Here’s A Sneak Peek At Entanglement Chapter 15. 🚀 🦝

When a girl is stressed and overwrought, there’s nothing to be done but grind down good and hard on that raccoon dick. 🚀 🦝 🍆

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter fourteen. ghough. [new 6/21] ❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 14/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter fourteen. ghough. see pearl's character design here. see pearl & rocket's bunk here.

pearl teaches rocket and groot about abilisks. rocket helps her relieve some stress. see below for warnings & notes.

He thinks of her in that moment under the flight controls, when she’d looked at him with the pinkest frickin’ cheeks he’d ever seen. You’d have to make it worth my time, sweetheart, he’d leered at her, and she’d looked up at him with those big earnest eyes.  I would try. He hoods his gaze immediately. His mind is moving lightyears at a time, skipping through jump-points faster than a Nova starblaster, and his half-lowered lids hide as many of his thoughts as he can catch. He’d meant to tell her, hadn’t he? That he could be nice to her, help her — uh, broaden her horizons or whatever. Keep her warm on Fron, so to speak, just as long as she was interested. He’d damn-near ruined it yesterday — cutting her up with his words after she’d given him such a pretty show — but she’d taken him back into their little curtained bunk and then carved her tenderness into his muscles with her hands, keeping guard over him while he’d slept. And she looks — willing, now, anyway. Wanting. Despite the jackass he is. It won’t last — it can’t — but it’s all the more reason to not waste time, to taste as much of her as he can while she’s still interested. I ain’t gonna fuck you, pearl.  He tsks without meaning to, more at himself than anything else, but she responds by curling in on herself — shoulders suddenly hunching, fingers releasing his sleeve. “S-sorry,” she starts. “I—“ “I could help you,” he interrupts, taking a step back so he can lean against the workbench-bunk behind him. It sways on its straps but he just pushes it against the wall of the hold, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing her lazily. “All that stress.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth with mock regret. “It’s my fault anyway, isn’t it? Should probably take responsibility for being such a dickhead.” Her moonsilver eyes are big and baffled. “I — what?” He tests his canine with his tongue, then manages a grin that he’s sure looks more casual than he’s feeling. Inside, his heart turns over and then sprints, thumping and pulsing against his metal sternum like it’s trying to climb right out of his chest and reach for her. “Orgasms, sweetheart. They’re good for you when you’re all tense like this.” He lets his grin grow a little sharper. “Could help you relax and get back to sleep.”

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

i like this chapter. that is all. i really wanted to post a chapter every friday this summer but that seems unlikely to be in the cards with all of the time i've needed to spend travelling and supporting the fam. plus, i am trying to really focus in on ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall and ･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie to get them done this summer. so i may have to move to an every-other-week set-up in july/august. for those of you sticking with me, know i'm eternally grateful because this thing is gonna be obscenely long.

WARNINGS for this chapter: talk of genocide and wyndham’s other experiments. grinding, dirty talk, praise. mentions of gagging (with panties). slight degradation/use of the terms “slut”/“whore” (affectionate).

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. 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.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬

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

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! ♡

happy hanukkah!!!!

Yeeeesssssss! Rocket and any sweetie of his is going to play good cop bad cop!

Peter- I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.

Rocket - it’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Y/n isn’t.

Hahaha, little does the author know that I read all of these already… last weekend! Seriously, these stories are steamy and will leave you breathless. So much hotness is in store.

°˖✧♡ kinktober 2023 ♡✧˖°

masterlist

18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | 12 complete days | word count: varies.

just a lot of raccoon smut (usually with feelings). mind the ao3 tags.

minimal editing (ie, typos abound; concepts are superficial; in kinktober we say "fuck everything - including plot"). based on @flightlessangelwings Kinktober 2023 prompt list.

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

read Day 8: Turbulence ♡ cockwarming word count: 1,229 rocket needs you to hold. flarkin. still.

read Day 9: Practice ♡ hunter/prey word count: 987 rocket requests your assistance in brushing up on some of his old résumé skills.

read Day 11: Nod for Yes ♡ blindfold word count: 1,261 rocket saves you.

read Day 12: Heavy Artillery ♡ gunplay word count: 3,796 rocket sets you up with terran internet access on knowhere.

read Day 13: Proof ♡ recording rocket wants something to remember you by while he’s away. (overlaps with ⋆｡°✩ Domestic Scenes in Space Travel ✩°｡⋆)

read Day 14: Soft ♡ nipple/tit play word count: 4,280 rocket just wants something soft.

read Day 15: Sunshine ♡ against a wall word count: 5,489 you take a stranger home. (overlaps with upcoming fic, sunshine ☀︎ ⋆⁺☁︎⋆₊⊹)

read Day 17: Triptych ♡ praise word count: 5,514 rocket’s girlfriend is a virgin in three different universes.

read Days 18 & 19: Good Dreams ♡ dacryphilia & somnophilia word count: 3,256 rocket stays up late to finish some work.

read Day 20: Tech ♡ sex toys word count: 1,326 rocket made you something.

read Day 24: Giftwrap ♡ lingerie word count: 6,484 semi-shy, ultrafeminine reader goes shopping with friends; picks out something nice for rocket. (overlaps with upcoming fic, ⋆˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⋆)

read Day 31: 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. WARNING for one-sided hate-sex; dubcon probably? references to non-sexual child abuse and grooming of reader, emotional abuse, gaslighting, vague references to suicidal ideations and planning, thoughts of death. please mind all the ao3 tags/warnings/notes.

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

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

Credit: Ashley McMinn

Stop crying, I trying to help ya’ !!

This art is so amazing. I’m so in awe of it.

Entanglement

Story by @hibatasblog all the way to chapter 12. one was done by the fabulous @crimsonkingart! With the others done by myself. I’m not a fan of my most recent addiction, but can’t wait to do others. I love this story so freakin much. All the creativity!! Ahh! It sends me!

A while ago we had a floor leak and it destroy from stuff before we could really notice. A lot of these being one of them. But makes these extra special to me.

Also hyperventilating… in French.

Themed nights at Sister Margaret's.