Hey guys! Due to some … activity on the Rocket server I’m a little inspired to write a long fic (abt maybe 20k words long??? And I wanna post the whole thing in one shot so it will take a while) but wanted to see if you guys are up to the idea first.
I’ll let you guess what this is about, results are gonna be at the end of the fic—and it would be really helpful if you guys told me if you liked it so I know to write it!
He doesn’t really know how it happened.
No, it wasn’t a blur—more like vivid pictures worth 2 seconds of vague context, nothing beyond in a club, sitting at the side or watching other people getting it on.
At this point, he has to tell himself he’s not doing it for sport, it’s not that simple. Can’t be, right? There’s lot’s of assholes in the galaxy.
And then, there’s that pesky little voice in his head, nicking the insides of his skull, hissing, well, you killed the ones that mattered already.
Rocket lifts his drink to his lips and sips. He’s not looking at something in the club, though his eyes were to the ceiling on the other side of the room.
And then … nothing.
Nothing, and suddenly he’d in this black fitting cloak with a belts strapped from his shoulder blades to his collar bones and platform boots so chunky he almost passes off as your regular alien.
There’s a lot of dust by the stairs of your apartment, but there’s also a lot of crying.
Not yours, though.
Yes, one of his vivid snapshots had brought back another friend you were holding behind your back, clutching her chest with her shoulders up to her jaw.
Rocket shook his head. Oh, this is horrible. How often do you keep your wall to wall window open? And with the lights on so bright too? What if a creep had followed you back to your place? What are you to do then?
Your friend stands up from your bed, which was up against your window so Rocket had front row seats. Your hand rubbed her back the whole time, supporting her when she stood and when she took her bag to leave. Oh, shit, you’re leaving.
Rocket dove for shelter as you and your friend were down the stairs in less than five seconds, and you had called her a ride back. A wave, and you’re back on your phone while you walk up the stairs.
Oh, silly, silly you. Don’t you know how dangerous that is?
Rocket turned to leave, but before he could even take the first step, he found rusty spot in his neck—a certain pivot of it that he had to get rid of, an itch to eradicate, and now he was facing your orange-lit window again.
You had just closed the door and entered. Still on your phone. The different ways he could have you, if you were going to be so careless. He could have dreams of them.
He willed himself to take another step. A foot forward.
And that’s as far as he got. His head turned right back around, drawn to your glowing window, and it had occurred to him that the itch wasn’t in his neck.
It was in that window.
That lovely, luminous window displaying you in your barely-even-shorts shorts, your oversized t-shirt and your bare legs.
Naturally, Rocket was at your door five seconds after you had propped your legs up in a certain way on your bed. He wanted patiently, a little pin-like gadget in his hand so shiny, covered in nothing but his nail marks.
Inside, he heard another door close. The cluster of buildings in this area were one room apartments; that was the bathroom he heard.
A few taps and jabs with his lock-picker and the door opened with a pop. His gadget folded inwards as he pocketed it, his heel the first to make contact with your floor, then the rest slipped in, a shadow slick on your walls and closing the door behind him.
The first thing that made him dizzy was the faint vanilla scent coming from your bed. There were many crumples on your sheets, and your pillows had been piled on top of one another like you were rushing to ruin your bed.
You were out of the bathroom quicker than he anticipated. Not to worry though, you switched off the light right after and Rocket had already set up camp in the darkest corner. Spiders fled their homes in his arrival.
You got into bed, wiggling for a few solid minutes into the right, the perfect position that had you curled up in your thick sheets and pillows. They’re all white, like snow laying you down in its bed. It’s a real shame, though; he’s willing to bed blood doesn’t look half as flattering on white sheets.
He rose from his corner. The moon giving him a spotlight, lining his every move toward you. His hand was quick to flip his knife in the air, twirling it around his fingers—he’d cut himself if he wasn’t careful, an it was made clear by the main thin slashes on his gloves. The 120 is large for someone his size.
He finally clasped it in his fist, but the closer he got, the thicker the vanilla scent needled his nose.
Your chest moved, in out, in out. Slow. Your shirt was still too large on you, but as gravity would have it, your waist had been perfectly defined against the glint of the moonlight.
Strange.
He imagined starting at your waist.
And, he imagined … nothing.
Nothing came up, it was all white. Blurry. Where he would usually see blood and guys forming a small heart on the bed, he saw you, sleeping your hair falling to your forehead and your eyelashes fluttering.
Your eyelash fluttered and they fluttered up, and up and up—
And just like that, shot dead by a flinch and a wide-eyed look.
it’s a ghostface rocket au guys! @toiletpaperchick brought it up in the server and if I’m not wrong @glow-autumz will be posting some art soon hehehhehehehhehehhehehhehehe anyways this has consumed and rotted in my head for far too long, and I need to know if this will be worth it. I hoped you enjoyed as always, I’ll be back in november <33
I can’t stop thinking about how grieving is not linear and Peter Parker lost both his uncle and his parents so young
I feel like feeling yourself leave this Earth and turn to dust, and then feeling your being reconstitute would bring up a lot of trauma around that kind of loss
Like Peter is back but the loved ones he lost just as arbitrarily are not
I wish he had been dealing with that a little bit during Far From Home
And I know he was grieving Tony in that movie but on top of the pain of losing a father figure that’s gotta drum up a lot of other emotions around the 2 father figures he’s already lost...
I hope the other Peter deals with loss and trauma post-blip in GotGv3
