Latest Posts by hibatasblog - Page 7

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.

#rocketraccoon #peterquill #petraquill #Entanglement

I died. Seriously, I am so pleased with this.

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day six bite ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

low-grade spice & fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | drabble | word count: 2,266.

“That’s — a big frickin’ scar you got there.”

Your eyes flare wide and you twist in your seat so fast you nearly spin off it, staring at the stranger who has just hoisted himself onto the barstool next to you. Not because you recognize the voice — you don’t yet, though you will — but just because it’s such a personal remark.

And you’re a little bit sensitive about the scar, if you’re being honest. It’s something of a souvenir.

Then recognition clicks in. Because there he is: short. Covered in fur. Velveteen ears and a dark mask, and a plush ringtail that sweeps behind him. Eyes like red stars.

Cutie.

You stare at him, breath sucked right out of your lungs. He’s got hesitation scrawled and sprawled all over his face: ears flicking down and tail lashing once, nervously. His claws clink against his massive, nearly-empty stein of Xitarish whiskey. 

You tear your eyes away and stare down at the ring of pearly ridges stitched into your arm — like maybe there were answers carved into your flesh there all along, and you’d just never noticed. Or like each toothmark is a lodestar, and together the circle of them can help get you home. 

“Isn’t it rude? To comment on a stranger’s scars?” you breathe out, trying to buy yourself time as all the pieces begin falling together. 

He blinks at you, and shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, Jemiah.” He gestures at the owner of The Boot, who just so happens to be your boss. “Next drink’s on me.”

“Sure thing, Rocket,” Jemiah says warmly — far more warmly than you’ve ever heard from him before. 

You feel your eyes flare wide. “You’re Rocket?” you manage to utter, eyes scrolling up and down him again. “One of the people who bought this damn skull? The pilot — the Guardian of the Galaxy or whatever?”

Somehow he looks even more uncomfortable. “Guardians of the Galaxy. Plural. We’re — a team.”

You exhale slowly — measuredly — and try to loosen all the small feathers of confusion crowding up your head, downy-soft. And as you let go of all those wisps, adrenaline rushes in to take their place: the intoxication of suddenly seeing him. Meeting him — for real this time. Having a name to put with the memory. 

Your smile blows wide. You can’t help yourself. 

“The cutie has a team,” you murmur under your breath, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks when his eyes sharpen on you. He shifts on his stool, but his shoulders relax a little, and the corner of his mouth twitches. 

“Don’t listen to him, Jemiah,” you call out. “His drink’s on me.”

Your boss ducks to hide his grin even as the cutie in question — Rocket, you think, with a pleased little grin — grimaces. “Wait—“ he starts.

You click your tongue and shake your head, cutting him off and grinning. “Not a chance. You bought this stupid skull out from under the Collector and made it a tolerable place to live? There’s no way you’re buying the drinks. I have to show my gratitude somehow.”

You drop your lids to half-mast and raise a brow, hoping he knows that you’re happy to show your gratitude in a few other ways as well. The risk of offering brings a nervous little buzz to your belly. 

As for him — well, you get the sense that he’s a guy who doesn’t let himself flounder very often, but right now his face is flickering between so many emotions that you can’t possibly catch them all. Shock, and then a brief flash of something like smugness, followed immediately by a flash of narrow-eyed skepticism — then a sort of uncertain hesitance, a brief twinge of humor, and finally, a cynical half-sneer. Then he starts right back at the beginning and does it all over again.

It’s fascinating.  

“Did you know,” you say slowly when Jemiah sets down the fresh drinks, “that I work here at The Boot?”

The stranger — no longer a stranger, you suppose; no longer just the cutie — no, Rocket pauses in his cycle of expressions, takes a slug of his new stein of whiskey, and shakes himself out. 

Where the hell does he put it? you wonder. The stein is as big as his whole torso, you think.

But he doesn’t seem buzzed at all. Instead, he casts you a measuring, sideways glance, entirely too alert for your tastes. 

“You don’t say,” he drawls at last, one brow raised as his spine eases a little more.

“Mmhmm,” you say mildly. “It’s my day off.” You pause meaningfully and take another sip of your own drink. “Didn’t used to get days off in Exitar. Or anywhere else on Knowhere, as a matter of fact.”

His eyes track your hands, and flick to your face. 

“Guess the difference is all thanks to you,” you tell him lightly, and tilt your glass toward him. “Here’s to the happy change in leadership.”

He studies you, and waits till you set your drink down again. 

“So. Uh. How long you worked here?” he asks — as if he didn’t already have at least some idea.

You grin into your glass. “Long enough to have developed a very strict set of rules for my survival.”

His ears flick. You’re glad he’s indulging you — playing along for now. “What’re the rules?”

You lean back. “I’m glad you asked,” you tease, and splay out one hand so you can count them on your fingers. “Number one. Avoid the Collector at all costs.”

He snorts. “Well, guess you’re not a complete idiot,” he mutters, and then slashes his red-amber eyes at you and flinches, like he thinks maybe you’re going to be offended. 

But you only wink at him. Not a chance, cutie.  “Number two. Never hide all your units in one place — or on one datacard.”

A smirk curls the corner of his mouth and his nose twitches.

“Three. Always lock your doors behind you. And four, Don’t walk home alone from the Boot.” The smirk slides off his face at that and his eyes flash, so you rush along to the next rule, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Five. Always get customers’ money before you hand them their booze.”

There you go. The little curve is back at the corner of his mouth, even if his brow is still furrowed — almost like he’s distressed. 

You lean sideways and nudge him with your elbow. “And finally, number six.” He looks up at you and his ears tilt, eyes locked on yours like glimmering red stones. You lean so close you know your breath will flutter in the curve of his ear, and you drop your voice to a whisper. “Don’t try to break up fights.”

The pilot rears back, nearly tumbling backward off his stool, and you reach for him before you both catch yourselves. Reeling your outstretched hand back into yourself, you instead gift him a reckless grin and turn to your drink once more.

“It’s not a comprehensive list,” you tell him pragmatically, “and it isn’t in any particular order, but it’s kept me alive this long.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Rocket says, and his voice is suddenly raspy and low. “Even that last one?”

The laughter surprises you, fluttering up behind your ribs and escaping between your lips, soft  and velvety and hushed. 

“I only broke that one once,” you tell him, lifting your glass to your mouth and half-hiding your grin behind it. You can tell your eyes are sparkling, though. “And it’s not like I ever regretted it.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Sounds like you got a story.”

“Mmm,” you acknowledge, and you keep your voice playful. “It was years ago, now. I knew all the regulars back then — well, I still do, but more of them were jackasses back in the day. And this guy comes in — someone I’d never seen before. Swaggering, carrying a cannon twice as big as himself. Maybe — three feet tall? A true Short King.”

He’s got his stein to his lips and he chokes on a mouthful of whiskey, sputtering. “A what?”

You ignore him, still casting him that teasing half-smile and raising an eyebrow. “He had pretty eyes, and I remember him being more foulmouthed than a landlocked Ravager.”

“Pretty — what?” 

“Keep up, Rocket,” you taunt lightly, tapping a finger to the air just an inch away from the top of his nose, and his eyes go narrow. Everything on his face is suddenly promising retribution, but you’re reckless with glee now.

And you’ll be happy to pay up if he actually comes to collect. 

“I told him that I needed payment up front when he ordered—“

“Get the money before you hand them their booze,” he echoes Rule Five, eyes still hunting you, and you nod with mock-approval. 

“You get it,” you say with a chuckle. “Anyway, his response was just to swipe another patron’s datacard right in front of me and hand it over.” You can still fucking see it: his challenging half-grin, one brow raised.  “I think I stared at him for a full thirty seconds, but this cutie just smirked up at me. Brazen as fuck.”

You laugh softly at the memory, and Rocket — who might as well be your new landlord, you’ve realized — grumbles something under his breath. 

“Anyway, I was kinda smitten,” you admit with a little curve in your mouth, still buzzing the inside of your belly. 

It’s the truth, too.  You’d never thought that raccoon can get it before, but there you were. 

And here you are. 

To your surprise, Rocket goes quiet at that. The pilot of the famous — or infamous — Guardians of the Galaxy, and one of the new owners of Knowhere: still and silent for a long moment. 

Maybe he’ll slip out of his chair and leave, you think, and the flutters in your belly twist in sudden regret. Maybe you’ve scared him off. 

But when he speaks, his voice is like crystallized maple syrup: rich and gritty, waiting to crumble and melt and scrub against your skin.

“He’s why you got into a fight?”

You weigh out your options here. What to say? You’d lost sight of the cutie thanks to his height and the constant surge of new customers, and you’d sort of forgotten about him in the moment, to be honest — though you’re sure you’d have remembered later, alone in your shitty little room — but then you’d heard the sudden cacophonous boom of his enormous augmented cannon. There’d been screaming and crashing, and you’d woven yourself  between the bodies toward the sound. Just to assess, just to figure out what kind of danger you’d been in—

Fucking B’darl — the worst of your regular patrons — had entered into view and suddenly hoisted the cutie right up into the air before slamming him down into the orloni fighting ring. 

You hadn’t thought about it — about anything, really — just thrown yourself through the crowd, toward the fighting ring. By the time you’d gotten there, B’darl had the cutie pinned to the miniature arena’s floor by the throat.  Both the orloni and the f’saki had cowered back, blood-soaked and wounded, from the sudden interference in their battle-to-the-death. 

Looks like you wandered outta the ring, the fucking brute had sneered.Time to go back to brawling with the other vermin, you little monster. 

B’darl had lifted his other fist, easily the size of your entire head.

My money’s on the f’saki, though. 

You’d surged between them without thinking, latching onto B’darl’s massive forearm, knocking his fist to one side.

You shrug. “It was worth it,” you tell Rocket mildly, and take another sip of your drink.

His eyes drop to the ring of teethmarks in your arm again. He opens his mouth to speak, and you cut in.

“My own fault,” you tell him. “I should’ve known the cutie could handle himself. I got in the way.”

You can still remember how his firelight-eyes had stared up at you from behind a mouthful of flesh and blood, stunned and maybe horrified, teeth sunk almost to the bone.  In a worse timeline, maybe you’d have tried to rip your arm away. But here, in this one, you’d curled around him instinctively. Protectively. 

And then he’d reached around you smoothly and snagged B’darl’s ion pistol, and you’d heard the gun go off as he’d squeezed the trigger, blind.

“My only regret is that I lost sight of him in the aftermath,” you tell him with a shrug. You try for a teasing smile but it suddenly feels strained, tense on your mouth. You’d been too flushed with adrenaline when you’d first started this conversation. Now, suddenly, the nerves are present: rattling and twitching behind your sternum. Your fingers shake a little and you clamp them onto your glass. “Didn’t even catch his name.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When you finally get the fluttering in your vagus nerve under control, you hazard a look up at him. 

His eyes are on your forearm though: the circle of silken raised marks, just three shades lighter than the rest of your skin, and strangely — almost prettily — translucent. His finger reaches out: dark and clawed, his touch like warm leather. You go so still that you can’t blink, can’t even breathe as he paints a ring of warmth on your skin, looping the circlet of scars onto his fingertip like pearls threaded on a string.

The flutters are back, full-force. 

Slowly, Rocket drags his gaze up to yours, sunset-eyes glowing.  “Cutie works.”

@hibatasblog deserves so much more & better than this little ficlet but i am dedicating it to them anyway because they regularly call rocket "short king" and i cannot get it out of my head. deepest love to them & all their writing (please do yourselves a favor and check out their ao3 fics if you have not already)

look i just feel like (1) rocket is a cutie and if you say it in the right tone, he'll be flattered enough to not kill you and (2) there's no way he'd ever forget the stranger who jumped into a fight on his behalf — and probably got scarred for it — back before he met the guardians. which is when the og encounter takes place fyi. forget about the fact that i don't think we know if he had ever been there before gamora brought them along — i headcanon that where two or more lowlifes gather, so too there is rocket.

sidenote oh my god i literally cannot stop with the increasing wordcount. day seven (when i eventually get around to it) is gonna be SHORT. it's a promise/challenge to myself. anyway i think my writing quality peaked with machinery and i'm sorry this is so late

day five. machinery. ✷ day seven. home. rocket raccoon prompt week list

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

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

A Call Home ———

Little hands The world is yours Hold it close with open arms Little feet With miles ahead Take it slow see it all take it in

I see me in you You in me I see me in you You in me I see it in your eyes I see it in your eyes Little heart Dancing on So the ins and outs won't bring you down Little dream Grow up tall With a little rain A little sun you'll feel alive I see me in you You in me I see me in you You in me I see it in your eyes I see it in your eyes Little hands The world is yours Hold it close with open arms Little hands -Little Hands Inland Sky

———-

Based off Marvel comic creatures and the story by @bbasmos. I finally attempted to color this and it couldn’t have been more of a chaotic day.

I saw an image from a film called Delivery Man and decided to draw it for RocketRaccoonPromptWeek. Check out the movie, the song or the story and I hope you have a good time with it.

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...'"

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

Mantis: I fall in love with others regardless of their gender, appearance, species or personality.

Rocket: That explains why you’re into Nebula.

[A plate is thrown at Rocket, presumably by Nebula]

Every friend group should include:

A bimbo: Ayesha.

A mean bisexual: Peter Quill.

An even meaner lesbian: Nebula.

She/theys: Gamora.

He/theys: Groot.

A token straight that’s on thin ice: Drax.

An astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth chart memorized: Mantis.

And a short king: Rocket.

Quill: Yondu loved me. He just didn’t care for my general happiness or self-esteem.

Rocket: [Referring to Blackjack] He’s selling us out!!!

[Rocket starts strangling Blackjack but is pulled off by Lylla]

Lylla: Rocket Stop!!! There has to be a reasonable explanation! At least give him a chance.

Blackjack: Thank you Lylla… I’m selling out.

[Lylla starts strangling Blackjack and Rocket crosses his arms and smiles smugly]

Baby Groot: [drops a plate] <Oh, shit.>

Rocket: WHO THE FUCK TAUGHT YOU TO SWEAR?

Baby Groot:

Rocket: IT WAS QUILL, WASN’T IT?

Baby Groot:

Rocket: Oh fuck it was me wasn’t it.

Rocket: I say we get drunk and shoot crap.

Groot: <Yeah, except we do that every day.>

Gamora: [to Quill] You’re so clever! How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?!

Mantis: Do you have a self-care routine?

Quill: “Keep going bitch” said to myself in different accents.

Rocket: [drinking alcohol]

Quill: Seriously? Dude, it’s like noon!

Rocket: You drank all the coffee so what am I supposed to drink? Water?

[Peter boards the Ravager ship and notices Yondu glaring at him]

Peter: What did I do?

Yondu: You don’t even say “hi” to your captain?

Peter: Hi. What did I do?

Rocket: Emotions are like fine wine.

Groot: <Why’s that?>

Rocket: They stay bottled for years to come and can kill if opened incorrectly.

Baby Groot: [is crying]

Rocket: Hey, listen to me. You’re out of control, okay?

Baby Groot: [cries more]

Rocket: You’re a baby. Your life is not that hard! You’re embarrassing yourself!

Quill: No one likes a show-off.

Rocket: Unless what they’re showing off is dope as fuck.

Quill: [whispering] Fuck. That’s true.

Rocket: Just leave me to do my dark bidding on the internet!

Quill: What are you bidding on?

Rocket: I’m bidding on a table.

Rocket: Makin’ my way downtown.

Rocket: Walking fast.

High Evolutionary: 89P13!

Rocket: Walking faster.

I’m in agonies waiting for this.

rasque.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview [est march 7] ❤❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 3/25 | wip | word count: pending.

Once the Monster is satisfied that the runabout is far enough away from CounterEarth, safely careening through an empty pocket of space in a lifeless star system, he flicks the ship onto autopilot. His passenger still doesn’t say anything, and neither does he. He just sits for a moment longer, trying to pull the scraps of himself together. 

He finally looks over his shoulder at the pearl — and immediately wishes he hadn’t. She’s been quiet this whole time, lying on her belly in his bunk as ordered — obedient little thing — but she’s propped up on her elbows, damp dark curls turned into a tangled halo, eyes big and doe-like and taking everything in. She’s drinking it all up: him, the wide crushed-diamond sky, the notes he has pinned to the wall and the junk he’s got meticulously organized in half-open lockers and shabby boxes, on top of the other bed and in the corners.

It’s that wide-eyed gaze from when she’d looked up at him after he’d fucked her, exhilarated and confused and eager, and it makes his belly knot and his chest burn. 

He slides to his feet out of the chair — cautiously, keeping his eyes watchful on her.

“How’re you feeling, p—sweetheart?” 

She blinks at him, and then her lips curve and she gives him the most radiant fuckin’ smile he’s ever seen. 

“Excited,” she says, with a breathy little stress on the word, and the soft edge of a laugh in her voice like a baby cloud. She raises onto her hands and then curls her body up carefully, perched on her knees like the prettiest little present. The satiny cushion of her tits are almost spilling over that stupid neckline and he can see the shadow of her nipples, peaked and straining against the confinement of layered wet silk. He can also see how she’s listing to one side, trying to protect her poor bruised asscheek.

And he’s such a fuckin’ bastard, because all he can think of is keeping her on her knees like that. Strolling around her in a circle while she waits for him. Maybe with her hands loosely laced behind her back, just enough to keep her a little vulnerable, and her tits all pretty and pushed up for his mouth. 

Let me keep you all excited, pearl.

He clears his throat. “Well, okay,” he hedges. “You — what do you want me to call you, sweetheart?”

from chapter two [est 3/7] ❤︎ rasque :･꧂

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

find more notes and chapters on the

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ masterlist

a story about scars. 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. 

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 ❤︎❤︎

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

wtf is wrong with me and why am i laughing so fucken hard like this is so hilarious to me and i don't know why

the infamous rocket pjs

i just couldn’t decide if i needed cute baby Rocket in too-big pjs or sexy Rocket looking ridiculous with his eye mask

(forgive the ink splotches leaking thru from my previous sketchpage)

i still haven’t written any answers to these questions

but one day i will

one day i will

probably should’ve given the baby the sleeping cap too. that woulda been cute. maybe if i ever clean this up

anyway close-ups behind the cut

Why not? Their dynamics look like this too

Based on:

Two captains and one calm evening with songs from Awesome Mix on their Walkman through headphones for two.

Coming soon Not coming soon.

Dark, dangerous, and heartbreaking. This chapter might unlock new kinks and destroy you emotionally. Beautifully written, this chapter will haunt your dreams.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ chapter two. ambedo. [new 3/4] ❤︎❤︎

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

the monster makes his intentions known. wyndham’s bride proposes an addendum. DARK chapter. see below for warnings & notes.

No matter how she twists and stretches on the floor, she can’t get her hands on the once-raccoon digging his knee into her spine. Anything that might have reached him is batted away easily. Thunder groans, and her captor chuckles behind her. The sound is dark and broken like gravel, and far more dangerous than the storm outside. His claws let go of her ruined chignon for just a second and she scrambles to her knees, still twisted and trapped in silk like a net-tangled butterfly.  He snickers, and his fingers clamp like a vice on her ankle, bruising and prickling even through the diaphanous layers of fabric. He jerks her toward him with such force that she sprawls again, the air slamming out of her lungs as the momentum sends her skidding her back to him and beneath him, dress sliding on the polished wood floor as he hauls her under his wide-spread legs. There’s the renewed skitter of pearls across the floor, and before she can draw a breath, he flips her — easily — onto her back. Her lungs are slammed against the ground, airless all over again. Her ribs strain. “Nuh-uh, pretty pearl.” He laughs down at her, teeth and eyes all bright and sharp in the darkness.  “W-wait,” she tries again, but he’s already dropping to his knees and straddling her torso, knees squeezing in on her ribs so hard that she can feel them creak. He’s so warm, though — a furnace — and heat radiates from his thighs and groin where they press snugly against the underside of her breasts. The part of her that aches for warmth and for touch batters against her weary survival instincts, willing to put up with the pain and the threat of imminent death if it means lying beneath him for the next few minutes. Then she remembers that he needs to leave and she thrashes against him frantically, but it’s too late. His clawed fingers are circling her neck and they tighten, claws sinking in at her nape. His tail lashes behind him: a dark plume, painting the shadows. She flies her fingers to his wrists, trying to peel his grip away even as bright spots swim back into her eyes like little supernovas and moons. Her hips buck beneath him instinctively, wriggling, lips parted and bloody and begging for air. Tears burn in her eyes, streaming into now-loose curls at her temples, and she kicks and tugs helplessly as the hands that shouldn’t be this strong, but are. There’s another skeletal flare of lightning, and she can see him again: narrow, scorching red eyes, teeth bared and gleaming, all scars and wet fur. Metal flashes in the electric light. Horrifying, yes. Not in and of himself, of course — but what it all means. All the pieces that had come together the moment he’d entered the little halo of golden candlelight.  Herbert had kept her in the dark, but now she knows.  Now she knows. And her thudding, panicked heart is broken.

read chapter two. ambedo. on ao3 :･꧂

WARNINGS: arguably one of the darkest chapters. things will get better before the chapter’s end. dubcon (wyndham’s bride is very into it but there’s definitely an argument for coercion here), lots of non-affectionate degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), bad dom/sub dynamics, choking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, spanking, overstimulation. single, brief threat of mutilation. use of claws. continued references to non-sexual child abuse and grooming. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

sorry babes, this chapter is mostly a direct pull from the og oneshot. it's also almost twice as long as a normal chapter because i couldn't find a good place to cut it. but i hope you enjoy anyway?? enjoy seems like a weird word but yeah

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

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

Read this if you like the following: great writing, literary allusions, sensational descriptions, meticulously, genius levels of art crafted with love, characters with trauma and incredible motivations, also smoking hot and toe-curling sex scenes. There is no better writer in the Rocket fandom- hands down.

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ masterlist

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 1/25 | wip | word count: pending.

a story about scars. 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.

WARNINGS - 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! ♡

꧁･:☁︎⋆. all chapters collected behind the cut.

chapter one. nemotia. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth just in time to prepare for her wedding. an unexpected guest arrives. ✩ [est 2/29] warnings: discussion of non-sexual child abuse and grooming. brief mentions of suicidal ideations. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

chapter two. ambedo. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the monster makes his intentions known. wyndham’s bride proposes an addendum. ❤︎❤︎ [est 3/4] warnings: arguably one of the darkest chapters. things will get better before the chapter’s end. dubcon (wyndham’s bride is very into it but there’s definitely an argument for coercion here), lots of non-affectionate degradation and name-calling (slut, whore, etc), bad dom/sub dynamics, choking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, spanking, overstimulation. single, brief threat of mutilation. use of claws. continued references to non-sexual child abuse and grooming. animal/pet death. canon-typical violence.

chapter three. xeno. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ a daring escape. ❤︎ [est 3/7] warnings: references to the last chapter’s violence. big regrets. sexual fantasies. cutting (to remove a tracking device). some aftercare.

chapter four. anthrodynia. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the monster regrets. ❤︎ [est 3/21] warnings: aftercare. references to chapter two’s violence. regret. sexual fantasies and general horniness.

chapter five. o'erpine. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂a conflict arises. a series of truths come out. ❤︎ [est 4/4] warnings: descriptions of leftover physical pain and references to some of the rough/hate-sex from chapter two, including pussy-slapping. discussion of non-sexual child abuse and controlling behaviors/manipulation. discussion of pet death and intentionally self-inflicted allergic reactions.

chapter six. lockhearted. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ ✩ [est 4/16] warnings:

chapter seven. starlorn. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ ✩ [est 4/30] warnings:

chapter eight. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ ❤︎❤︎ warnings:

chapter nine. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ ❤︎ warnings:

chapter ten. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ ❤︎❤︎ warnings:

chapter eleven. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ warnings:

chapter twelve. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂warnings:

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

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!