All Of This Is 100% True. You Can Choose Who You Love And Family Does Not Trump Yourself.

OMFG… Ya’ll, I died. This is the sex pollen Rocket story we need in our lives!

you are cordially invited ★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ to the fifty-second bicentennial masquerade exhibit on exitar: a night of haunting & hedonism (hosted by the tivan group)

kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist 18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2 parts | word count: pending. read book three ★࿐࿔ you are cordially invited now ★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊

you'd do anything for enough money to care for your ailing mother — including agreeing to a night working for the collector. too bad you weren't more prepared to be part of the entertainment.

CONTEXT: au based loosely on mcu vibes. resourceful reader is also a bit of a nihilist (expression of apathy toward life/death). caretaker reader/discussion of ill parent/parent death. the collector & his friends are creepy bastards (seriously i did the elders real dirty in this one). sub reader / dom rocket. HEA of course. warning for a no-smut first chapter, too much lore, + unhinged plant-science.

★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ part one | tricks | thursday, october 31. you try to stay under the radar at your new temp job: one night in a gutted skull, serving devious eldritch monsters in masks. your only ally? a rather ominous wolf. (... well, "ally" might be a generous term...)

KINKS/WARNINGS: no smut (yet), very mild spice (slow-burn i guess?). warning for too much lore + unhinged plant-science.

★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ part two | treats | tuesday, november 5. caught in a maze of glass coffins and hunting for escape, you and your wolf stumble across some particularly lascivious pumpkins, resulting in something more-or-less akin to — well, possession.

KINKS/WARNINGS: wolf/bunny play, exhibitionism, voyeurism, sex pollen, noncon/dubcon*, public sex, edging & overstim, dacryphilia, begging, praise/degradation, light humiliation, come-eating, too many orgasms, biting/marking, aftercare. *neither rocket nor reader are necessarily the "aggressor" in this scenario, but have both been forced to ingest an aphrodisiac by a third party.

★⋆.࿐࿔˚⋆˙‧₊ excerpt below.

When you look down, you can see that all the tiny purple crystals and amethyst-prisms on your corset are flecked with orange now, too — microscopic tiny shreds of gold leaf clinging to your bodice. “What is it?” you ask, and some of it falls into your mouth. Strawberry pixy stix, you think, and your tongue darts out before you can stop it.  “Fuckin’—“ He shoots a glare at someone over your shoulder. “Little gift from the Erotist, I’d guess. Or the Gardener.” Something warm blooms in your belly — an answer to the hollow ache of want, a solution if you could just grasp it — and you try to wipe away the pollen cluttering up your lashes and lips like sugary sequins.  The Gardener chuckles. “I’m afraid neither of us can take credit for this one, my dear boy. The Virgin’s Calabash is a creation of the Epicure.” The woman in the onyx-studded violet veil to his right nods her acceptance of this fact, all fake-modesty.  “Legend says it was from the lusty wet-dreams of a thousand touch-deprived virgins,” the Erotist snickers.  “That is not true,” the Epicure utters from behind her veil, tossing back a sheet of darksilver hair and sniffing disdainfully. You try to scrape the sweetness off your tongue with your teeth. It tastes good — but anything made by an Elder can’t be, as far as you’re concerned. “How bad is it if I ingest it?” you murmur to Rocket, and his eyes flare up at you. “Bad. Don’t.” Shimmering pollen clings to his whiskers and studs his fur like drops of sunstone and citrine. “What we got on us is bad enough. What we breathed in — worse.” You shift uneasily. The cool, crisp air of the chamber suddenly feels soothing on your skin. “What—“ “Another myth says that their nectar was used to dose the high priests and priestesses of the Indigarr Sky Lords over a chiliad ago. It caused such a disruption in the governing temples that the order was completely overthrown by invading forces, which ended up occupying Indigarr for nearly six centenaries afterward.” “That one is true,” the Epicure says with a curve of her eyes that seems to indicate a sly smile.  It’s hard to focus, though, as something like a blush blooms on your skin and lingers. You stagger to your feet, trying to brush the gold from your layers of tulle. Your eyes dart to the swing of Rocket’s tail. If he hadn’t made it so clear that he had no interest in you — which you can’t really hold against him, given the circumstances — you might have complimented him on it. The fur is so thick — shiny and soft. You wonder what it would feel like if he let you stroke it. What it might feel like, skimming softly against your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut tight. It’s a weird thought to have — not that you wouldn’t have thought it on a better day. But right now, you need to focus on getting him out of here — not on how luxuriously ticklish his fur might feel on your clit— “Let’s go, then,” you murmur. Your throat feels tight, and something on your belly flutters. “Let’s get out of here—“ “Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he mutters. “I could already be through here if I wasn’t babysitting you—“ Your lips are tingling, and the wave of heat you’d felt a moment ago suddenly intensifies. Is it an allergic reaction, you wonder? Or a normal result of the pollen? You wave a hand at yourself, trying to fan off some of the pollen, trying to cool the rush of warmth in your throat. 

read book three now ★⋆.࿐࿔ kinktober 2024 | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

purple support/mdni banners by @/cafekitsune gold rose & masquerade dividers by @/sweetmelodygraphics

Cuteness

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

So fucking hyped for every single word. #reading goals list.

future projects.

november 2024 onward

part one | main masterlist

below you can find the stuff i am working on, in order of (hopeful) release date. i have a lot of simultaneous projects so these will be coming out slowly over the coming months. thank you for bearing with me ♡♡ you are better than bonfires and s'mores and fireflies.

november 2024

untitled Domestic Scenes in Space Travel finale. 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | length pending | word count: pending. The Nineteenth & Twentieth Visits. Series Finale. based on Guardians of the Galaxy (2019).

unnamed cozy autumn oneshot tbd | rocket x tbd | ?? | word count: pending. tbd

december 2024

borealis additions tbd | rocket x tbd | ?? | word count: pending. tbd

january 2025

★♫｡°𝄞☕︎✎▤ 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.

february 2025

love is blind: andromeda 18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 5 parts | word count: pending. rocket has broken out of twenty-three prisons. this one will be no different. slow burn + probable smut with feelings. mcu/comic medley (kinda au?)

earlier future projects...

part one | main masterlist

all support/mdni banners by @/saradika-graphics star fairylights & cottagecore dividers by @/saradika-graphics lip & strawberry dividers by @/saradika-graphics cocoa mug & leaf garland dividers by @/thecutestgrotto tree dividers by @/strangergraphics

This is goddamn beautiful, and I’m just loving every bit of interaction between these two darlings. Also, Rocket should fuck around with every part of Natasha’s car. 🚗

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part three. illinois. wisconsin. minnesota.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est june 4] | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 3/6 | word count: 1680.

night falls on the outskirts of chicago. wanda and rocket reflect on the horrors of the universe.

During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR

references dialogue from All-New Guardians of the Galaxy Issue #4 - 6/21/2017

At Rocket’s urging, they’d stopped in a weird little convenience-and-fuel shop that the witch had called a rest stop, and he’d sneaked in behind some other humies and poked through the variety of chargers, converters, headphones, and other piecemeal tech that the rest stop had available for travelers to buy.

He’d emptied his pockets once they’d gotten back on the road and Wanda had looked at him with a crease between her brows. 

“How did you buy all that?” she’d asked, lips pursed. She always has big eyes, but they’d seemed even bigger then, and he hadn’t been able to quite clock what her expression had meant.  

So he’d just snorted. “Do I look like I carry Terran cash?”

Again, something in the corner of her mouth had flickered.

He’d been able to spend most of Indiana peeling apart wires and twisting them into one, breaking apart plastic hulls, and snapping together pieces of metal. 

“Natasha’s going to kill you,” Wanda tells him when he pries off the plastic facade protecting the wiring for all the fancy controls on Nat’s dashboard.

He shrugs. “Not if she can’t catch me.”

The witch makes that little puff of sound again. “Just — don’t mess with anything but the sound system,” she tells him. “I’m not making this drive without climate control and blinkers.”

He snorts, then points to a little heating coil the size of an old Kree Imperial coin. “What about that? Can I fuck with that?”

She glances over. “The cigarette lighter? Sure.”

It barely takes him any time to hook up the zune, and it’s crooning through Nat’s speakers by the time they hit the outskirts of Chicago. The sun’s long dropped behind the horizon by then, and he tells her they should hole up for the night.

“Danvers ain’t in that much of a rush,” he tells her. “We can take a break. Get some sleep.”

The witch doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about sharing a room with him, which is nice, because most of the time he feels like he’s gotta be on his guard with these baldbodies. He’s fairly certain at least half of the Avengers ain’t got any frickin’ respect for him or Nebs, and it’s frankly demoralizing.

But here he is, sharing a room with the witch. He’s never been one for regular sleep, and he’s got this thing with nightmares he doesn’t really want to inflict on Wanda. So he stays up most of the night, propped dozily against the headboard and fucking around on a datapad. The witch, for her part, pretends to watch some show on the two-dimensional Terran holovid-projector — primitive — then turns it off and pretends to sleep.

Pretends.

He tilts his head down at his datapad and wonders whether or not he should tell her that he can hear her heartbeat. It hasn’t dropped down to a relaxed, drowsy rate yet — in fact, sometimes he can hear it picking up, just for a minute. He wrestles with himself for a good fifteen minutes before he sighs and gets up, crossing the room to lean against the wall with the window. The witch is facing it, and he knows she can sense him, even though her eyes are closed. He leans back against the wall-mounted climate control unit, crossing his arms across his chest and his legs at the ankle while he waits for Wanda give up her silly charade.

It only takes about twenty seconds of him staring at her with one brow raised before she opens her eyes. They’re glowing as blood-crimson as his in this light — but where Rocket knows that his are made of reflective eyeshine, throwing back the flat light from the cracked bathroom door, hers are lit from the inside: whirling firestorms that would light up like furious beacons on even the most lightless of planets. 

He tries to curl the corner of his mouth in a way that says he’s unimpressed, but it’s a lie, and he’s never been good at lying.

“F’you’re not gonna sleep…”

She sighs and sits up, then rises, moving toward him so quickly that he startles: arms unfolding to defend himself, ears flickering flat. But she just comes and pulls the heavy curtains back, staring out into the distance. The glow of the city sits on the horizon, pinned with gemstone-lights. She leans forward, elbows propper on the window sill and hands on her chin.

“I don’t sleep much,” she says quietly.

He hesitates, then leaps nimbly onto the armchair on her other side, so he can peer out the window too.

“Yeah, well, you’re in good company,” he concedes after a moment. “Not sure how anybody does, to be honest.”

She snorts delicately at that, and he startles again. It’s the first time he’s seen that much life out of her — not counting her barely-banked outrage when he’d first called her boyfriend a robot, or the deadly-looking glow in her eyes a few moments ago.

“They think you can look away from the horrors of the universe,” she says emotionlessly, then shrugs. “I suppose—”

“No,” he interrupts flatly. “You can’t.”

She’s silent, and he doesn’t say anything either. They stare out toward the city for longer than Rocket knows — and to be honest, he’s only partly paying attention: sunk moodily into the horrors that plague his own mind. When he shakes himself – fur rippling from nose to tailtip — he’s reminded that he’s not alone. The witch looks as distant as he probably had. He’d been wondering — ever since the Snap — why she’d seemed so separate from her fellow Avengers, but he figures he gets it now. They’re an annoyingly optimistic bunch and she — she’s got her own horrors, too. 

She sighs, and stretches: hands gripping the sill, back arched like a cat. “Well,” she reasons. “If neither of us are sleeping, maybe we should get on the road?”

They stop at a roadside diner with outdoor seating and even though the sun is only blushing up the eastward horizon, Wanda insists on eating outside. She’s not trying to get in a situation where someone tells them that Rocket can’t be in a restaurant. She doesn’t have the energy to deal with his fury at the — well, the injustice of it. 

Because he’s not an animal. She’s still not sure exactly what he is, but he’s not an animal. She thinks again of his voice in the darkness beside her in the still-dark hours of the morning:

No, you can’t.

All of the Avengers do it, to some extent or another. Look past some of the horrors. She supposes it’s how they survive.

But she can’t.

She hasn’t been able to look away since she’d been trapped under that bed with Pietro, staring at the Stark Industries missile. She’s been waiting for death ever since. Now, under a rose-and-lavender sky with Rocket, she suddenly realizes that this is why it had been so easy to believe in Ultron’s promises.

Ultron hadn’t been able to look away, either. 

She supposes now that killing people is perhaps the wrong way to deal with it, but she still understands the broken heart at the core of the whole aching dilemma.

She’d started to take her eyes off it, once — the Stark Industries missile and everything else that came after. She’d started to lose sight of all that misery in the softness of Vis’ eyes, and now — now there’s nothing to distract her.

She just wants to look in his eyes again, instead of at — everything else.

But here’s Rocket, and he — she thinks maybe he understands. Strange, that she would find someone else so like her. It apparently took billions of lightyears’ worth of travel and some sort of — of alien mutation or something, but here he is.

They take breaks in Rochester and Sioux Falls, and listen to almost every song on the zune, including repeats from yesterday. Rocket picks up earpods and batteries and a dozen other small devices at every rest stop they pause at, and she doesn’t ask how he gets a hold of them. He tears them apart beside her, legs still swinging in the seat, and she imagines stopping somewhere and picking up a child’s carseat for him. There’s a curl in the corner of her mouth before she recognizes the feeling of it, and it startles her — to know that she’s still capable of smiling.

Rocket reconfigures the little devices into strange combinations that she’s sure are somehow purposeful, seemingly none-the-wiser in regards to her errant, probably-insulting thought and her first smile in years. The quiet between them feels oddly companionable. 

“Rocket,” she says, sometime between stops. “What is this mission Carol gave you, anyway? I need to know how I’m supposed to help you.”

He shrugs, focused on the now-unidentifiable piece of tech in his hands. It moves so fast — flashing metal and chipped plastic, little bundles of wires. “Gettin’ me there’s good enough, sweetheart,” he mutters, then flinches at the same time she shoots him a startled, sideways stare. “Sorry,” he mumbles, grimacing. 

She puts her eyes back on the pavement, the broken white lines sliding quickly beneath and beyond them. “That’s fine,” she says quietly, and he offers a half-shrug.

“Know Nat hates when I call her that,”  he admits, still focused on whatever he’s making. Another quick glance tells her his ears are flattened, though. “Try not to.” She can feel him hesitate before he flashes a sharp grin into her periphery. “Prob’ly can’t just keep calling you witch, though.”

She snorts before she can stop herself: a broken half of a chuckle, rusty and unused. “Why not?” she asks, and he snickers under his breath as the trees go by and the zune repeats another song through his makeshift adapter.

“I think calling her sweetheart is going to be the least of your concerns once she sees how you’ve messed with her car,” Wanda adds, and when he cackles, it pulls something answering out of her lungs: cherry-blossom-bright and unfamiliar, and real. The laugh feels strange in her mouth, absent so long she’d forgotten the petalled shape of it.

Both of them abruptly fall quiet, the sounds of Joan Jett curling through the speakers.

“Did you just—?” Rocket asks, the words crackling off at the end, and Wanda’s hands tighten on the wheel.

“Yes,” she says quietly, although the startle is still in her voice. “I did.”

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est june 4] main masterlist

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.

Why do I love this dynamic sooooooo much?

The H.E. Deserved worse.

Tw blood , trauma

-

POV: you’re the high evolutionary😭😭😭

Enjoy!!

I’m dying right now. Dying of anticipation. Pray for me y’all.

momophobia.⋆☁︎:･꧂ preview

[anticipated 3/19] ✩

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 27/40+ | 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 ♡ | NEW! rocket combs pearl's hair

bathtime confessions. warnings below.

“Sweetheart.” Pearl shifts on the copilot’s seat, nuzzling toward the sound of his voice, and Rocket lets his knuckles kiss her cheek again. He sweeps back a handful of hair, and plucks the cold compress from where it had nestled in her matted curls while she’d slept. Everything in him stretches for her, down to a cellular level. 

“Hmm?” she murmurs, soft as kitten-fur. He closes his eyes, and inhales: waterlily, clean canals, bone-dust and salt and blood. The scent of her, even tangled up with so much pain and fear, grounds him. At least she’s  still here, not left on HalfWorld or Cyxlore, not— not a broken, abandoned corpse on Knowhere.  His gut twists and his tongue suddenly feels thick and swollen, his whole mouth slick and sour. The space behind his eyes tightens and prickles.  “C’mon, doll,” he murmurs. “Lemme get you—“ Lemme get you somewhere safe and soft. “Lemme get you into bed.” She sits up slowly. The f’saki underneath her seat stirs. Her ponytail had been lopsided from the first moment he’d seen her in that stolen bootlace — tilted as drunkenly askew as she had been — but half her hair has loosened, falling in ragged tangled loops and knotted ringlets next to her face. He tries to keep his hands to himself now — she can’t possibly be interested in him touching her again; at the very least he should probably try groveling first — but he can’t keep himself from carefully cupping her chin in his fingers and tilting her face this way and that. There’s the cut on her puffed lip and the graze on her swollen cheekbone, the bloody divot above her brow that Drax had pulled closed with a steri-strip. It all reminds him too much of the cuts he’d left behind on her body that first night — the brutal, repeated thud of her head against the floor — and his throat throbs when he tries to swallow.  But she just looks at him with sleep-blurred moonsilver eyes, all soft and unfocused and timid. I just need to think, and I can’t with you looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.  Something slides right between his ribs, so piercing and sharp that his shoulders hunch convulsively and he curves inward, almost staggering under the arrow of it. “Are you okay?” she asks softly. The words bounce gently around the glass bubble of the cockpit, hushed between the shadows and stars.  His eyes gloss over. “Yeah, sweetheart. Come to bed with me?”

from chapter twenty-eight. momophobia. ✩ ‬ cicatrix masterlist.⋆☁︎:･꧂ navigation | fiction 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: infinite angst (& comfort). woundcare. discussion of animal surgery, and medical & (i would argue) psychological torture. lots of non-smutty naked/partially-clothed intimacy and the occasional dirty thought (because rocket).

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

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

Amazing and beautiful story.

Window Across the Galaxy ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*

masterlist

18+ only MDNI | rocket x f!oc | 27/27 chapters | COMPLETE | word count: 235,940.

girl falls first; raccoon falls harder.

Rocket is captured by a Ravager crew hoping to get rich off the excessively large bounty on his head. Throwing a wrench in everyone’s plans is the Terran girl they hired to do some freelance assessing on a recent haul of goods they’ve seized from a Xandaran luxury liner. Oops.

slight AU starting pre-GOTG volume 1 (but will hit most of the same major plot points). slow burn + eventual smut with a lot of pining in the middle. kinda enemies-to-lovers? (but only one of these idiots thinks they're enemies).

let me be real with you: this fic is really about wish-fulfillment. not just the eventual smut (but that too). mostly i just want someone to be nice to my best boy raccoon

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

so many amazing sweet wonderful readers have drawn fanart of this fic??? ♡♡♡♡♡ jolie is written without much physical description so you can imagine whatever you want but if you'd like to see how i and others imagine her, i've linked them below. thank you for being the absolute sweetest.

jolie's painting of rocket by @hibataao3 makes me cry every time i look at it

very first portrait of jolie by @raccoonmybeloved ~ so fucking cute i died

sims of jo by @evolvingchaoswitch ~ particularly love her paint-spattered outfit

an absolutely drool-worthy nsfw of rocket & jolie by @lazarel-3000 that permanently has altered my brain chemistry and lives in my mind forever ♡♡♡

adorable jolie sketches by @moonnpiie that truly capture what i mean when i describe jo as having “everywhere-hair.” plus her lil art-glove! (and a really cute rocket)

the cutest jo by @frostedwitch in her chapter xxvii sweatshirt. she is so cute with such shiny eyes and cute freckles and i love her so so so much! ♡♡♡

this shiny-haired jo by @miinsie! i love her hair so much in this one - it almost looks iridescent. i swoon. thank you for taking the time to read and to share this lovely interpretation of jolie with me!

and here are my jolie character concepts (complete full-color illo & rough doodles) and an illustration of one of my fave scenes from window ♡

✧･ﾟ:*collects Chapters I-XXVII (below the cut) & a holiday special && a silly epilogue

Chapter I. A Delicacy. in which our reluctant heroes meet atop a crate of Sovereign porn in the bowels of a Ravager ship.

Chapter II. Monster For A Pet. in which one hero wrestles with his inner Groot, and the other is quite possibly a moron.

Chapter III. A Kindness. in which Rocket gets in his own damn way: not for the first time, and certainly not for the last.

Chapter IV. Got There First. in which our heroes obtain an arsenal and street food.

Chapter V. Things No-One Has Said Before. in which one hero refuses to babysit and the other refuses to leave.

Chapter VI. Two and a Half Billion Units. in which we lean into the “they were roommates” trope. Jolie has misgivings, while Rocket has fantasies - about getting rich, of course.

Chapter VII. I'm Here. in which we visit Knowhere.

Chapter VIII. The Care & Feeding of Human Pets. in which our heroes practice breathing and we lean into a new trope: “there was (technically) one bed.”

Chapter IX. Scrapmetal and a Dream. in which we redefine homemaking.

Chapter X. Thin Fucking Ice. in which our heroes get fucked. Not in the good way.

Chapter XI. Let It Be .in which Xandar is saved and good lives are lost.

Chapter XII. So Much It Hurts. in which we try not to fuck up the vibes.

Chapter XIII. Don’t Wait. in which a lost sister is found and Drax grapples with the concept of sarcasm.

Chapter XIV. Exactly Like a Flower. in which comfort is shared.

Chapter XV: Galaxy-Breaking Shit. in which more comfort is shared, and life is good. Briefly.

Chapter XVI. Run. in which Rocket falls victim to his superstitions.

Chapter XVII. A Seedling. A Fox. A Little Girl. in which the party is divided.

Chapter XVIII. I Happen to Know a Guy. in which our heroes get fucked. Again. Still not in the good way.

Chapter XIX. He Was Loved. in which a planet is killed, a friend is made and lost, and nobody still has any frickin’ tape.

Chapter XX. Some Nerve. * in which an ultimatum is given.

Chapter XXI. I Very Still. ❤︎❤︎ in which our heroes get fucked. In the good way, this time. Finally.

Chapter XXII. Got There Worse. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket does not say "I love you."

Chapter XXIII. We're Gonna Need a Bigger Table. ❤︎ in which the galaxy just keeps spinning.

Chapter XXIV. Space Would Be Better. ❤︎❤︎ in which Rocket ~ discreetly ~ claims the title of boyfriend.

Chapter XXV. Little Love Stories. in which both of our heroes learn a little about themselves. ❤︎

Chapter XXVI. Other Side of the Window. in which old friends are reunited. ❤︎

Chapter XXV. The Most Beautiful Thing in My House. in which our heroes finally get what they deserve.❤︎

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ Winter Across the Galaxy * ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ a holiday special *

Epilogue: Interviewing Rocket & Jo. ten years after Window ends. short, silly fluff.

explicit lines or references* abbreviated explicit sequences ❤︎ detailed/prolonged explicit sequences ❤︎❤︎

Madame, that raccoon is a wicked, wicked tease.

Candied Apples 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ anticipated july 19 ❤︎❤︎

the THIRD & FINAL part of ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall | main masterlist COMING THIS FRIDAY. FINALLY.

18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/3 parts | wip | word count: pending. thievery in the garden.

You shiver again. You just want his hands back, even just the forefingers that had lingered on your shoulders — something, anything. You gnaw at your lip. “C-Captain?” you say meekly. “Rocket?” “Yeah, angel?” You can’t feel his touch, but you can tell he’s toying with the bow. The featherlight weight of it shifts against your spine; the ribbon whispers against your skin.  “Touch me?” you beg softly. “Please?” “Gonna,” he husks. “But sweetheart, I told you I was a real jackass. Greedy. Mean as shit. Told you I was awful.” You hear him inhale: so slow and steady and measured that you think it must be in an effort to keep his own control. “I’ll be rough with you later like you asked for, angel — but this first time, I’m gonna be mean. I’m gonna be so frickin’ lightfingered that you’re gonna feel like you aren’t being touched at all.” Your flesh heats and you find yourself shivering again at the same time: hot and cold, fevers and chills. Slowly — slowly — he pulls on one of the tails of the bow, and you can feel the tension of the knot at your back, being pulled taut. The slight tug is echoed in the tangle of nerves in your belly, tied somewhere right around your cervix: tightening, tensing. Then the knot holding together the back of your dress melts into something slack and loose. Maybe it would be nice if the knot in your abdomen did that too — but, perversely, it only winds tighter. Another whimper rises high in the back of your mouth and bubbles out, soft and pleading. He chuckles at the sound — and abandons the bow.  Just — drops the threadbare ribbon to stroll another circle around you, eyes licking hungrily over your loosened straps, the disheveled dip in your neckline, the way your knees peek out from the rumpled ruffle of your skirt and press into the cushion on the floor. The way your fingers curl desperately into the worn fabric.

there is another preview of this chapter.... the THIRD & FINAL part of ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall is COMING THIS FRIDAY. FINALLY.

wind·fall /ˈwin(d)ˌfôl/ noun. an apple or other fruit blown down from a tree or bush by the wind; an unexpected piece of good fortune.

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

based on a prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting: The apartment she moved to has a beautiful, well-tended garden. After a while she finds out that her neighbor is the one tending to the plants and she decides to help him out one day.

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