Stop Picking Ya Fuckin' Skin - Rocket
Most of the time, you didn’t even realise you were doing it. Scratching an innocent itch frequently turned into rubbing the area over and over; you’d hunt for any bump, blemish or flake and scratch at it until it came off. When your fingers finally caught whatever they were after, you’d admire the accomplishment for a few moments before rubbing your finger tips together long enough that whatever you’d grabbed that time fell to the floor, blended into the carpet, and there was no evidence of your habit remaining on your hands.
You’d tried to curb your skin picking tendencies time and time again, to no avail. No matter the fidget you tried as a replacement, nothing quite matched the feeling. It was mindless, repetitive, soothing. It was something to do with your hands that helped you to calm down and focus. Still, you knew you should probably stop sooner rather than later. You never picked to the point of drawing blood, but explaining away random red marks all over your body was never fun.
That said, it just so happened to be one of those explanatory conversations with a certain genetically modified raccoon that led to the beginning of stopping the habit that caused you to have to have the talks in the first place.
“Yo, Humie.” Rocket started from his position next to you at the navigation console. “Why’s your neck all red? Ya alright?”
“Totally fine!” You say, absently adjusting the ship’s course slightly. “Just, uh, allergies.”
Rocket grows more concerned at that rather than less like you’d hoped, running a paw over his forehead as he wracked his brain. “Not, like, the type that’ll stop you breathin’ right? Any idea what you’re reacting to? All the food was checked before we left, but I suppose something coulda snuck through. Or maybe it’s the laundry pods or…?”
You cut him off, shaking your head, fingers unconsciously rising to the exact spot causing his distress. “No, no. Nothing like that I promise; it’s annoying more than anything. I’m not gonna keel over on you.”
“Phew!” Rocket sighed in relief. “Still, I can’t believe I missed whatever’s buggin’ ya. As Captain, I should….wait a damn minute!”
Your eyes widen as Rocket’s land on the motion of your nails digging at the side of your neck. Busted.
Rocket’s tone softened, only slightly as he less than gently yanked your hand down. “This ain’t allergies is it?”
Upon receiving a shamed headshake from you, Rocket continued. “How long’s this been goin’ on? You’re not trying to hurt yourself are you?”
“Oh god, no! I promise, I would never. Just a bad habit. I don’t even notice anymore.”
Rocket looked down and sure enough, as if to validate your claim, your fingers were making similar motions where he’d set them on the console. Only, instead of skin, they were now seemingly searching for chips in the paint. Surely, that couldn’t be great either. Making a split second decision, he placed his arm down and made sure your hand was on top of it. “If you’re gonna do that, do it to me. Not like I’ve got a shortage of fur.”
You sputtered in surprise, hesitating. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you”
Rocket rolled his eyes, choosing not to comment on the obvious irony. “Yeah, go ahead. Clearly you need it. It’s fur; if ya rip some, it’ll grow back.”
That little encouragement was all you needed to begin running your fingers through his (surprisingly soft) fur, twisting and pulling as you went. You found that you were losing yourself in the repetitive motion and taking in the scenery as Rocket continued to one-handedly pilot the ship towards its destination. You had to give the Captain credit; he’d lasted longer than you thought he would. It was a solid forty five minutes before he broke the tranquil silence that had been created.
“Okay, Humie. I said I’d help, but damn. This is starting to seem suspiciously like you’re just,” he shuddered, “petting me. I’m gonna need ya to stop doing that. Pronto, capiche?”
“Sorry! I genuinely couldn’t help it.” You defended weakly, ripping your hand from his arm with the same speed you would if you had been burned. “Also, it’s not my fault you’re so soft. It was nice.”
“I’m sure it was.” Rocket replied, sarcasm heavy in his tone.
You looked down, twisting your hands guiltily in your lap. You hadn’t meant to annoy him. “Sorry….”
Finally cluing into how bad you actually felt, Rocket sighed. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean to.”
Silence descended in the cockpit for a long moment before Rocket grunted out, "Take the controls. I'll be right back."
You didn’t even have the time to reply before he disappeared. You shrugged it off, though; that was probably deserved, all things considered. Rocket returned not even twenty minutes later, but it was enough time for you to start mindlessly picking at your face again.
“Hey! Thought I told you to stop that.” he reprimanded, smacking your hand away from your cheek. “Here. Take this.” A thin, rectangular object was shoved into your hands.
“Wha…? What is it?”
“I made ya somethin’. To help with the…ya know.” Rocket gestured awkwardly to your still red cheek and neck. “It’s a patch. I thought about just making you some sort of handheld thing that you could pick at and have it flake off, but then I thought there’s probably a reason you’re picking at the spots you are, so….patch. You can stick it anywhere. The adhesive lasts 24 hours. I was gonna make it last longer, but you might not want to commit to having it in one spot for too long. Anyway, ya stick it on, and you can scratch and pick at it all you want. Flakes off the same too. Feels just like real skin, but you won’t hurt yourself. The “skin” automatically regenerates when you’ve scratched off the entire patch and will blend with your real skin tone. This is just a prototype. I’ll make the next one better. Just gotta tell me what works and what doesn’t…”
“Rocket…..Rocket!” You practically shout, cutting off his anxious rambling. “Thank you! It’s perfect!” You pulled him into a grateful hug.
“Oof. Kinda can’t breathe here, kid.”
“Right, sorry!” You apologized for the umpteenth time that day, hastily pulling away. Rather than continue to stand there awkwardly, you fiddled with the backing of the patch, experimentally putting it on your upper arm and giving it a test scratch. A small smile spread across your face upon realizing it felt just right.
“Seriously, Rocket. Thank you!”
You could’ve sworn you saw him blush as he replied. “Any time. Just glad it might help.”