Hibatasblog - Jolie’s Portrait Of Rocket

hibatasblog

10 months ago

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. That filthy fucking raccoon talks some seriously good game. I would die of happiness to be talked to this way.

an excerpt from Part Three Candied Apples. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑

thievery in the garden.❤︎❤︎ ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist

finally finished drafting the third (and final) part of ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ (a meetgroot), currently clocking in at 37 pages and 17,251 words of teasing, smut, and sentimental nonsense. is any of it good? who knows? but i should be done editing it and have it posted sometime next month (you can check the monthly forecast on july 1 and i should have a semi-concrete posting date by then). in the meantime, to whet your appetite...

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

An Excerpt From Part Three Candied Apples. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑

“All right, sweetheart,” he croons, his mouth still just a breath from your jaw, from the soft needy flesh of your throat. You feel yourself sway toward him, but he shifts at the same time you do: pulling back, keeping himself just a whisper out of your reach. “Go on. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about, so I know what you like when I put my hands all over you.”

“I — I think about a lot of different things,” you manage to choke out. Your eyes flicker: catching him in your periphery, then casting back out over the city and the sparkling of its lights. You can see your rooftop community garden from here, and the ropes of plasma orbs draped like glittering diamond necklaces over the rows of growing things. You concentrate on it. Your breath feels shallow and thin, lungs straining with the weight of your need. “Sometimes I — sometimes I think about you being rough with me.” Maybe you shouldn’t say that. Maybe you should ask for gentle, for light touches and sweet words, for something romantic and soft. You do like romantic and soft, sometimes. But right now you’re so desperate — for touch, for his touch — right now you’re so greedy and needy and wanting — that any softer fantasies turn instead into bruising hands and welts left by claws, and thrusts so hard that your teeth click together in your dreams.

Admitting it aloud, though? You’re not sure you’ve ever been so humiliated in your life. Your eyes flutter closed in a wince, and your thighs clench under your ruffled skirt.

“Oh, yeah?” The drawl of his voice is low and entertained. He tsks. “Just like I thought — gettin’ yourself into trouble here, and too shy to do anything about it. You’re gonna have to be more specifical than that, princess.”

You bite your lip and hazard a sideways glance at him. “What — how—”

“What’s it like when you think about me—” His voice drops, turning predatory. “—being all rough with you?”

“I — I don’t know.” Your breath feels even more tattered and frayed. “You seem — strong. I think you could maybe — throw me around if you wanted to?” God. You press your fingertips back into your cheeks, giving up the charade of pretending to being anything but mortified. “I guess — I’m not really sure how that would work since I’m so much bigger than you?”

He tilts his face in closer to you — a whisper of his fur against the back of your fingers. “Oh, I think I can figure it out.” Each word is bitten around a sharp-toothed smile. “So tell me more, shy girl. In these damp little daydreams of yours, do I got you on all fours?”

You hiccuping a gasp, knees suddenly wobbling at the image that flashes to the forefront of your mind. “Uhm, sometimes,” you whisper. “Other times, uhm — on my back? With, uhm, my knees folded up against my chest?”

He makes a sound in your ear — a sort of low, rumbling clicking noise. The edges of his fur vibrate against you. “Uh-huh. That sounds nice to me, angel. A real nice little thing you’re just aching to give me.”

You swallow.

“Anything else, when I take you rough?” It’s a purr, you realize — a true purr. You hadn’t known a purr could sound so dangerous. “You like getting your ass slapped, angel?” The endearment sounds like a taunt, now.

You lick your lips. “I — I’ve never tried it before, but…” You trail off, everything in you furling so tight you can’t get the words out.

“But you think about it,” he finishes with a grin — so smug, so self-satisfied and sharp that you can feel it cramping your abdomen. Your eyes are wide on him when you nod, before they swerve away — trying to retain some last scrap of self-preservation.

Still, you can hear him chuckle — can feel it, teasing against the skin that’s crying out for him.

“You open to us trying a little bit of that, then?” he rumbles against you, tilting his head and dipping his nose deeper into the space between your neck and your shoulder — like he wants to nuzzle in, but won’t. He’s taunting you — maybe taunting himself too — and he’s close enough that you can pick up on the scent of him: something like juniper, and something like blackberries. Leather — probably from his uniform — and something sharp and smoky. You breathe it in greedily — take it into your lungs like you’d plant a garden of it if you could.

“M’not interested in smacking your face around,” the Captain adds, “but I’d slap just about any other part of you if you let me.” He pulls back, and from the corner of your eye, you can see his tongue run over his teeth — like he’s imagining tasting the warmth of your skin after it’s been struck a few times. “I’d frickin’ love to see you bounce, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters out of your lungs in a shaky stumble that you try to crush back. Your fingers clutch rigidly at the edge of the wall. “I’d be okay with that,” you manage to squeak out, trying to reign in the thump of your heart on your breastbone.

His hand snaps out, black skin on black shadows, and he grips the line of your chin and turns your face abruptly toward him. It’s sudden, and maybe a little scary — your heart and belly both tumble inside you and you choke on a gasp — but it’s also the first time he’s really touched you beyond his knuckles teasing under your sundress-strap, and the featherlight bracelet of his fingers on your wrist. You immediately melt into his grasp. Everything inside you leans into him, until you dazedly think that he’s holding you up, just by his fingertips kissing your face. He startles at the way you sink into his demanding grasp — then lets another pitying smirk curl the corner of his mouth.

“Needy little Terran pet,” he muses, stroking his thumb just once, back and forth along your jaw. You struggle to hold back the little whimper wisping up over your ribs, and you think at first that you’re successful — but he must see your throat working, because he laughs again: softly, this time, but meanly.

“Gotta say though, angel, I’m not interested in what you’re okay with.”

For the first time, his voice drops from a quiet, mocking sort of laughter and into something closer to a growl. It sounds dangerous, but your body doesn’t seem to realize that — or maybe it doesn’t care. Your skin prickles deliciously: every muscle straining for him, every cell lighting up and begging.

“M’only interested in what’s gonna make you wet. And what’s gonna make you whine for more.”

Your mouth pools with saliva and you have to swallow. “W-what about you?” you whisper, and your voice is as shivery as new leaves in a manufactured Knowhere breeze, trembling on the play of shadow and soft glow, filtering over the rooftops and glimmering between the branches of Groot’s trees. “What did — what do you think about? What do you like?”

The threat in his voice drops away, but you’d be a fool to think for a moment that he isn’t still a predator in his own right. The smirk grows wider: unrepentant and leering.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he purrs. “I like to run my frickin’ mouth.”

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 touch-deprived reader tries to avoid meeting knowhere’s intimidating captain. is profoundly unsuccessful.

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.

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist new! flower dividers & banners by @/saradika-graphics

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hibatasblog

1 year ago

Happy New Year @nerdy-and-dedicated! You’ve been such a delightful friend! Thanks for making 2023 even better.

Everyone have a lovely day! roquill was my 2023 year. My heart is better for it!

Tiny note. This was slightly inspired by the ride BREAKOUT in Disneyland. Rocket getting back his baby-boo’s headset from the collector. Sweet boy!

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hibatasblog

3 weeks ago

Read this scorchingly hot, incredibly tender and beautiful chapter everyone. This author is the absolute best!

cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter twenty-nine. amoransia. [NEW 4/16] ❤︎‬❤︎‬

nebula gives rocket advice. pearl picks up where she left off.

It’s so strange and unexpected — that as many friends as pearl seems to pick up, she still hasn’t turned away from him yet. She still comes to their shared bed in the captain’s quarters at night, and purrs for him when he pets her, and cuddles on him and squeezes him tight while she’s sleeping. She still insists on wearing his old band shirts, stretched tight across her stiff little nipples — doing nothing to hide the bounce of her tits, and the sweet curved underside of them that he can see when she stands above him. She still lets him cover her in his scent, like she doesn’t care if the whole frickin’ galaxy knows she belongs to him.

Not that he’s fucked her since Knowhere. Since before Knowhere, actually. If a person didn’t count his absolutely mangled handling of her sweetly-offered blowjob, then he hasn’t fucked her in nearly a cycle at this point. It’s probably some kind of crime, to be honest: having pearl all snuggly and warm and willing in his bed, and to not gently coax her into parting her thighs for his apologetic tongue. The worst part is, he knows it’s got her worried. He’s tried to reassure her: keeping her squeezed nice and tight against him, caring for all her bruises and cuts — holding her hand till she falls asleep, just like before. It’s just that there’s this twist in his belly when he thinks about her, all soft-mouthed and licking at his dick — then the way he’d treated her after. The things he’d said. The memory of the half-lemniscate scar on her ass. His own ragged ugliness, brutal and blaring next to the soft silk of her body and her warm generosity. Plus, the fact that the f’saki has taken up a semi-permanent residency on the bed doesn’t help much.

read more on ao3 | cicatrix masterlist & notes see warnings and art below. little bit of sentimentality & worldbuilding, and then a lotta bit of smut.

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.

WARNINGS for this chapter: d/s dynamics, safeword discussion, blindfold, subspace, fellatio, come-eating, edging, overstim. praise. mild degradation (use of slut/whore, affectionate). dirty talk. brief mention of pussy-spanking, face-fucking. aftercare. little bit of relationship anxiety/post-abuse concerns from pearl.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬ masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics | pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto | moodboard by me!

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hibatasblog

10 months ago

How else is Rocket gonna build his fuck-you disks if he can’t keep his poor dick warm?

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter sixteen. craxis. [new 7/12] ❤︎❤︎

PLEASE check out this art from chapter one. nemotia. by @frostedwitch ♡♡ it's so gorgeous i could die. i have died, actually. i am typing from beyond the grave

pearl considers the problem of sovereign. see below for warnings & notes.

“Don’t gotta fuck just because you missed me,” he reminds her, though he sounds almost reluctant to admit it. “Shouldn’ta made you sleep alone these past few rotations, but I — uh—“ his voice breaks off and he looks away, using his empty hand to rub the back of his neck. “Just wanted to get to Sovereign quick,” he decides to say at last, though his eyes flicker like he’s hiding a different thought, and again, she could almost think he’s blushing. It doesn’t look like a happy or excited blush, though. Embarrassed, pearl would guess. Or sad. “No,” she protests quickly, her hand darting back out to his fur. “I missed you, and I want to. Please, Rocket?” He turns his eyes back to her, and they’re suddenly liquid-dark, pupils blown out into the sunset-red. “You want my dick or my tongue, sweetheart?” It’s a lazy drawl. “M’not gonna make you beg again right now, but you’re gonna have to at least say it.”

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

there is more to this chapter than just smut, i swear it. (but mostly it's just smut.)

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.

WARNINGS for this chapter: smutty-smut while rocket wears his cute lil goggles. cockwarming. a light foray into subspace. dirty-talk. praise. mentions of gagging and one light spank. dirty-talk. use of “slut”/”whore” (affectionate). aftercare. so much dirty-talk.

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

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

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hibatasblog

7 years ago

Amen and preach on.

I say this every time I argue for raising the minimum wage. I never hear anyone else say it and I’m glad I found this.

If you build your business and your bonus on the backs of others who you don’t pay a living wage you don’t deserve to be in business.

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hibatasblog

1 month ago

Mon beau chaoui, Rocket Raccoon, Rocket Kivashi, the Future Mr. Rocket Kivashi-Quill being the absolute thirstiest mother fucker over his gal Petra Jane Quill.