RoquillxHoliday

Prompt 5 Yondu

It’s an Au idea based on ‘what if’, which a teenage Peter takes his heists to some labs. Peter has a cool idea of loot and Yondu disagrees.

It was good to practice with some markers.

below the cut, you'll find individual sfw & nsfw rocket fanfics completed in 2023.

relevant ratings key: fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

more detail about what you can expect from my fiction

typically, platonic & spicy stories will feature a gn reader (no use of y/n). smutty stories are more likely to feature a "female" reader or oc.

a separate post for headcanons & imagines organized by year will be forthcoming. eventually.

check out the navigation & full fanfiction pages for links to future projects and expected updates, other recommended writers in the fandom, my rocket fan art, writing tips, marvel critique, fic previews, new posts, etc ♡

July 2023

The Very Boring Adventures of Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl. ❤︎‬❤︎ 18+ only MDNI | f!reader | 5/5 visits | word count: 37,783. In Rocket Raccoon: Grounded (2016) / Issue #3, Rocket asks a stranger on the ferry to "make sure nobody does anything weird" to him while he naps, and the stranger just, like, abandons him while he's sleeping?? who does that? when a stranger asks you to watch their stuff in a coffee shop, it's a holy obligation. x100 if it's a hot local space pilot trying to catch some Zs on the ferry. get in loser we're gonna fix it. | Domestic Scenes in Space Travel.

August 2023

Outer Space Safety & Spaceship Maintenance Training. ❤︎‬❤︎ 18+ only MDNI | f!reader | word count: 9,853. study night. or: why study when you can seduce your hot local Space Pilot into oral? | Domestic Scenes in Space Travel.

September 2023

Autopilot Systems Check ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,406. reader wakes up in the middle of the night and rocket is nowhere to be found. mcu-based, post-endgame. | anthology

Reconnaissance for Beginners: An Instruction Manual. ❤︎‬❤︎ 18+ only MDNI | f!reader | word count: 14,329. date night. in a gesture of true romance, rocket takes you to a dive bar. of all the stories he's shared with you, his favorites are the ones where he gets saved by the space princess. not that he'd tell you that. loosely based on Rocket (2017): The Blue River Score. | Domestic Scenes in Space Travel.

October 2023

Blackmail Material. ❤︎‬❤︎18+ only MDNI | f!reader | word count: 30,591. a classic tale of "that fuckin raccoon found your sex toy." post-endgame friends-to-lovers smut with feelings, fluff, & love confessions. see post for warnings and contex

kinktober 2023. ❤︎‬❤︎ f!reader x rocket. please read all warnings.

Turbulence ♡ cockwarming word count: 1,229 rocket needs you to hold. flarkin. still.

Practice ♡ hunter/prey word count: 987 rocket requests your assistance in brushing up on some of his old résumé skills. expansion: evasive maneuvers.

Nod for Yes ♡ blindfold word count: 1,261 rocket saves you.

Heavy Artillery ♡ gunplay word count: 3,796 rocket sets you up with terran internet access on knowhere.

Proof ♡ recording rocket wants something to remember you by while he’s away. overlaps with Domestic Scenes in Space Travel.

Soft ♡ nipple/tit play word count: 4,280 rocket just wants something soft.

Sunshine ♡ against a wall word count: 5,489 you take a stranger home. expansion: sunshine.

Triptych ♡ praise word count: 5,514 rocket’s girlfriend is a virgin in three different universes.

Good Dreams ♡ dacryphilia & somnophilia word count: 3,256 rocket stays up late to finish some work.

Tech ♡ sex toys word count: 1,326 rocket made you something.

Giftwrap ♡ lingerie word count: 6,484 semi-shy, ultrafeminine reader goes shopping with friends; picks out something nice for rocket. sequel to windfall (can be read alone).

Wyndham; or, the Intergalactic Prometheus ♡ free space 21 ~ hate sex ♡ 23 ~ dirty talk/begging/cnc ♡ 26 ~ choking ♡ 29 ~ creampie word count: 13,512 a smutty ode to a halloween classic ♡ mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. au rocket essentially lives the creature's life; visits the high evolutionary’s bride on your wedding night per the novel. things go off the rails from there. READ WARNINGS. expansion: cicatrix.

tomorrow. ✩ 18+ only MDNI | f!reader | word count: 2,441. you had a long day at work. rocket decides to comfort you. no real smut (this was a failed kinktober 2023 fic) but some explicit references to sex acts. unhealthy coping mechanisms. PLEASE check main page for warnings. | anthology

November 2023

adorations. ❤︎‬❤︎‬ 18+ only | f!reader | word count: 4,518. you have a habit of complimenting rocket. he decides to give you plenty of reasons to keep doing so. aka rocket has a praise kink and no-one can convince me otherwise. mcu-based smut with feelings. see post for warnings and context.

Critical Interview Questions for Potential Crewmates ✩ | ❤︎‬❤︎ varies | f!reader | word count: 6,111 - 6,723. you take rocket on a fall-themed date. unbeknownst to you, he also has plans: specifically, to introduce you to some potential roommates. just pumpkin-spiced, apple-scented, maple-flavored FLUFF. see post for clarifying info and context. | Domestic Scenes in Space Travel.

take what you need. eat somethin. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 576.

take what you need. get outta bed & get your shit done. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 925. for @/caesarhamato22 ♡

take what you need. go to frickin bed already. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 737.

take what you need. leave your frickin skin alone. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,579. for nonnie! ♡

take what you need. take a damn bath. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,375. for @/hibatasblog ♡

December 2023

frostnip. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,880. you teach rocket about appropriate winterwear. mcu-based. | borealis: year one

snow & stars. ❤︎‬❤︎ 18+ only MDNI | f!reader | word count: 16,450. citing a lack of "team spirit," corporate requires you to attend the annual holiday office party (off the clock, of course) if you want to be eligible for your raise. luckily, the new guy makes things... interesting. | borealis: year one

take what you need. drink some goddamn water. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,209.

take what you need. stop destroying your frickin clothes. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,609. for nonnie!♡

take what you need. take a fuckin study break. ✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,020. for like 80% of you probably ♡

traditions.✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 3,368. every winter, rocket comes to your place to celebrate the holidays and take a nap. mcu-based. can be read romantically or platonically. just pure feel-good shit, warm as cocoa and twice as sweet. | borealis: year one

ugly sweater. ✩ suggestive! spice | gn reader | word count: 5,196. rocket might make fun of your holiday attire, but he kind of wishes you'd wear it more often. | borealis: year one

frostnip.✮ fluff | gn reader | word count: 1,880. you teach rocket about appropriate winterwear. mcu-based. | borealis: year one

Winter Across the Galaxy ✩ spice | rocket x f!oc | word count: ?? a super-casual barely-edited oneshot written in response to a reader comment, "Thinking about how Jolie would have reacted to the events in the Holiday Special and laughing." | borealis: year one | Window Across the Galaxy.

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hibatasblog

1 year ago

So she said, "What's the problem, baby?" What's the problem? I don't know Well, maybe I'm in love (love) Think about it every time I think about it Can't stop thinking 'bout it

How much longer will it take to cure this? Just to cure it 'cause I can't ignore it if it's love (love) Makes me wanna turn around and face me But I don't know nothing 'bout love, oh

Come on, come on Turn a little faster Come on, come on The world will follow after Come on, come on Because everybody's after love

So I said, I'm a snowball running Running down into the spring that's coming, all this love Melting under blue skies Belting out sunlight Shimmering love

Well, baby, I surrender To the strawberry ice cream Never ever end of all this love Well, I didn't mean to do it But there's no escaping your love, oh

These lines of lightning mean We're never alone Never alone, no, no

Come on, come on Move a little closer Come on, come on I wanna hear you whisper Come on, come on Settle down inside my love, oh

Come on, come on Jump a little higher Come on, come on If you feel a little lighter Come on, come on We were once upon a time in love

We're accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally in love Accidentally

I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love Accidentally I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love, I'm in love Accidentally

Come on, come on Spin a little tighter Come on, come on And the world's a little brighter Come on, come on Just get yourself inside her Love I'm in love -Counting Crows

——-

Mixtape

Decided to repost some of my pics from my old deleted account. Especially after bbamos updated!

Inspired by Thor Love and Thunder, and everyone’s sexy little outfit. Especially Rockets. Also, @bbasmos made flirting on the battlefield so freaking cute to me! Like wow!

I don’t own marvel or any of the described characters. I just love them and only want to doodle them in my free time!

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hibatasblog

1 month ago

100% agreement. Really, could see most versions of him using the occasional recreational drugs for multiple reasons: pain reduction, nerve calming, fun, just to see the infinite beauty of the stars shimmer a little harder, to forget emotionalistic memories, a general disregard for health/safety, and pure unbridled curiosity.

a brief eidos headcanon

the eidos collection | navigation fanfiction masterlist | collections masterlist

CONTEXT/WARNING: suggestive. mild recreation drug use, intox if you squint? this was noodling around in my brain & i’m trying to figure out if it’s something

like. eidos-rocket for sure smokes.

maybe world-tree-root, or a deep-space varietal of everbloom, or whatever. it takes you a while to figure out that’s why he always smells like campfire and ginger, mixed in with the pepper-cedar of the oil he uses for his fur and the almost-citrus scent of dark-matter engine-fuel

smokes and booze just fold themselves into the fabric of his life, so easily he barely notices. he’s not always got a cigarette clipped between his teeth — works with too many combustibles for that — but he likes to take the edge off when the situation allows.

and it’s not like smoking is his favorite thing. not even close. up till now, if a person had asked what he liked to do in his spare time, he’d say he prefers to blow shit up, work on the milano, and steal from snotty-rich skagheaps and scutbags.

but one random night between missions he manages to convince you to hang out with him at mantlo’s, and he realizes you’ve never smoked everbloom before. deviousness curls the corner of his mouth, and he finds himself flashing a fang before he can stifle the wickedness of his sharp grin. and by the time the night’s over, rocket’s realized he’s got a new favorite pastime after all:

shotgunning you in the dimly-lit backcorners of seedy knowhere bars

support banner by @/adornedwithlight | outer-space divider by @/enchanthings | moodboard by me! ♡

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hibatasblog

9 months ago

He’s smiling on the inside.

boring meeting scribble time

rocket fanart masterlist | rfh art masterlist current art queue | main masterlist

could this be anyone with a cranky sentient raccoon? yes. was i thinking of pearl & rocket from cicatrix ? also yes

snuggletime

rocket fanart masterlist | rfh art masterlist current art queue | main masterlist

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hibatasblog

10 months ago

Sexy grooming time.

ᯓ⋆｡°✩ practice

for a nonnie who asks the important questions main masterlist | oneshot masterlist

spice | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 1,684.

you're not quite as good as rocket when it comes to braiding. luckily, he's a kind and benevolent soul who just wants to give you the chance to improve. or, you accidentally seduce rocket. he intentionally seduces you back. WARNINGS: general suggestiveness, lil bit of pining on your part. eidos-rocket is a bossy little shit and calls you buttercup x2. this is pure lighthearted fun & doesn’t delve into the inner workings of rocket’s trust-issues and angst.

brave nonnie asked, do you have any headcanons for Eidos Rocket with an S/O? and the answer is too many and also why am i like this.

initial ask | the beard | rocket smells like eidos-rocket-headcanons | main masterlist | oneshot masterlist

“Hey.”

You’d looked up, startled that he was talking to you. You’d been curled up on the mustard-yellow sofa, catching up on one of drax’s favorite dramas on a holopad, and you’d been careful not to look up when Rocket had entered the space and plopped down on the couch across from you — the fact that he’d been out here at all, willing to share space with you, had seemed like something of a miracle — and you’d had to fight every instinct to not steal surreptitious glances out of your periphery. He’d been in a suit — broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the plume of his tail as ridiculously thick and fluffy as always — carefully rebraiding his beard.

“How’s this look?”

You’d hesitated, squinting one eye and screwing up the corner of your mouth. “You look good,” you’d admitted, and he’d preened.

“Got a hot date,” he’d informed you smugly, and it had made something in your belly plummet low. It hadn’t even been anything new — Rocket had been going out as long as you’d known him, whenever the Milano had docked somewhere that had allowed for it. Still, the prospect of dealing with him the next day, after he’d thoroughly enjoyed yet another apparently-meaningless one-night-stand? The idea of watching him smirk smugly for hours while he accused everyone else of needing to get laid? It had made your vagus nerve twist miserably. You’d wished you could roll your eyes at yourself without him misinterpreting the look.

You’ve got to get over this stupid crush of yours.

“Cool,” you’d said aloud, weakly. “Have fun.”

He’d been the one who’d ended up rolling his eyes — still at your expense — and you’d decided to live vicariously through his disdainful expression. "The beard okay?” he’d asked, persistent.

You’d leaned forward, hinging at the waist to see better. It had looked a bit asymmetrical — like one side had been braided a little more tightly than the other — and once you’d begun studying it, you’d been able to see a few threads of glossy fur that had crimped up and escaped between the beads. You’d gestured with your own hands to your chin.

“It’s not quite as neat as it usually is,” you’d admitted, and to be honest, it had given you a frisson of concern. He’d always been obsessive about his fur: brushing out his tail with quick deft fingers whenever he thought there might be a bit of debris in it, making sure his goggles didn’t damage the soft velvet pile at the base of his ears. Distractedly finger-combing the ruff at his throat and cheeks throughout the day, probably without even realizing it. He’d been particularly meticulous about the goatee — intentional in a way that had immediately endeared him even further to you. He’d always kept the silky-looking beard immaculate, and you can’t remember ever seeing even a hair out of place on it, outside of the occasional firefight — and even that had been rare.

His lip had curled in something between a snarl and a grimace. “Mirror in my room got broken in that last tangle with the Badoon,” he’d admitted. “I’ve been trying to do it without seeing.” He’d begun loosening the little braid, about to make another attempt.

You’d hesitated, then cautiously set aside the holopad. “Let me?”

You’d braced yourself for some loud, derisive comment, already wincing — but he’d been silent. When you’d dared to look across at him, he’d been sizing you up, one eye half-squinted and both of them dark and inscrutable.

“Okaaay,” he’d said slowly. “Yeah, okay.” A scowl and a dismissive wave of one clawed hand. “Don’t flark it up.”

You’d risen cautiously, keeping your eyes on his chin — afraid you’d lose your nerve if you’d looked anywhere else. Without thinking, you’d gently nudged his knees apart with your own, and dropped down between them. The foam pad on the floor had given you a little bit of protection from the duranium plating underneath, but you hadn’t bothered trying to get comfortable. Instead, you’d focused on sliding your hands between his own, gently loosening them from where they’d gone still in his beard. You’d slid the beads aside and placed them carefully in his palm, trying to ignore the heated-leather of his hand brushing your fingertips. Then you’d gently — almost reverently — unlaced the braid. The strands had been so silky and glossy, cool as water flowing over your fingers. This close, you’d been able to smell him: the gingery scent of burnt everbloom, a whiff of iron. Something like cedar and black pepper.

Oh, you’d thought, trying not to pout. He's going to make his date drool.

You try not to be the jealous sort but, it had seemed so unfair. You’d gotten butterflies just because he’d just been willing to tolerate your presence enough to be in the same room with you. Meanwhile, he’d seemed unmoved by you in any way — vacillating only between a distant acceptance of your occasional accidental displays of affection and admiration, and utter, debilitating annoyance.

Debilitating for you, anyway.

It hadn’t been that you hadn’t wanted him to go out — not exactly. You’d wanted him to have fun, to be happy, to enjoy people and drinks and whatever. You’d only wished that the prospect of him spending the night with someone else hadn’t made your heart turn over so forlornly in your chest.

The stupid organ had thought it was an abandoned kitten at a shelter, mewing for a home.

God, you’d thought suddenly. What if he brings his date back to get laid?

You’d released a miserable little sigh without meaning to, your breath fanning gently over the silk of his beard and his mouth. You’d seen his lips part over a brief flash of sharp teeth — then close and tighten — and you’d tried to ignore the knot of misery in your belly while you’d smoothed the strands into three sections, stroking them until they’d been sleek as satin ribbon. Tenderly — careful not to pull — you’d begun to weave the sections together, nice and even.

You’d braided it all the way to the end, to help the beads slide on more smoothly — a wooden one that looked remarkably like Groot, a red sphere, and two black nuts. You’d plucked them like berries from where he’d set them on the cushion at his side. Tying the tail with the tiny clear elastic had been the most difficult part — you’d been so worried about tugging too hard — and then you’d eased the bottom two nuts down to cover the tie before carefully combing out the ends with your fingers, rumpling the loose strands free of the braid. Leaning back, you’d braced your hands on his thighs and eyed your work critically.

“It’s not quite as good as it usually is,” you’d admitted, ribs all tight and guilty on your lungs, “but it’s better than what you had just now.”

When you’d glanced up at the rest of his face, your breath had tangled into a gasp. His eyes had been hot and dark, roving over you. The ghost of surprise had still been gleaming in them, but if he’d been stunned when you’d dropped yourself to your knees between his thighs, that shock — along with the tooth-gritting frustration and confusion and conflict that he’d been silently grappling with since the first mission he’d shared with you — had mostly faded in the wake of something infinitely more focused and intent.

After all, an opportunity had fallen — well, not in his lap so much as directly between his thighs — but he’d never been one to check a free ship for a serial number.

“Well,” he’d said, his voice low and drawling, dripping like half-crystallized maple syrup all over your skin, “maybe you just need more practice, buttercup.”

Which is probably how you find yourself a few cycles later, tucked inside Rocket’s bunk, sprawled over his belly in the curve of his hammock: trying to comb through the satiny threads while his claws prickle against the skin of your shoulderblade.

“Focus,” he says, and snickers when you jolt under the sharp tickle of his claws. He’s leaning back against his other hand and forearm, tilting his chin up while he looks down the sides of his face at you with glinting, teasing eyes.

“You’re distracting me,” you protest, fingers shaking as you try to divide the lengths of silken fur into even sections. Your eyes blur when the leathery pads of his fingers slip delicately under the edge of your tanktop, coasting against your skin. It’s a struggle not to squirm against him — a fight that you must be losing, based on the growing grin in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re distracting me,” he mimics, pitching his voice into something far more whiny than is fair. You scowl. “How are you gonna get better at this if we don’t increase the difficulty-level? C’mon,” he adds, finding that spot next to your spine that always makes you arch when he presses insistently against the muscle, “M’not even using both hands.”

You glower at him, but the look falls apart when he massages his fingers into that spot again. A shudder runs from the nape of your neck to the small of your back — an inhale catching and rattling in your lungs, so sudden you feel it in the back of your throat — and your hips buck against him without your conscious permission. Heat pools in your abdomen and your cheeks, radiant. You wrangle up all your self-control to attempt a glare.

“Aww,” he jeers. “You’re flarkin’ cute when you pout.”

“Be nice.” You try to sound firm — commanding. “I’m the one with the power, here.” To make your point, you tug gently on the silk strands woven between your fingers.

But Rocket just grins at you lazily, whiskey-dark eyes hooded and warm. “That’s a laugh.”

His fingers dive deep into that muscle again, making you gasp and crumple against him. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve just pulled harder than intended on the lengthy strands of fur at his chin. Then his hand is coasting up the valley of your spine — claws dancing and teasing, leaving threads of fire and chills in their wake. The hot ribbons of desire in your abdomen suddenly feel braided themselves: twisted together and tightening, beaded with arousal.

“Just ‘cause you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” he gloats. “And I got it on good authority that you like it when I’m a little mean.” His hand sweeps up to anchor to the back of your throat: not squeezing, just resting the warm weight of his palm there, fingers collaring the sides of your neck in a way that makes a shiver run the length of your spine again. His grin widens and his eyes grow smoky and heated.

“Now get back to work, buttercup.”

initial ask | the beard | rocket smells like eidos-rocket-headcanons | main masterlist | oneshot masterlist

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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hibatasblog

1 year ago