicating the fallen body before them. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen so far.”

Despite the shadows hiding him from clear sight, you caught the glimpse of a grin on Riddick’s face.

Imagine being a survivor of the Hunter-Gratzner crash and realizing Riddick checks in on you once in a while.

(Michael Burnham GIF Credit: Giphy)

There was a pattern to it, you’d come to recognize. Every few years, on either the 22nd or 23rd of November, you’d come home to one window pane left ajar.

The anniversary of the crash. The anniversary of the day you left the planet with three others.

The first time it’d happened, you’d drawn your knife, moving silently from room to room. Your house was sparsely decorated, minimalistic; it wasn’t hard to see that nothing had been stolen. You’d chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

Then it happened.

And again.

Imagine Riddick coming back for you when you thought that he had abandoned you.

The slithering noises grew louder, more prolonged. 

They grew closer.

You struck out blindly, feeling your shiv slice through something soft before catching on hard plates, it being torn from your hand as a pained hiss was spat at you. Then the sounds came back, and you felt something warm wrap around your arm. Another noise of pain, but this time not one that you’d inflicted.