This Is Adorable.

So freakin’ sweet!

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day seven home ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 661.

Home had been a shining city on the far horizon for most of Rocket’s formative years: distant and gleaming under an impossible blossom-blue dome. Unreachable. Untouchable. He’d left any hope of it behind, a dozen cannon-shots or more before he’d ever even stepped foot off the Arête. No. Rocket had gone straight from the cages and right into his escape pod, out into a sky that had suddenly seemed much less beautiful and much more forever. 

And so home had always been a far-away thing, a thing he could never go back to, a thing that — like love, like peace, like a restful night’s sleep or body that didn’t hurt — Rocket could simply never have. A thing that hadn’t been meant for him. Like the screws slowly grinding away at his bones or the muscle contractures he’s always fighting in his hips and chest, home had just become another old ache that he’d grown to barely notice, except when he’s on a planet where the weather is bad. 

And then, one shift — when it was just you and him — he’d been trying to work the knots out of his shoulders. You’d reached out with dancing fingers and a query on your lips — a gentle little sound of offering — and he’d gone as still as a moon pinned between two gravity wells. Your fingers had felt light as little birds, perched on his shoulders weightlessly, and you’d guided them into a rolling series of rotations. Then you’d tugged him between your knees, and kneaded every small stone you’d found lodged under his skin and fur. 

When he’d finally gone as molten and buttery as a beeswax candle on a warm day, you’d murmured another little question. He’d blinked at you blankly — completely disconnected from anything but the feel of his body, pliant for the first time in possibly his entire life — so you’d pulled him onto your lap and continued your little ministry of touch until he’d fully curled up, his tail a wreath of feathery brushes around you both. His back had pressed itself into your hands as you’d worked your thumbs into the base of his spine: freeing the tension from his hips, beckoning it out of muscle and bone, letting it dissipate into the air between your fingertips. Your hands had been so warm that even all the metal plates and bolts deep inside had suddenly felt like a part of him — had suddenly matched his own body temperature — every piece slotting together inside him with a rightness he’d never known before. The air in his lungs had turned into little pearls and gemstones, spilling up into his throat like jeweled gravel. He’d made a noise — some kind of rumble — and it had startled him until your hands had soothed over him again and you’d whispered something that had sounded like you’re just purring. 

He’d never say any of this in front of the others, never let them know about this: about how soft he is for this, for the warm quiet circle of space in your arms and on your thighs. He’d never climb into your lap like this if they could see it; never make a nest out of your body-heat and burrow into the loose thick folds of your sweatshirt. He  only does it on the shifts when everyone else is asleep, or planetside, or away. 

It’s not that he’s ashamed. It’s just — this is something special and precious and small, and if he looks at it too closely or acknowledges it exists, he may never have it back. But for now — for these moments that he can only measure in the soft wash of his breath or the thrum of his pulse in his wrists, the steady sound of your heartbeat holding him together like gravity — for now, it’s touchable, and attainable, and real — 

Moreso than any shining city on the far horizon, glimmering against the sweep of a blossom-blue ocean and a forever sky.

i did it! i brought my wordcount down! this was just a fun little exercise in writing whatever weird shit came to my mind so sorry if it makes no sense but i figured i'd indulge my inclination toward purple prose (get rekt literary critics). anyway this was fun and i am very much in favor of many future rocket raccoon prompts & prompt weeks, and thank you for creating this and bringing it to my attention, @frostedwitch ♡♡♡

i will be putting out a masterlist for this set of prompts sometime next week probably. i really hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed writing! ♡

day six. bite ✷ rocket raccoon prompt week list

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

An amazing man. His wife too.

Chiune Sugihara. This man saved 6000 Jews. He was a Japanese diplomat in Lithuania. When the Nazis began rounding up Jews, Sugihara risked his life to start issuing unlawful travel visas to Jews. He hand-wrote them 18 hrs a day. The day his consulate closed and he had to evacuate, witnesses claim he was STILL writing visas and throwing from the train as he pulled away. He saved 6000 lives. The world didn’t know what he’d done until Israel honored him in 1985, the year before he died.

So fuckin’ hyped for this.

nemotia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ preview [est feb 29] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 1/?? | wip | word count: pending.

She sits with them and presses the heels of her hands deeper into her eyes, and she tries to imagine the scent of the flowers, the feel of the grass between her fingers and toes. She traces the letters and the tops of the stones, smooth and sharp-edged.  And then, on the back of one bare shoulder, she feels that burn again: hot, scalding. Before she can even look around, the escaped wisps of curls at the nape of her neck suddenly shift. Her head snaps up and she whirls on one hip, nearly falling off the edge of the bed. “Who’s there?” Maybe no-one, she reasons — but if that’s the case, there’s also no-one to mock her for her fear. She knows she looks afraid: eyes big in her face, lips parted. She should hide it. She should. Instead, she holds her breath, and waits, but only the thunder answers in the dark. Then the light shifts on the floor, and she realizes the rain sounds different. She tears her eyes from the dark corners. The window is open. How? She’d traced every edge, looking for a crack or crevice, a lock, a lever — but now it’s open, swinging lightly on its hinges. Fear unfurls in her chest, and it’s so warm that she presses her icy fingers to her sternum automatically. “Who’s there?” she repeats, and her voice trembles. Thunder again, rumbling — but this time, when it fades, another sound remains behind: a chuckle, dark and low. Dark and low, and very, very close. Her head snaps toward the sound, and she catches the flash of something out of the corner of her eye. “Were you watching me earlier?” she asks, and that fear licks out from her sternum to the edges of her ribs, down to her shoulders and hips. “You shouldn’t be here. It isn’t—” It isn’t safe, she had been about to say — but then something grazes between her shoulderblades, like a paintbrush on her skin. Her head whips to follow it and she twists, eyes wide, lungs desperately trying to haul in air like stones up a mountainside. “You can’t — don’t touch me. It’s—” Dangerous. Another flick of the terrifyingly-soft thing again, on the back of her hand this time.  Something is moving around her in the dark. Something is stalking her. What to do? The door is locked. The closet is an open mouth of blackness in one wall, but she can’t barricade a sliding door. The open window had been a nice fantasy and she’s not ruling it out, but her curiosity is at war with her fear and she wants, more than anything, to make sure this creature or person gets out.  She knots her fist in the draping silk, gaze sifting through the shadows. Another flash of something her eyes can’t follow. She rises slowly to her feet, and reaches for the candle, and lifts it high. For a moment, there’s nothing. And then, in the dark shadows at the corner of the room, two perfect points of brilliant red gleam in the darkness: flat glowing coins, clouded with crimson. Twin blood-moons. Eyes.

chapter one [est 2/29] ✩

꧁･:☁︎ ⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂

wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth in time to prepare for her wedding. an unexpected guest arrives. warnings: discussion of non-sexual child abuse and grooming. brief mentions of suicidal ideations. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs. 

enemies-to-lovers (as per frickin’ usual, only one of these idiots think they’re enemies, and tbh the enemy part is pretty short-lived.) while the beginning of this fic is dark (please check warnings for each chapter), we always get happy endings here. most chapters will contain super-smutty commentary at the very least. this fic is a longform expansion on wyndham; or, the galactic prometheus (day 31) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023.

much like Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ , this fic is pure wish-fulfillment. i'd like a sexy space raccoon to rail me and then let me be stupid-sweet to him.

WARNING for dubcon/hate-sex (at the beginning), mentions of childhood grooming & abuse (no CSA), and brief suicidal ideations. please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter.

if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

some explicit statements or references ✩ abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

The art is so lovely and the story is super hot!

"Um, what do ya suggest then? Mister expert?"

"What you do best…" Peter leaned down, and Rocket caught the light shining off the curls. Mentally he took back all the bald jokes he ever made. There were even strikes of amber mixed with the blonde. "Test things out… see for yourself… if you can use me as a cure."

Rocket took a deep breath. Was it getting hot here in the hangar or what? "All right. It was funny. I get it. Now knock it off." Rocket tried to back away, played it all as a joke. Even if his dick had different ideas. At this point the thing has laser focus.

"I ain't yer type at all."

Peter's first instinct was to creak a joke but something in Rocket's face told him now wasn't the time. Firming his nerves, Peter reached out and took Rocket's hand in his. Allowing a second for Rocket to reject him or not, pain having been his teacher, Peter rubbed his thumb over Rocket's knuckles. The contrast of size was considerable.

"Says who?"

A collab with the wonderful @bbasmos for the lovely @nerdy-and-dedicated!

-sorry for the delay. I still recovering from a slumping depression.

The Great Reading...

It was Rocket Strange who greeted Rocket the Grey at the Doors.

"You're late!" the orange-robed, cyan-cloaked son of the Sorcerer Supreme snarked.

Clad in his grey hat and robes, Rocket the Grey took a puff from his pipe then cheekily replied, "A Wizard is never late, Mr. Strange. He arrives precisely when he means to!"

For a moment, the two looked at each other--and then, a little teary-eyed, they embraced! "Err... am I late? They haven't started the Reading, yet, have they?" the Grey Raccoon asked, worriedly.

"Oh, nah," Rocket Strange answered, nuzzling the apprentice of Mithrandir, "but you're the last to come here. So many made it tonight, come on!"

With that, the two opened the Doors and stepped into a titanic Colosseum that was full of... Rockets! Thousands upon thousands of Rockets from all walks of life, albeit they were mostly kind and good; those who were too cruel or were slavering beasts from the darkest of worlds weren't allowed here.

Thousands of Rockets, many accompanied by a Lylla or their Humies, but also many without. Jedi Rockets; Wizard Rockets; a Maori Chief Rocket and his Uplifted Racccoon Tribe; Purely organic or machine Rockets and all in between; a Rocket and Lylla who were ghosts united, a Rocket and Lylla whom were living stars; Time Lord Rocket and Time Lady Lylla; Rocket Knight and with him Kitt, the TransAm in a Berth at his side; Honourable Pirate Lord Rocket, and with him Pirate Queen Lylla; Egyptian Pharoah Amun-Ro-Khet I, his Queen Lylla, and his Terran Attendants; Rocket Raccoon but with him a Peter Quill who was also a raccoon; Native American Shaman Rocket the Medicine Raccoon with his Uplifted Raccoon Village... and on, and on, and on...

High above, upon a throne of metal - clad in orange armour and helm to contain the mighty Power Cosmic - Great Procyon ROCKETUS the Life-Bringer, the Creator of Worlds, banged his Staff upon the stone floor. "CALLING FOR SILENCE!' he boomed. "SILENCE, PLEASE!" When the noise of the great Colosseum hushed, Great Procyon Rocketus continued, softer, "Tonight's Reading is about to Commence, and it concerns one Terran Human we all know by the pseudonym... Raccoon Falls Harder..."

Almost immediately, utterly joyous cheering was heard as the Rocket Collective clapped, stomped their feet, whooped and howled and raccoon-called with sheer joy! The Great Raccoon smiled, let it all continue for a moment--but then, he cracked his Staff upon the ground again, "Silence, silence please!" he commanded, and all complied. "This beloved Terran has written a new work." Reaching for a beautiful, illuminated manuscript scroll, the Great Procyon unrolled it. "It is titled simply, 'Machinery'. Let the Reading now Commence!"

The Colosseum quieted, and - drawing gently upon the Power Cosmic - Great Procyon Rocketus used it to create the eerie, disquieting sound of a mechanical heart, Ka-chunk-hnk. Ka-chunk-hnk. With this as ambience, he started to read aloud from the scroll, his audience listening, enraptured,

"'Rocket scrubs his knuckles against the fur and flesh that have grown over his metal sternum. His ribs strain like creaky bellows, lungs splitting and bruising against the bones...'"

Oh no, not sexy cowboy sheriff Rocket! Guess I gotta run real slow past them cacti. Be a shame if I fell onto a strategically placed picnic blanket and couldn’t run any farther… Also finished writing chapter 16 of Entanglement. A few edits and it’s out there.

✨️AWOOGA✨️

All of this is 100% true. You can choose who you love and family does not trump yourself.

Credit: Ashley McMinn

Oh, my poor babies here. The exchange is so beautiful. You can tell that they are both struggling so much. Your work is amazing! Seriously, check out all the art by shelbyinubakilee!

Entanglement

Rocket hurt all over, more than that, he was angry. He’d been through so much. So, when the small human threw the parka and scooped him up he bit through the white cloth right into the hand that held him, that cradled him softly against a chest with a beating heart.

A squeak of pained surprise sounded above him. Again, there was the taste of blood in his mouth. Rocket screamed a high-pitched wail before using all of his remaining strength to bear down as hard as he could on the flesh between his teeth. Again, there was the sound of another’s pain. For a moment, the arms restraining him clenched tightly, squeezing his ribs, almost hurting, but the grip quickly stopped and loosened.

Still biting hard, Rocket decided he wouldn’t let go until he was forced to or killed. He would go down fighting. He struggled, worrying at the flesh trying to inflict as much pain as possible. “It’s ok,” the voice above his said shakily, “You’re ok, little guy.” Rocket paused mid-bite, his teeth releasing some of their pressure. -Chapter 3 by @hibatasblog.

Wow. Caffeine did not help with anxiety. But it made me laugh though!

if you liked Giftwrap...

⋆˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⋆ preview [est 2/14] (a meetgroot*)

this has been a labor of love since like. august or september. featuring semi-shy ultrafeminine angel-reader from giftwrap (kinktober 2023).

18+ only | rocket x f!reader | no use of y/n | 3? parts | wip | word count: pending.

wind·fall /ˈwin(d)ˌfôl/ noun. an apple or other fruit blown down from a tree or bush by the wind; an unexpected piece of good fortune.

semi-shy ultrafeminine touch-deprived reader tries to avoid meeting knowhere’s intimidating captain. is profoundly unsuccessful. see end for more notes.

part one anticipated 2/14

“Do you and Groot live here? In this building?” He nods, and takes another drink. “I’m on the ground floor,” he says, then winces. “Uh, Groot spends most of his time up here when he’s home. S’why it’s weird he ain’t made it back yet, actually.” He leans against the wall. “Where’s your room, angel?” Something about the timbre of his voice makes you shiver.  “The floor just below this one,” you tell him. “I saw the door to the roof open this morning, and - ” You shrug helplessly.  “You snooped,” he says, but he sounds amused, in a snickering, snarky sort of way.  “I was curious,” you admit with a little smile, and it’s more of an embarrassed agreement than a defense. He just looks even more pleased, teeth flashing at the corner of his mouth. “Bet you were.” He leans back, and you can feel his eyes on you, plucking delicately at your hair, the strap of your dusty sundress, your skin. “Think I got you pinned now, sweetheart.” You laugh softly, a little delighted despite your self-consciousness. “Pinned?” He takes another long swallow of his wine and wipes his mouth with his forearm, eyes half-lidded. “Yup. Figured you out.” “What did you figure out about me?” you ask, wide-eyed and fascinated. He’s watching you like your cat used to watch birds on the other side of the window — right down to the flick in the end of his tail, draped over the edge of the wall. “You’re curious enough to get yourself into trouble,” he tells you with mock solemnity, “and prob’ly too soft and sweet for your own good once you’re in it.” His voice rolls lower: velvet and smoke and gravel.  “And you’re so, so needy, angel.” A sly little smirk taunts the corner of his mouth.  “But too shy to do anything about it.” Your fascination has fled in favor of pure heat, pooling in your abdomen like molten sunlight, licking up between your thighs, curling over your chest and throat. You feel your panties dampen and you truly cannot remember the last time that happened.  “Have I got you about right?”

(sidenote: look the sundress is basically its whole own character in this.) please note the model is in the sketch below is like. just there for the dress. i don't think there are any descriptions of size, skin color, or hair texture in this fic.

mcu-based, post-volume-three, explicit sexual tension rising through parts one & two, smut in part three (a very ♡‧₊˚✩ Blackmail Material format with slightly more plot/slightly less smut??). possible secondhand embarrassment. happy endings only don’t worry.

based on a prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting: The apartment she moved to has a beautiful, well-tended garden. After a while she finds out that her neighbor is the one tending to the plants and she decides to help him out one day.

Gamora and her little tree.