Bro I Cried Every Time The High Evolutionary Grabbed Rocket’s Little Head😭😭😭😭😭 Like!!!

If regret were a fine wine, that’s what this chapter tastes like. Or a sinful treat.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ chapter three. rasque. [new 3/7] ❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 2/25 | wip | word count: pending.

a daring escape.

“Put your feet like this, pearl,” he grunts at her, showing her how to notch the soft soles of her humie feet into the metal rails framing each pane in the pyramid. “Lean against the glass — it won’t break. This frickin’ stuff is made to hold up on re-entry.” She blinks at him over her shoulder. “The Arete is a ship?” Smart girl. “Focus on your feet,” he orders instead, grimacing. He hovers his hand over the curve of her hip, and hopes that they both get lucky and neither of them get struck by lightning. To her credit, the girl gets halfway to the vertical strut he’s gonna need her to climb down before she wobbles. His hand rises to her flank immediately, pressing her against the glass. Without thinking, he strokes his hand down over the curve of her hip in a way he means to be comforting — as if he could possibly be of any comfort to her at all — but she doesn’t seem perturbed by the gesture. There’s a slight uptick in her heartbeat — a soft little drumbeat beneath the rain — but it evens out quickly. Unlike his, which is picking up speed with every new raindrop that lands on her stupid frickin’ dress. The pale silk of it is already silvering into translucence under the onslaught of the storm, and he realizes — with a stifled groan buried under the low thunder and the sound of the rain hammering the glass — that by the time the two of them get to the stolen runabout he has stowed at the shoreline, she’ll be as good as naked. Worse, really — all wrapped up like the cutest little piece of candy, pink and peach peeking through the transparent layers and clinging wet veils.

read chapter three. rasque. on ao3 :･꧂

WARNINGS: references to the last chapter’s violence. big regrets. sexual fantasies. cutting (to remove a tracking device). some aftercare.

rated with one heart mostly for rocket's filthy mind (rather than anything actually happening). aftercare will resume in the next chapter, which will probably be in about 1.5-2.5 weeks. i hope you joy my lovelies.

꧁･:☁︎⋆.masterlist, notes, & moodboard.⋆☁︎ :･꧂

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

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

Lovely great fun. An amazing piece of escapism and wish fulfillment.

The Very Boring Adventures of

Space Pilot & Sweatshirt Girl ✩°｡⋆

Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩ Installment One (excerpt & rating key behind the cut)

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 5/5 visits | complete | 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

reader x rocket domestic fluff & smut with feelings. comics-based but you don't need any comics background knowledge to ride this ride. excerpt below the cut.

Chapter One (The First Visit). rocket evades SHIELD by hiding in your purse. ✩ Chapter Two (The Second Visit). you and rocket eat omelettes in your underwear. ✩ Chapter Three (The Third Visit). rocket finds you naked & takes care of your cat. ✩ Chapter Four (The Fourth Visit). rocket teaches you about his tail. ❤︎‬❤︎ Chapter Five (The Fifth Visit). rocket stops by for a visit. ❤︎‬❤︎

WARNINGS: feelings & domestica. smut commences in the fourth visit. dirty talk, praise, use of "slut"/"whore" (affectionate), a little bit of oral.

✩ Domestic Scenes in Space Travel Masterlist ✩ Fuckin adorable sweatshirt girl art by @blueberrysquire ✩ forward one installment

That’s when you hear the screech from the hallway.

“Oh! Call Animal Control! Oh! It has rabies!”

“It is even still alive?”

“I heard it growl!”

Later, you won’t be able to say how you know.  There have been countless chaotic squirrels in the building before, and the occasional massive rat off the streets, though you suspect they all have much better reasons to be afraid of humans than vice versa. 

But you do know. Maybe it’s Mr Hobbes’ weird behavior or maybe it’s something more cosmic than that, but you know, and you grab your key off the hook and step into the corridor, still in just your bikini-briefs and a sweatshirt that almost goes to your knees.

Your gaze finds him unerringly: passed out, possibly injured, wedged in the doorway at the top of the stairwell with the heavy fire-door propped open on his ribs. 

“Uhhh,” you interrupt, pushing past your neighbors. “Sorry. Sorry. He’s my - “ you pause, thoughts colliding with each other “ - my friend.”

“Your friend?” says Josh From Down the Hall. He’s been bugging you to go out to dinner and drinks for months. “What is he, some kind of miniature furry?”

You roll your eyes and pull open the door, propping it with a hip while you try to hoist Rocket into your arms. Unfortunately, he weighs even more now - probably due to the heavy artillery on his back and at his hips, all of which makes him very awkward to carry. Geezus, one of these guns alone has to be at least as much as his body weight.  “He’s not a - “

“He must be your new cat,” says Brenda From Next Door, her voice a little doubtful. Brenda is harmless enough, though she can be annoying. “I hear millennials like to talk about their pets like they’re actual people.”

There’s way too much to unpack there and fuck. He weighs a ton. Your arms are shaking as you stagger past them. “He’s not - “

“He’s not a cat, Brenda,” Josh says rudely. “Didn’t you hear her? He’s her shrimpy, perverted boyfriend. Wasted in the friggin’ stairwell.”

You sigh. “Josh, this is why no-one wants to date you.” 

“You fuckin’ bitch - “

“Brenda, can you help me with the door?”

The older woman rushes to turn your doorknob and pushes it open for you, while also trying to stay as far away as she can from the Space Pilot in your arms. 

“Did something happen to Mr Hobbes then, dear? Is that why you got a new cat?”

Geezus. No wonder Rocket had been so exhausted of hearing people’s bullshit last time. It’s been five minutes and you’d cheerfully throttle both your neighbors. And you like to think you like people.

“Nope. He’s still alive and kickin’. Thanks, Brenda.”

You lean against the door when it closes behind you, shuffling the weight in your arms so you can slide the deadbolt and chain lock. By the time you get Rocket to the bedroom, you’re panting. Maybe the loveseat would have been the closer, better option, but you’re pretty scared you’re going to need to be able to access him from all sides. 

You rest him on the bed. Mr Hobbes is pacing in the doorway while you wipe the sweat from your brow and then tie up your hair with the elastic around your wrist. The cat meows pitifully.

“He’s gonna be okay, Hobbsie,” you mumble, looking down at your prodigal houseguest. He’s wearing some sort of jumpsuit with blood splashing up one side, but it’s hard to discern much thanks to the plethora of firearms he’s sporting. Carefully, you pick over the range of buckles and snaps and magnets holding his holsters in place. Some just look like grips, but have the weight of something much larger. You don’t know the first thing about guns, really, but you have a feeling that most of Rocket's don’t exactly have a safety.

Cautiously, you undo what you can, lifting each weapon with slow deliberation, keeping every barrel pointed away from you, from your wounded guest, and from Mr Hobbes. Probably these things can blow through sheetrock even better than regular bullets, so you lay them on the floor by the exterior wall, lined up neatly with the barrels pointed toward the brick.  

Then you’re unstrapping the harnesses, holsters, and straps of his jumpsuit. It’s been burnt in some places, torn and bloodied.

“Sorry, Space Pilot,” you say under your breath. “When you wake up, just remember that it’s not the first time I’ve seen you in your underwear.” 

read more on ao3 ✩°｡⋆

some explicit statements or references ✩ explicit scenes or fantasy sequences ❤︎‬ long, detailed, and graphic explicit content ❤︎‬❤︎‬ deliberately smut-free, mostly or entirely platonic ✮

Definitely use more gun, Rocket.

Rocket: Hey look buddy, I'm an engineer. That means I solve problems, not problems like "What is beauty?" Because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy. I solve practical problems, for instance: "how am I going to stop some big mean mother flarker from tearing me a structurally superfluous new asshole?" The answer? ...Use a gun, and if that doesn't work...

Rocket: Use more gun.

After getting over the initial shock and heartbreak of this tweet and this reply, it hit me that (and I don't know if this is a cultural thing here in the middle east or an Islamic one)

A child has to be named even if they're stillborn.

For a child to not be named, that means there's no one left to name them. They were killed along with their entire family.

I hoped I was wrong, but I checked the list of victims of Israeli attacks and found this:

Israel has ended 47 Palestinian bloodlines over the course of this genocide (or perhaps more), so you might think that this little detail isn't that important, but I don't think we should get used to cruelty of this proportion, no matter how consistently Israel commits it.

The number of victims isn't just a number. These are people with full lives and hopes and dreams.

It's enough of a disaster that these families were wiped out, but in murdering them, Israel didn't just deprive them of their lives, hopes, and dreams. It deprived them of even the dignity to name their children.

It continues to deprive the remaining Palestinians of their most basic human rights.

What did the Palestinians do to not deserve food or water or electricity?

What did their *newborns* do to not deserve lives or at the very least names?!

This is the most harrowing form of terrorism I can think of. The genocidal Israeli occupation is the most despicable terrorist organization the world has had the displeasure of knowing.

The whole world should be deeply ashamed that it's not only allowing such heinous war crimes to be committed, but in a lot of ways, it's enabling them.

I don't know how anyone can be neutral about this.

Stand with Palestine, stand against the occupation. Against genocide.

ربنا يتقبل الأطفال دول و أمهاتهم و عائلاتهم اللي الاحتلال قتلهم معاهم شهداء، و ينتقم من إسرائيل و أي حد بيمكّنهم أشد انتقام في الدنيا قبل الآخرة.

This take is 100% correct. So is this one…

Rocket: Damn, that cutie could do some serious damage… I’d love to manhandle that piece into battle. Boom. Bam. Murdered you, sweetheart.

Drax: Are you talking about your new ion cannon, Rocket?

Rocket: WTF? No, get your mind outta the gutter, you perv. I’m talking about Petra* and Jack’s new slutty selfies on instagram wearing only their matching thongs. Those asses are legit threats to my equilibrium.

*my version of Peter Quill and Blackjack O’Hare who are in a loving yet deeply horny throuple together.

I 100% believe that Rocket would look at gun and dirty magazines with the same level of excitement.

Me and Rocket having all the things in common.

Cuteness

I was configured my new laptop and it will take some time to get to used to all now. But that performance and the color rendering on the screen just awesome!

Absolutely his look.

Rocket Raccoon in this and his dad glasses