#starriidreams

[raccoonfallsharder]

fistful of sunlight a fluffy lil domestic oneshot

short story masterlist | main masterlist

domestic fluff | no use of y/n | oc!reader | oneshot | word count: 3,832. for @starriidreams, based on their original character, jazper. check em outttt ♡

after a surprising day of work at the knowhere clinic, princess jazper returns to their home with rocket, only to find that the captain of knowhere has been working on a little surprise of his own.

WARNINGS: brief description of surgical procedure in sceond paragraph only. rocket says damn/dammit a lot; reader is referred to as princess 2x (because reader is literally a princess). some limited physical description of reader (most notably, having gold palms/fingerpads/facial markings and an adorable lil toothgap). i've never written for someone else's oc like this before so i hope i do them justice ๐·°(⋟﹏⋞)°·๐

Mister Kraglin had cut off his thumb.

You’re not even been quite sure how, but Mister Kraglin had cut off his thumb. It hadn’t been a job for a medpack — those are generally reserved for life-threatening injuries involving major trauma, and a medpack would have only healed up the stump anyway. No, Mister Kraglin had cut off his thumb and had shown up sobbing at the Knowhere clinic door, and it had been your job to soothe him and reseal every vein and artery, to string the nerves and tendons back together like loose threads on a sweater, and finally to laser stitch the skin in place, bandage it up, and brace it with one of the adjustable vibranium-and-vinyl splints that Rocket had made — per your request — for situations just like this one.

It had sent a stinging ache in your heart to see Mister Kraglin so upset. The former Ravager is more vulnerable in his pain than young Mister Adam or even any of the Star Children — at least while he’s safely at home on Knowhere — and you’ve gathered that this behavior might be due to the hollowing lack of any kind of person-to-person comfort he’d ever received as a child. You yourself are all too familiar with some of that feeling — emotional self-sufficiency and a wrenching desire for affection, bordering on need — in spite of the privilege inherent in being adopted into the Relvoith royal family. 

Or perhaps because of it.

And so, you had soothed him with the softest words you could dream up, worried they might’ve sounded stilted in the formality of the Relvoith tongue. But the universal translator must have worked well, or perhaps the overly-decorous language hadn’t mattered in the end, because Mister Kraglin had sniffled and dried his tears with the back of his uninjured hand. Then he’d given you a wobbly and tremulous half-smile, thanking you so fervently that an observer might have thought you’d saved his life.

Unfortunately, the result is that you are exhausted — feet aching and eyes tired, a dull headache starting to form behind your golden eyes by the time you reach the open casement leading to the door of the apartment rooms you share with Rocket. One of the raccoon kits — the smallest of the litter rescued from the Arête — is waiting on the threshold, grooming itself. It’s only the tiniest bit larger today than it had been on the day you’d inadvertently adopted it, and it lifts its head as soon as it breathes in your scent, ears and nose twitching. Its tail flips from one side to the other when it sees you, and it immediately begins to generate the fast-paced hollow clicking noise that you’ve come to understand means that it’s purring.

“Hello, littlest one,” you say, crouching, and it immediately launches itself onto one of your soft thighs, and then into your chest. You cuddle it against you as you stand, pressing your mouth to the crown of its head, and open the apartment door.

The apartment is a little tattered, but it’s home: the place you and Rocket have made for yourselves, carved out of a little patch of Knowhere. There’s a broad series of patchwork-windows made of frosted and colored glass, and they shine like jewels when the artificial lights outside slant into a manufactured sunset. In certain hours, they cast a glowing, muted rainbow glow onto the rest of the main room. One wall is lined with Rocket’s inventions and tools, and the ceiling is edged in strings of tiny gold plasma-orbs that he’d pinned to the wall while perched on your shoulders. The doors on the kitchenette cupboards had been falling off when the two of you had moved in, so you’d replaced them with miniature curtains made of patterned fabrics and gauzy muslin and a treasured panel of Spartoi lace you’d found in Sanna Orix’s shop. The sofa is a soft corduroy, the color and texture of a purple night-sky, velvety and only a little frayed at all the seams. It had been one of Rocket’s discoveries. He’d made Mister Drax carry it from the Bowie all the way to your little apartment, just because he’d thought you might enjoy it. One arm of the sofa is draped with the rumpled softness of an old quilt — a gift from the citizens of Knowhere to their new Captain and his princess. It’s patched with squares offered up from each of the Guardians, and others, too: red flannel and a dove-gray fabric from Star-Lord’s childhood shirts, a scrap of leather from Mister Nebula’s uniform. Another square had been thieved from an armored vest left behind by Miss Gamora, after she’d been stolen away and sacrificed by Thanos. A couple of rectangles of fabric, cut from the plush baby-blanket that Groot had kept in his pot when he was still small, and little pieces from a strained button-down shirt that Mister Drax had decided to wear for a cycle just so he could have something to contribute to the quilt. There’s a patch from Cosmo’s suit, and another from young Mister Adam’s singed Sovereign cast-off, and silver-threaded stars embroidered in sloppily by young Miss Phyla and each of her siblings. A few splashes of delicate floral prints from Miss Ssssaralami and worn yellow canvas from Mister Blueliver and even an intentional splash of cosmic-green gin from Mister Howard.

At least, you assume it was intentional. Mister Howard claims it was intentional, and you’ve never been particularly adept at spotting lies.

In short, there’s not an inch of your little apartment that isn’t brimming with the soft shadows and glowing warmth of memories that you and Rocket have made together.

Unfortunately, you don’t have long to enjoy the peace of the small space. You can already hear Rocket cursing and muttering inside the next room, and it makes your own ears twitch with concern.

“Shoulda just paid Ssssaralami to do it. No, no, I wanna do it myself. Moron. Like you forgot you were a mechanic, not a frickin’ artist. Frickin’ paint in my damn fur. Better come out—”

“Rocks?” you call softly, snuggling the raccoon kit in against your chest again. The raccoon’s purring never stops, and its coat is a plush and velvety spray against the underside of your chin. “Are you well?”

Rocket’s head pops around the side of the bedroom door: fur mussed and flattened on one cheek, a splotch of purple dripping into the fur between the base of one soft ear and the crown of his head. There’s a smudge of luminous yellow-gold on his nose, glittering and so vibrant and warm that it almost looks like a wedge of amber over a candleflame. His eyes, bright as red stars and sunsets — all the holiest things in the universe — narrow on you immediately.

“You weren’t s’posed to be home for another three hours,” he growls accusingly.

The raccoon kit pats the golden swirl on your cheek with one flat paw, then headbutts you under the chin for more cuddles. Its purring grows louder.

“Mister Kraglin cut off his thumb,” you tell Rocket, wide-eyed as you take in the violet and sunshine smeared into his fur. Most of him is hidden behind the doorframe, but one hand grips the edge, and you can see gold and purple crusted around his claws. “It was the most excitement the clinic has seen in a while,” you admit, “and we have closed early as a result.” You feel your head tilt. “Are you… painting something?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment — eyes dropping to take in your white-and-red uniform — before he sighs: utterly beleaguered. “Trying to,” he mutters, and rolls his eyes. “Was supposed to be a frickin’ surprise.” He wheels back from the door, gesturing with that dark-clawed, paint-spattered hand. “C’mon in, Starlight.”

You carefully set the littlest raccoon on the sofa, and make your way deeper into the apartment.  

Your breath trips out of your lungs when you cross the threshold into the bedroom. It’s been utterly transformed in your few hours away.

It is, you think in wonderment, like walking into the heart of an amethyst. 

Layers of paint — from the ashen lilac of the sky just after the sun goes down, all the way to the richest midnight-purple — fold over each other in veils of haphazard brushwork, scraped across each other as if the painter were trying to create something deep and glimmering. It’s true that there are some splashes of color on the cracked bone-tiles of the floor, and little ripples where the purple had dribbled too thickly down the walls — but he’s covered the bed with a canvas that you recognize as borrowed or stolen from Miss Ssssaralami, and the plasma-orb lamps are similarly protected. A shabby box sits in one corner, full of wires and frosted glass, but you’re too entranced by the purple walls: the illusion of velvety, luminous depth — the sense of swimming in an endless night sky, or diving into the rift at the end of the universe. 

And against the purple — all misshapen and erratic, in clusters and lopsided sprays, different sizes and spaces between each one — shine a hundred golden stars. They’re gleaming and metallic, shimmering with the same crushed glitter-dust smudged across Rocket’s nose, sparkling and brilliant and warm.

You touch one lightly with the golden pad of your fingertip, awestruck.

“You are an artist,” you say solemnly, awestruck as your eyes travel around the room.

Rocket scowls and shuffles the fur of his forearm against the end of his nose — then looks down to realize he’s smeared more gold paint on himself. A strangled roar of outrage climbs in his throat and hisses between his teeth, gravelly and shrill, and you blink down at him over one soft shoulder.

He looks like he’s ready to pull out fistfuls of his own fur, panting.

“I’d call you a liar if I didn’t know how frickin’ bad you are at it,” he seethes, glaring around the room as if the walls have personally insulted him. “It’s a damn mess.”

You tilt your head. You don’t generally find his aggravation humorous, but it is often endearing — and you know him well enough now to understand that sometimes, a little gentle mockery will make him feel safer.

“Small One,” you tease lightly, letting a smile curve your full lips, flashing your white teeth and the slight gap between them at your beautiful Captain, “the imperfections are what make it so lovely.”

His eyes narrow at you again, distant crimson suns, and for a moment he continues to fume: fists clenched, sharp teeth gritted. He is flawless nonetheless: his casual Knowhere-clothes spattered with bright sparkling yellow, now, and streaked with purple. One whole whisker gleams gold in the artificial Knowhere light that streams through the circular window, open over the head of the bed. 

He sighs suddenly, his jaw and shoulders and hands all loosening, and you can see now that his palms are streaked with gold paint, too. 

You’re always soft for Rocket, but everything inside you suddenly feels even softer: more pliable, more tender. You let your smile shift from playfulness to pure, gentle wonder as you gaze around the room again: jewel-toned, sequined and filigreed with suns and stars made even more sacred by the fact that they’ve come from his own hands. He’s even included some lopsided versions of the holy constellations you grew up studying in the Ositamet sky, which you hadn’t even realized he might remember from your stories. That same place in your heart that had ached over Mister Kraglin’s tears suddenly trembles and heats, overflowing with sunlight. You think it might pour out of your skin. In fact, you can feel it: the warmth in your cheeks, the tip of your ears and nose.

“You’re blushing,” Rocket notes drily, and your brow creases.

“Relvoith do not blush,” you say sternly. Which is true, after all — it’s not as if you can lie, even if you’d wanted to.

Rocket only rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You’re — gold-dusting, then. Sunbursting.”

You touch the warm swirls in your cheeks, knowing they’re bright as the stars he’s painted onto the walls. 

“I am overwhelmed,” you admit to him softly. You can feel your eyes sting with tears as you turn slowly, taking everything in. Your voice is hushed. “I think perhaps this is the kindest, most generous thing that anyone has ever done for me, Rocks.”

Even though your eyes are on the skewed stars, you can feel the tension leave the little room when he sighs again. 

“Yeah, yeah, princess,” he gruffs out. “Just — got sick of hearing you talk about wanting to redecorate.”

Now you do look at him, tilting your head. “I think that is a lie.”

He scowls, but there’s nothing hard in it at all. His sun-ruby eyes have turned into something soft and melting. “Just a little one.”

You cast another smile at him before turning your attention again to the starscape painted all around you.

“Why did you choose purple for the sky?” you muse after a moment. “I like it very much, but I would not have expected that choice from you—”

“Reminded me of you,” he mumbles, and when you glance at him again, he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking away, scrubbing at his gold-dipped whiskers with the back of his wrist in the way you’ve come to recognize means he’s embarrassed. “Your uniform-thing, the first time we met. It was, uh, purple and white.” He clears his throat, and your smile turns into a delighted grin.

“You were feeling quite sentimental, then,” you tease.

“Whatever,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes and turning away to begin peeling the canvas drape off the bed, revealing the fleecy turquoise comforter underneath, rippled with velveteen stripes. It’s a bit faded and ragged, and the mattress dips in the middle, but it’s a far cry from the piece of scrapmetal Rocket had been sleeping on when he had still been staying in his own apartment, just off the Guardians’ main office down the street. “You’re such a pain,” he adds, tossing the crumpled canvas into the corner and picking up the box of wire and glass you’d only vaguely noticed when you’d walked in. He sets the dilapidated box on the bed. “Wanna help me hang these? They’re not frickin’... authentic or whatever. Too expensive to get the real ones, all the way from Ositamet. Consider ‘em… off-brand, or whatever.” 

He clears his throat again: a tell you’ve come to recognize; an indicator that he’s nervous. You lean over, peering into the box, and your heart catches in your throat again: full of sunlight, overflowing. 

“You’re gold-dusting again,” he points out drily.

“How did you get these, if not from home?” you ask softly, lifting up one handful of bright-copper wire. He shuffles in tightly against your thigh, leaning one cheek into the soft plushness of your hip. 

“Sketched ‘em up,” he admits. “Wove the wire and made the little plasma-orbs on my own. Had Steemie save the glass from that old building they tore down in Exitar. Cut it an’ soldered it myself.” He swallows. “Wasn’t that hard,” he adds, trying to downplay the time and effort you suddenly know he must have put into planning every inch of this creation. “With the ships, I musta had to patch glass at least a hundred times before.”

But these handcrafted string-lights are not just patched glass. They’re perfect star-shaped lanterns, far more precise than the celestial bodies spangling the walls. And though not every pane of glass matches in color or texture, they’re worth more to you than any import from the palaces and streets of Ositamet. 

“Yes,” you whisper. “Let us hang them.”

Rocket doesn’t wait: he leaps nimbly onto the mattress and then springs to your shoulders. He’s heavy with screws and solder, bolts and plates, but his weight’s  still nothing for your strength. You gather the strings of lights in your hands and they clink merrily against each other as you travel the perimeter of the room. When you hand him the end of the twisted copper wire,  he holds the cord to the edge of the ceiling and fastens it into the bone-plaster with the soft, hollow thud of a bolt-gun. 

The two of you continue around the room, skirting the pan of purple-and-gold swirled paint still on the floor, full of sopping brushes. A manufactured Knowhere breeze filters in through the round window, along with the artificial sunlight; it brightens the still-drying stars, making the room glimmer all around the two of you. You soak in the lullaby made by the measured timpani of the bolt-gun and the pleasant chime of the star-lanterns in your hands, feeding them up to your beautiful captain. There’s the comforting feel of his strong thighs braced between your palms and shoulders: a warm, welcome weight. Your eyes are drawn to a spray of purple on the claws of his left foot, like nail lacquer — it curls the corner of your mouth in a whimsical smile but you don’t dare breathe a word of it right now.

By the time the stringed lights are garlanded all around the room, the artificial lights outside have already begun dimming, and the room is dusky and softly-shadowed. Rocket leaps off of your shoulders, fleet-footed, and taps the sensor on the wall. It’s normally synced to the plasma-orb lamps, but he must have programmed the star-lanterns in too, because they brighten into a quiet glow: every bit of illumination magnified by the glass, refracted into the occasional spray of rainbow-flaked light scattered across the starscape-walls, the velvety bed, the paint-spattered floor. With one foot, Rocket drags the soft, shaggy rug from where he’d shuffled it under the bed, and the room is almost back to normal.

Almost normal, but transformed into something divine.

You stand for a moment, and take in the coziness of the room, the glints of far-off skies and dreams, the shimmering warmth in your heart and the knowledge of how much you truly mean to the beautiful Captain of Knowhere.

He must be able to tell your thoughts are shifting into sentimentality, because he breaks the quiet with a dramatic sigh. 

“Now I gotta get all this damn paint outta my fur,” he laments, looking down at his purple-streaked feet and the shimmering yellow smeared across his forearm. When he turns his palms up, he groans, his whole head leaned back so he can curse the ceiling. The dark leather of both hands are glazed with sun-bright gold, as if he had fingerpainted the stars. 

“Dammit,” he curses, as his fists begin to curl all over again.

But you catch one narrow wrist, watching the way he shines. “Look,” you say with a sun-bright smile of your own, and his knotted fingers loosen in your gentle grasp. You open your own hand next to his. The pads of your fingers and creased palm are ashimmer just like his, like you’d both been caught with fistfuls of sunlight and stars. You turn your hand over top of his, and you lace your fingers into the soft spaces between his knuckles: gold pressed to gold, so bright that it’s a wonder that sunshine doesn’t fan out from between your clasped hands in glittering rays. 

Rocket swallows, whiskers and tail and ears all twitching, his glowing sunrise-eyes going soft in the dusky evening glow. “Starlight,” he says, and his voice is a husky rasp. “I wanted to tell you — but I ain’t good with words—”

Whatever he had been going to say is suddenly broken by the sound of a mechanical chime: the doorbell. You both look up, and it rings again.

“Dammit,” Rocket snaps for what must be the third time in just an hour or two. He tugs his hand from yours, stalking toward the door and flinging it open.

Miss Cosmo and young Miss Phyla are there, the former sitting on the step with a nervously-wagging tail. You can see Rocket’s shoulders ease, and you know it’s because he’s secretly soft for children and animals. Well, he seems to think it’s a secret, anyway. The sight makes you melt even more. 

“I’m so sorry, Jazper,” the Star Child says, apology written all over her childish face. “I know the Captain was planning a surprise for you tonight, but—”

“But Adam has broken the ocular cannon,” Cosmo pipes up, and her tail begins to move twice as fast. 

“The — what?” Rocket repeats, and you can hear the tension rising again in his voice. “What was he even doing with it?”

Miss Cosmo tilts her head as young Miss Phyla winces.

“Messing around,” the cosmonaut says, and her mechanical voice lilts in such a way that it sounds like a quote.

You move to lean by the door, and Rocket pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Can’t get a frickin’ minute a’ peace—”

“It is okay,” you say with a wide smile. “I will be here when you come home.” 

Rocket glances up at you, and his expression is pained. “I don’t—”

“Uhm,” young Miss Phyla interrupts hesitantly, teeth bared in a sorrowful grimace, “I hate to tell you this, but your — your guest is making a mess?”

Both you and Rocket turn to find the littlest raccoon kit meandering through the apartment living space, then between the two of you, and right out the open door. In its wake, from the bedroom to the front door, trail a ribbon of paint-slick pawprints sinking into the bone-floor forever: shades of purple, smeared with starlight-gold.

Rocket stares after the littlest kit as it ambles away. His mouth wobbles in something torn between bone-deep exhaustion, and a desire to bare his teeth and commit murder.

The corners of your own mouth curl, and your shoulders shake with feathery laughter. “Go,” you tell your Captain, and lean toward him. Young Miss Phyla and Miss Cosmo have seen the two of you together often enough to know that everyone will be happier if they turn their backs and pretend not to know that you’re dropping a kiss on the crown of Rocket’s paint-spattered head. “I will see you later tonight.”

You’re rising back upward when his gold-dipped fingers curl into the collar of the clinic uniform you’re still wearing. “Wait,” he mutters, tugging you back down and levying a quick, fleeting flick of his tongue to the fullness of your upper lip. “‘Fore I go.”

It’s a ritual, at this point: the soft kiss, the tug at your collar, the brief lick or nip at your mouth. And then the question, rumbling up from the bottom of his lungs, low and warm:

“Who’s yer favorite Guardian?”

You smile, your lips just a breath away from his nose — the answer the same now as it’s always been. 

After all, you cannot lie.

“You are.”

thank you for giving me the chance to write this! it was such a fun idea and it was so interesting to work with someone else’s oc in this context, and try to integrate the formality of jazper’s language into the writing without making it sound unnatural (i hope i accomplished it!). i’ve never written for someone else’s character like this so i hope i did jaz justice ♡ thank you for trusting me with them. it was truly a privilege and i hope it was everything you were looking for ♡♡♡

short story masterlist | main masterlist

[meltingpopsikls]

RAAAAAH ART FIGHT ART FIGHT

(Oc by: StarriiDreams)

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[shoochi]

I got tagged

tagged by: @neveraloneforeverlonely

tag: pick 10 photos from your prexsisting camera roll to describe yourself then tag 10 people.

I’m probably not going to tag 10 people but here we go!

tags: @zaccwenski @monica15c @starriidreams @itisthespacejam @rich-jake @ohlookitsabi

[flower-duskie]

@starriidreams <3

Bugs in Love (1932)

[raccoonfallsharder]

MARVEL RIVALS… Will you be playing it?! Rocket is a damage + support and omg he was SO FUN to play as!!

i don’t really play games (i know, it’s weird, it’s some fucked-up childhood shit). hence needing to watch a playthrough ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ which i am happy to do if/when a recommendation comes through! the art does look amazing ♡♡

[raccoonfallsharder]

꧁･:☁︎⋆. cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ masterlist

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 20/40+ | wip | word count: pending.

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.

main masterlist ART: pearl portrait | the runabout | rocket & pearl scene (chapter thirteen. heartspur.) | rocket & pearl snuggle | art of chapter one. nemotia. by @frostedwitch | adorable pearl x rocket selfie by @starriidreams | steamy/emotional waterlily pearl x rocket painting by @hibatasblog

inspired by mary shelley’s frankenstein; or, the modern prometheus. enemies-to-lovers (as per frickin’ usual, only one of these idiots think they’re enemies.) while the beginning of this fic is dark and fast-burn, we move to like… slow-burn with intense growing intimacy & healing almost right away. expect a fair amount of action starting around chapter thirteen. and remember: we always get happy endings here.

WARNINGS - please pay attention to all ao3 warnings/tags for every chapter as there are some dark elements (but we will have a happy ending!). 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.) this fic is a longform expansion on wyndham; or, the galactic prometheus (day 31) of °˖✧♡kinktober 2023.

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

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

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

chapter one. nemotia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ wyndham’s bride lands on counterearth just 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.

chapter two. ambedo.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the monster makes his intentions known. wyndham’s bride proposes an addendum. ❤︎❤︎ 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. rasque.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ a daring escape. ❤︎ 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. ❤︎ warnings: aftercare. references to chapter two’s violence. regret. sexual fantasies and general horniness. references to food restriction/dieting.

chapter five. o'erpine. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ a conflict arises. a series of truths come out. ✩ warnings: a few descriptions of physical nausea/pre-vomiting. it’s been less than a day since chapter two so we’ve still got a lot of regret to process. descriptions of leftover physical pain and references to some of the rough/hate-sex from chapter two. discussion of non-sexual child abuse and controlling behaviors/manipulation. discussion of pet death and intentionally self-inflicted allergic reactions. brief flashbacks to lylla’s execution.

chapter six. lockheartedness.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl and the monster get to know one another. a little bit. ✩ warnings: leftover regret. descriptions of child abuse/grooming (specifically gaslighting, blaming, and pet/animal death).

chapter seven. starlorn. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl pleads her case. ✩ warnings: self-injury (biting), continued references to grooming and confinement. rocket’s explicit running commentary and the faintest whisper of d/s vibes. brief mention of bondage.

chapter eight. keep. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the monster dreams. pearl makes a den. ✩ warnings: references to canonical medical trauma. as usual, rocket’s a degenerate.

chapter nine. mal de coucou.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl and the monster make landing-plans. pearl gets a massage from her survivor. ❤︎ warnings: description of hand surgery/butchery. massages and the resulting fantasies. 

chapter ten. querinous.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket and pearl go shopping on cyxlore. ✩ warnings: just rocket's anxiety.

chapter eleven. hailbound.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl adopts a stray. rocket falls for a sovereign. ✩ warnings: still just rocket's anxiety.

chapter twelve. ochisia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket decides to make sure pearl doesn't think she can replace him. ❤︎ warnings: guided masturbation. mild exhibitionism/voyeruism. praise. light d/s vibes.

chapter thirteen. heartspur.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket and pearl get into a fight. rocket shares a secret. ✩ warnings: canon-typical violence against animals. brief description of surgical violence. rocket’s a real piece of work.

chapter fourteen. ghough.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl teaches rocket and groot about abilisks. rocket helps her relieve some stress. ❤︎ warnings: 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).

chapter fifteen. soufrise.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl teaches rocket to speak groot. ✩ warnings: would it even be a rocket fanfic without a lil post-orgasm angst?

chapter sixteen. craxis.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl considers the problem of sovereign. ❤︎❤︎ warnings: smutty-smut while rocket wears his cute lil goggles. cockwarming. dirty-talk. praise. mentions of gagging and one light spank. use of “slut”/”whore” (affectionate). aftercare.

chapter seventeen. keyframe.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ a raccoon, a girl, and a kylosian walk into a sovereign throneroom. ✩ warnings: brief glimpses into rocket’s typically-filthy thoughts, pearl’s anxiety, and wyndham’s dickishness.

chapter eighteen. attriage.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl is a brat. ❤︎❤︎ warnings: so much smut. cunnilingus, d/s vibes, praise, slight degradation, use of “slut”/“whore”/"brat" (affectionate). edging, mentions of pussy-slapping. playful bites. overstim. aftercare. maybe a lil bit of top-drop.

chapter nineteen. tiris.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket and pearl develop something of a tradition. the trio argues, and the kylosian has a request. ✩ warnings: rocket’s a degenerate. dirty-talk and teasing while panty-shopping, with the threat of being overheard. brief description of fantasies. angst.

chapter twenty. foilsick. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket is outnumbered. the abilisks arrive. ✩ warnings: bit of a panic attack, complete with a lot of angst and self-loathing. mentions of past self-harm.

chapter twenty-one. puntkick.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ diplomacy is attempted. ✩ warnings: heightened trauma-related anxiety. general insecurity.

chapter twenty-two. falesia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl is punished. ❤︎‬❤︎ warnings: continued trauma-related anxiety & general insecurity. smutty-smut with a safeword discussion, d/s vibes, “punishment” (affectionate), nipple play (discussion of clamps), and orgasm control/delay. followed by soft romantic sex with a tiny bit of overstim, && tons of dirty talk as per frickin’ usual.

chapter twenty-three. xeno.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the high evolutionary's flawless pearl chats with the daughter of thanos. ✩ warnings:  pearl’s still dealing with the triggering environment of the dreadnought. mentions of torture.

chapter twenty-four. nighthawk.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl gets lost. rocket finds her. ✩ warnings: abuse against animals, discussion of torture and surgery. angst & trauma. tiny bit of rocket being a degenerate.

chapter twenty-five. kairosclerosis.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the crew finds peace on alon-gim, but all things are temporary. ❤︎❤︎ [NEW 10/24] warnings: cunnilingus, begging, rocket’s fantasies, fellatio. a fight + angst. rocket can’t let himself be happy for long.

chapter twenty-six. nodrophobia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the crew travels to knowhere. the experience is explosive. ✩‬ [est 11/6] warnings: this chapter uses descriptive imagery that may be reminiscent of residential and urban environments impacted by bombings, warfare, or natural disasters like earthquakes. 

chapter twenty-seven. la gaudière.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ someone steals from the collector. ✩‬ [est 11/19] warnings: headwounds and near-death experiences. regret and angst. woundcare. some comfort. this chapter uses descriptive imagery that may be reminiscent of residential and urban environments impacted by bombings, warfare, or natural disasters like earthquakes.

chapter twenty-eight. anderance .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ bathtime confessions. ✩‬ [est 12/1] warnings: angst & comfort. woundcare. discussion of animal surgery & medical torture. 

chapter twenty-nine. amoransia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the crew collects on a xeronian bounty. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty. dolorblindness.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl uncovers a lie. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-one. mauerbauertraurigkeit.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket hates having feelings. nebula... empathizes. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-two. holiette. heartmoor. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the crew drops groot off on planet x. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-three. heartworm.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ the dreadnought lands on fron. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-four. etherness. .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ siblings of all varieties are reunited. nebula reveals a secret. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-five. evertheless.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ pearl comforts rocket. rocket is certain that this is as good as it gets. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-six. immerensis.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ you are cordially invited to a ravager wedding. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings: angst and heartbreak.

chapter thirty-seven. fellchaser.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ he's coming. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-eight. hubilance. ⋆☁︎ :･꧂ nebula says goodbye. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter thirty-nine. tillid.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ allies arrive. the war begins. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter forty. antiophobia.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ rocket finally stops acting like a moron. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter forty-one. suente.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ a trap isn't a trap if you know it's a trap — it's a face off. unless it's a betrayal. [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

chapter forty-two. suerza. beloiter.⋆☁︎ :･꧂ . [rating tbd] [date tbd] warnings:

rose & support banners by @/saradika-graphics | pearl banners by @/thecutestgrotto

[raccoonfallsharder]

need an oc of yours with a tooth gap🙏🙏🙏

ahhh the tooth gap ~ a highly underrated beauty trait. what’s cuter than a gap-toothed smile? the little crooked bites? the tongue tucked against the back of the gap when the person is thinking or laughing?

A+ reminder nonnie thankyou ♡♡♡

if you’re asking about me drawing other people’s OCs and wanting to see one with a tooth gap, i’m mentally composing a portrait of @starriidreams's jazper right now (working on longer pieces is hard these days though so it may take a while, but @starriidreams has their own gorgeous/adorable art of jaz on their blog)

if you’re looking for one of my own OCs ~ meet noa knox, my oc from other duties as assigned ▤✎☕︎ 𝄞°｡♫★.

★♫｡°𝄞☕︎✎▤ other duties as assigned▤✎☕︎ 𝄞°｡♫★ 18+ only | rocket x f!oc | ?? | word count: pending. natasha romanoff is an administrative nightmare - a fact that does not go unnoticed by the (interim) captain of the milano. First she demands that the remaining two guardians of the galaxy be reachable via a primitive terran messaging system, and then she can't be bothered to read the frickin' emails. thank fuck she's hired a new assistant. mcu-based, slight au, begins five months post-snap; rocket x oc email romance/LDR (lol); slow burn + probable smut with feelings.

noa’s story probably won’t start being posted till next spring ‘cause it’s longform and i gotta finish cicatrix first. it’s also been hard to write for two reasons: the story’s extra-personal for me, and i don’t know how it ends yet. but noa’s great. very mom/big-sister-friend, super-organized and capable (to her detriment), a little bit of a nihilist, super-traumatized, very funny (imo), sweet on rocket. some chronic pain/illness she’s dealing with; would like to be anywhere but earth thank you very much. plus she’s got curly hair and a cute tooth gap + very stylish glasses.

thanks for the happy reminder that tooth gaps exist in this world, nonnie. it’s always nice to be reminded of lovely things ♡

[raccoonfallsharder]

xeno .⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 10/3] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 22/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard. ART: pearl's character design | pearl & rocket's bunk | heartspur scene | chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch| rocket & pearl snuggle

NEW gift art (i'm CRYING). adorable pearl x rocket selfie from @starriidreams and a sexy, steamy waterlily pearl x rocket painting from @hibatasblog. ♡♡♡ seriously, so so beautiful.

the high evolutionary’s flawless pearl chats with the daughter of thanos.

“Do you like coffee?” pearl asks instead, changing the subject. She purses one corner of her mouth. “Rocket’s looks awful—” “I am Groot,” Groot protests with a gasp. “—and I never learned how to make it from beans, but I could bring you some, if you like. We have juice and—” She hesitates. Would Rocket be okay with her offering it? “And morningtea, if you like.” Her mouth twists to one side. “I can see if the medbay has moonmint in stock—“ The Luphomoid flinches — then face shutters, stoic once more. Even so, her dark eyes stay sealed on pearl as she eats. 

“There are other drinks, as well,” Drax speaks up from behind her. “Asgardian and Sovereign liquors and wines in the officers’ commons, and barrels of ale in one of the cargo holds with other food stores.” He pauses, and even though pearl isn’t looking at him, she can hear the hiccup of his sudden backtracking. “Not that you deserve any of it, Daughter of Thanos.” The Luphomoid finally breaks from her temporary stoicism, rolling her eyes. “Water is fine,” she rasps, and tilts her head. “Didn’t you plan to kill me, anyway?” she demands of Drax. Pearl twists to slant her own eyes sideways up at him.  “I still do,” Drax says fervently — then shrugs. “I will use this time on the Dreadnought to convince Rocket and the Terran princess that I deserve the right to claim your life in retribution for the murders of my wife and my daughter. Ronan should suffer as I have done.” The Luphomoid stares at him, then barks a strange, hoarse sound. “Your plan for revenge on Ronan is to kill me?” Drax inclines his chin. “A family-member for a family-member.” The Luphomoid’s sneer is ugly. “Ronan doesn’t see me as family, you idiot. Ronan doesn’t see anyone as family.” Pearl can see Drax’s stumble, the sudden confusion in his dark eyes. “When you battle with someone at your side, you’re family.” The cyborg scoffs and turns back to her food, and Drax’s brow clears. “I suppose… Ronan is only a puppet after all. The true person I must avenge Ovette and Kamariah against is Thanos.” His eyes narrow. “And you are a Daughter of Thanos.” The Luphomoid rolls her eyes again. “A least-favorite daughter for an only-daughter?” she rasps. Cynicism crackles on the gravelled edge of her voice. “Seems like a bad trade.” Again, Drax falters, and the cyborg takes the last bite of the yaro-root filling, mopping up what remains of Kylosian-spiced gravy. Then she shoves the flex-bowl back across the floor toward pearl and leans upward, peering at the Kylosian. “Get me out of these chains and off this ship,” she hisses through her teeth, “and I’ll take you to Thanos’ most-favorite daughter.”

from chapter twenty-three. xeno. ✩ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂

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: pearl’s still dealing with the triggering environment of the dreadnought. mentions of torture.

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

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[raccoonfallsharder]

cicatrix.⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter twenty-five. kairosclerosis. [NEW 10/24] ❤︎❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 25/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation chapter twenty-five. kairosclerosis. ❤︎❤︎ ART: pearl’s character design | pearl & rocket’s bunk | heartspur scene | chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch| rocket & pearl snuggle | adorable pearl x rocket selfie by @/starriidreams | sexy, evocative waterlily pearl x rocket painting by @/hibatasblog ♡

the crew finds peace on alon-gim, but all things are temporary. see warnings below.

“You’re really pushing this whole brat thing,” he drawls, though it’s a lie. Everytime she shows that thread of a backbone, he just wants to reward her. Twice as much when her pupils bloom in her moonsilver irises: little lovely eclipses, like they are right now. She licks her lower lip, and it glistens like it’s waiting to be bitten. “You could… punish me again?” she suggests breathily, her lashes suddenly heavy on her eyes. 

For fuck’s sake, he thinks. The only reason he doesn’t think he must’ve died and gone to some kind of heaven is because he knows he’d never deserve one of the better afterlifes. “I could,” he agrees, all mock-consideration. “Maybe tie you up, nice and tight. Gag you with those panties, finally.” She shifts under the covers — rubbing her thighs together, he thinks. He tries not to groan.  “Or,” she offers cautiously, like she thinks he’s going to say no to whatever’s about to come out of her gorgeous mouth, “you could teach me to kiss you.” Her cheeks are scintillating-bright and his own eyes flare down to hers, locking on to those blown-out, starless pupils. “To, uhm—” Her face screws up, like she’s trying to remember something she’d heard, once. “—to suck your dick.” For fuck’s sake.

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard AHHHHH THE ANGST SO SORRY

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: cunnilingus, begging, rocket’s fantasies, fellatio. a fight + angst. rocket can’t let himself be happy for long.

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

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

[raccoonfallsharder]

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter twenty-three. xeno. [NEW 10/3] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 23/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard. | chapter twenty-three. xeno. ✩ ART: pearl's character design | pearl & rocket's bunk | heartspur scene |chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch| rocket & pearl snuggle

NEW gift art (STILL CRYING). adorable pearl x rocket selfie by @starriidreams steamy/emotional waterlily pearl x rocket painting by @hibatasblog

the high evolutionary’s flawless pearl chats with the daughter of thanos.

“Please, Rocket,” she says softly. “She needs to eat. Or at least,” she hesitates, “I need to make sure she has the opportunity.” His eyes hold hers — red as magma and equally warm, melting against her as he scrutinizes her. Then he sighs dramatically. “Nothing sharp,” he tells her. “Flex-dishware and utensils only.” He scowls. “Can’t even have you take a weapon ‘cause she’d probably get it outta your hands in two seconds flat.” Pearl offers a tentative smile. “I don’t need a weapon when I have Groot.” Rocket looks at Groot pointedly, right as the Taluhnisan chomps on a mouthful of leaves growing off his own arm. Her survivor’s brow creases painfully and he casts her a withering glare. 

“Take the Destroyer, too,” he decides, his voice grim as he turns cabin to the starshield and glides them smoothly through another jump. “Me?” Drax says, sounding startled and pleased. Pearl winces. She likes the Kylosian, but his plans for the Luphomoid make her nervous. “I thought you didn’t trust him.” “I don’t,” Rocket says flatly, and Drax lets out a wounded gasp.  “But we are friends—“ “But I do believe he’ll kill her if she acts up.” Drax pauses in his protests, then squares his shoulders proudly. “That is true.” “It’ll be hard to have a real conversation with her if she’s feeling threatened.” She tries to sound coaxing. Rocket only snorts. “Making sure she don’t feel threatened is not a frickin’ priority for me,” he says drily.

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard welp this is just sad

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: pearl’s still dealing with the triggering environment of the dreadnought. mentions of torture.

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

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

[raccoonfallsharder]

june aspirations

saturday, june 1: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter twelve. ochisia. ❤︎

tuesday, june 4: the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. [headcanon part four] ✮

friday, june 7: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter thirteen. heartspur. ✩

tuesday, june 11: the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. [headcanon part five] ✮

friday, june 14: ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ fistful of sunlight [oneshot for @starriidreams ] ✮✩ tumblr machinery from rocket prompt week ✷.⁺⋆˚₊ ✮✩ ao3 crosspost

tuesday, june 18: the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. [headcanon part six] ✮

friday, june 21: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter fourteen. ghough. ❤︎

tuesday, june 25: the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. [headcanon part seven] ✮

friday, june 28: cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂chapter fifteen. soufrise. ✩

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

other things i'm working on for july and beyond...

warm compress ☾.༊·˚⋆⭒[oneshot] ✮

cicatrix .⋆☁︎ :･꧂ chapter sixteen. craxis. ❤︎❤︎ chapter seventeen. keyframe. ✩ chapter eighteen. attriage. ❤︎‬❤︎‬

florescence❀, chapter five year four: formation. ❤︎❤︎

⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall, part three: candied apples. ❤︎❤︎

･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie. oneshot. ❤︎❤︎ ︎

✩࿐࿔ take what you need. [taking requests] ✮

other future projects

[raccoonfallsharder]

nighthawk.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 10/14] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 23/40+ | wip | wordcount: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | navigation ART: pearl’s character design | pearl & rocket’s bunk | heartspur scene | chapter one. nemotia. art by @/frostedwitch| rocket & pearl snuggle | adorable pearl x rocket selfie by @/starriidreams | sexy, evocative waterlily pearl x rocket painting by @/hibatasblog ♡

pearl gets lost. rocket finds her.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, and leans his shoulder into the doorframe. Tilts his head against the closed door and crosses his arms and his ankles. “Why’d she give you those candies?” The silence goes on for so long that he doesn’t think the cyborg will answer. Then: “She didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head against the sleek, curved metal of the wall. “Nope.” He lingers on the n, then pops the p. “What’s that about?” There’s another crawling quiet. When the Luphomoid speaks, the words are equal parts secretive and baffled. “I truly don’t know, Fox.” He flicks his tail and tilts his ears. “Yeah you do.” He can almost hear the cyborg shaking her head. “I know what she gave them to me for,” she says. “But I don’t know why.” He rolls his eyes. “That’s the same frickin’ th—“ “It isn’t,” Nebula interrupts. He hears a sudden shuffle and the clink of a chain — and then the sound of a body sinking into a flimsy low-grade jackroom-mattress, and the shift of blankets. “It’s not the same at all.”  There’s a tight, tense exhale. “Go sleep with your kitten, Fox,” the Luphomoid rasps irritably. “Let me rest.” His ears twitch. Your kitten. The two words, together,  feel different than when Drax had called pearl kitten alone — as if his girl could belong to just anybody. But like this? Rocket might be able to get used to it if people start referring to her as his.  He waits there, tilted against the door — but he knows the cyborg isn’t gonna say anything else. He sighs, and rolls his shoulders, and lifts himself from the wall. The trudge up to the captain’s quarters is grueling. Not because it’s terribly long — Rocket supposes that’s an easy cost to pay for having a frickin’ Dreadnought — but because every moment feels like a test. Despite Nebula calling pearl his, every step still feels like a risk. He scowls. He’s not even sure why.  Pearl hasn’t rejected him yet. If he can just remember to keep his moon-damned shirt on and stop being a jackass, he can probably make this last for a while.  Except, when he gets to the captain’s quarters, pearl isn’t there. She’s been there — recently. She must have just left. He can smell the waterlily-scent of her, still filling up the glass bubble like a drug. The captain’s bed has been remade with the blankets from the runabout, layered sideways over each other because they’re too small to comfortably drape across the whole mattress. It’s haphazard and soft, and rumpled like she’d laid down in them.  But it’s empty.

from chapter twenty-four. nighthawk. ✩ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂

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: abuse against animals, discussion of torture and surgery. angst & trauma. tiny bit of rocket being a degenerate.

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

banners & rose dividers by @/saradika-graphics pearl dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[raccoonfallsharder]

⋆ ˖ ⁺ ‧₊ ☽ anthology ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ masterlist

back to main masterlist

ratings vary | no use of y/n | gn reader | complete | word count: varies.

miscellaneous one-shots belonging (and collections of oneshots). does not contain Domestic Scenes, Window, or borealis oneshots. DOES contain:

adorations ❤︎‬❤︎‬ Autopilot Systems Check ✮ fistful of sunlight [for @starriidreams] ✮✩ overheard on the bowie ❤︎‬❤︎‬ practice ✩ rocket raccoon prompt week 2024 ✮✩ tomorrow ✩ warm compress ✮

RATING KEYfluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬ back to main masterlist

adorations 𖥔 ݁˖⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshot | word count: 4,518. ❤︎❤︎ you have a habit of complimenting rocket. he decides to give you plenty of reasons to keep doing so. aka rocket has a praise kink and no-one can convince me otherwise. mcu-based smut with feeeeelings. set sometime shortly after volume two. dirty talk, (light) biting, (light) degradation, use of slut as a term of endearment. fast-burn enemies-to-lovers & angst with a happy/hopeful ending. praise kink, obviously.

‧₊˚ ⋅♡ ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Autopilot Systems Check‧₊˚ ⋅☽ ࣪ ִֶָ♡. smut-free | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 1406. ✮ reader wakes up in the middle of the night and rocket is nowhere to be found. reader x rocket soft fluff & domestica. mcu-based, post-endgame i guess. drabble based on this post/inadvertent prompt.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ fistful of sunlight ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ domestic fluff | no use of y/n | oc!reader | oneshot | word count: 3,832. ✮✩ for @starriidreams, based on their original character, jazper. ♡ after a surprising day of work at the knowhere clinic, princess jazper returns to their home with rocket, only to find that the captain of knowhere has been working on a little surprise of his own.

WARNINGS: brief description of surgical procedure in sceond paragraph only. rocket says damn/dammit a lot; reader is referred to as princess 2x (because reader is literally a princess). some limited physical description of reader (most notably, having gold palms/fingerpads/facial markings and an adorable lil toothgap). i've never written for someone else's oc like this before so i hope i do them justice ๐·°(⋟﹏⋞)°·๐

･:*𑁍✧˚₊ overheard on the bowie 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshot | word count: 12,973. ❤︎❤︎ rocket laments building the bowie with such thin walls between bunks. ie, you haven’t been able to get off in a while, and your neighbor knows it. WARNING for absolutely plotless smut. pining, angst, far too much sexual frustration. fingering, spanking and pussy slapping, begging, cunnilingus, praise/degradation, crying, overstim. variations on "slut" and "brat" (affectionate), pet names like "sweetheart," "princess," etc. i scaled back the number of orgasms but it's still a pretty unlikely number for an average humie. i apologize for my sins

ᯓ⋆｡°✩ practice 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. 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. WARNINGS for general suggestiveness, lil bit of pining. eidos-rocket is a bossy little shit and calls you buttercup x2.

rocket raccoon prompt week ✷.⁺⋆˚₊ fluff to spice | drabbles & minifics | word count: varies. ✮ - ✩ drabbles and minifics inspired by rocket raccoon prompt week, mostly featuring a gn reader (no use of y/n). prompts include explosives, hurts, emotionalistic, family, machinery, bite, and home. <2,300 words each.

tomorrow ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆ 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshot | word count: 2,441. ✩ you had a long day at work. rocket decides to comfort you.  no real smut (this was a failed kinktober 2023 fic) but some explicit references to sex acts. unhealthy coping mechanisms. WARNING for discussion of death & implications of completed suicide. no graphic descriptions, just a lot of… sad. if you are in pain, please know that there are people who want to support you. here is @trans-axolotl’s alternatives to harmful crisis lines for US support services that do not engage police, and/or which explicitly avoid engaging police whenever possible. 

warm compress ☾.༊·˚⋆⭒ fluff | no use of y/n | gn reader | oneshot | word count: 3,432. ✮ you've taken care of rocket when he's been hurt in the past. when he comes to visit you and finds you tired, in pain, and less-than-receptive to company, he decides to return the favor. can be read platonically or romantically. excerpt behind the cut. WARNING: reader is experiencing abdominal pain attributed to hormonal/ovulation cycle. reader cries at one point.