Hibatasblog - Jolie’s Portrait Of Rocket

✩˚₊‧♡ Blackmail Material ♡‧₊˚✩

masterlist [COMPLETE]

18+ only | no use of y/n | f!reader | complete | word count: 30,591.

a classic tale of "that fuckin raccoon found your sex toy." post-endgame friends-to-lovers smut with feelings.

i am not writing off the possibility of an epilogue someday (a "one year later" scenario won't fully let go of my brain) but for now i feel like this story has been told and we can leave these two to enjoy their smutty little lives together.

Collects 3 of 3 Parts. ♡‧₊˚✩

♡‧₊˚✩ Part One: Blackmail Material [8/7] you've been hiding one - or maybe two - things from your best friend on the Bowie. unfortunately for you, now he knows. smut with feelings + fluff. sex toys, voyeurism/exhibitionism, impact play.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Two: Self-Sufficience [8/28] rocket deals with the emotional aftermath of your night together, engages in some kinda-sad masturbation, and learns that deep down, his most-secret kink is having sex with someone who loves him. fuck. smut with feelings + fluff. angst, sexual fantasy, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), spanking.

♡‧₊˚✩ Part Three: Bioluminescent [10/23] rocket finally decides what he wants. you're glowingly happy to oblige. smut with lotsa feelings + fluff, dirty talk, begging, light dom/sub elements, little bit of oral, references to impact play.

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

What should have happened in the Infinity movies. Scarlet Witch and Rocket friendship for the win.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part two. pennsylvania. ohio. indiana.

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 28] | main masterlist

angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 2/6 | word count: 806.

rocket appreciates the turnpikes. the heroes discuss music, memories, and state-of-the-art tech.

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

“What’s this place?”

Wanda glances over at Rocket from behind the steering wheel. He looks like a child: sitting on three hardbound textbooks the Hulk had dug out of somewhere, legs swinging casually over the edge of the chair. He’d spent the first two hours fussing with his seatbelt, muttering about how Terran transport vehicles are deathtraps before either satisfying or resigning himself. 

The car is currently gliding through a twisting crevasse, cut deep into old mountains. Outside, the spring thaw is melting snow into little waterfalls that cascade off the manufactured cliffsides, carefully funneled away from the road. A sign warning of rockslides floats past. The trees are budding and there are little pink and yellow sprays of wildflowers peeking through the patches of grass.

“The Pennsylvania Turnpike?” Wanda offers uncertainly. 

“Huh.” The Captain of the Guardians of the Galaxy — down from six but up to three — swings his feet again. She can see his face reflected in the passenger window. His ruby-flecked, bourbon-brown eyes glow, wide and thoughtful. “It’s kinda pretty.”

Wanda blinks at the road ahead.

“You like music?” Rocket asks, feet still swinging.

She cants another sideways glance down in his direction. “I do.”

“What kind?”

She lets out a huff of air — almost a laugh. It feels strange. It’s been a while. About five years, actually. “Sokovian rock,” she tells him archly. “Some metal.” She raises a brow at him. “You know Sokovian music?”

Of course, she already knows the answer. 

Still, he’s looking at her with nothing but open intrigue. “No,” he says frankly, and his eyes are hungry. “You got some?”

It’s not quite the response she’d expected. She tries to remember the last time anyone other than Vis had asked about — home. Had wanted to share her memories, know her life.Had wanted to hear the music she’d grown up with, and listen to it together. 

Only Pietro, she thinks.

“No,” she says quietly. “I haven’t got anything.”

Rocket’s not sure how this planet goes from lush mountain forest into the flat nothingness of the Ohio Turnpike, but it does. As far as he’s concerned, this only confirms that every good thing on Terra has to be followed by a bad one. 

And also, what the fuck is a turnpike? It doesn’t register in his damn translator. 

Still, Cleveland’s not terrible when they stop for food — there’s some little cafe where they can eat outside, though Rocket’s surprised the witch doesn’t want to go in; it’s still kinda cold out for a baldbody, afterall. But it’s a good break in the monotony — especially before they start driving through an even more boring region that Wanda tells him is Indiana. 

Thank fuck he’s got something to tinker with now, though.

He’d chewed on her response to his question about Sokovian music for a while. It had sounded like a sentiment that had lived in his own head for years — I ain’t got nothin’ — and he hadn’t even realized the sound of it had faded until he’d stood at the edge of a dead star and pretended to be some kind of captain.

I could lose a lot. Me, personally — I could lose a lot. 

Then he’d asked Wanda if she’d had a zune.

The witch had blinked. “I — no. Nobody has zunes anymore.”

He’d scoffed. “I do.” He’d pulled Pete’s zune from his pocket and wagged it at her. “State-of-the-art music-portation and listening device,” he’d taunted, and something in the corner of her mouth had flickered.

“Most people use their smartphones nowadays,” she’d said — and her voice had been sort of mild instead of flat, which he’d counted as a win. “They’re a little newer,” she’d added apologetically. “Better tech.”

He’d dipped his head and stared at the zune. For some reason, the words had felt like a bruise in his heart, and he’d scrubbed his knuckles against his metal breastbone. “Better, how?”

She’d glanced at him again and shrugged one shoulder. “Faster. Sleeker. They hold more data, and they can access the Internet. Make calls, send texts. All sorts of things.” She’d shrugged again.

He’d dug his knuckles in hard  to his sternum, trying to relieve — or maybe counterbalance — some of the pressure there, and he’d stared down at the zune. “This was Pete’s.” The words had come out before he’d been able to drag them back. He’d never intended to say them in the first place.

The witch hadn’t said anything, and he’d slid his tongue over the front of his teeth, then had cast a sideways look up at her, trying to keep his face nonchalant.

“Those smartphones ain’t got more than three hundred songs on ‘em though, right?”

Her eyes had flicked to him, then back to the road. “Oh, absolutely not,” she’d said, so confidently that he’d immediately felt smug. “Fewer, I think.”

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip masterlist previous part | next part [est may 28] | main masterlist

I’m melting from the sweetness and the sexual tension in this chapter. Holy hell.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂

chapter nine. mal de coucou. [new 5/9] ✩❤︎

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 9/25+ | wip | word count: pending. masterlist, notes, & moodboard | chapter nine. mal de coucou.

pearl and the monster make landing-plans. pearl gets a massage from her survivor. see below for warnings & notes.

His hands remember everything they’ve ever touched, and everything they’ve ever felt. They never, ever forget. He stares at pearl’s pretty, delicate fingers. His lowlight vision paints them with the champagne light of the security orbs, and he can see them so clearly that he can count the faint freckles on the second knuckle of her first and third digits, and a beauty mark on the web of her thumb. He compares the satin skin and spindle-thin bones to  the mass of gnarled leather and claw that make up his own hands. Then he rolls her fine knuckles under his rasping thumb, and finally — carefully, stomach tight with tension at the thought of waking her up, of getting caught — he brings them to his face and coasts his mouth over them lightly. He wants to lick them. Take the flavor of them into his mouth, press them against his teeth. Maybe between his teeth — nibbling just enough to leave little divots that would fade in less than an hour. Get the taste and texture of her silken skin on his tongue.  An antidote to ghosts. 

read more on ao3 | masterlist, notes, & moodboard

i am updating this from an uncomfortable chair in the hospital room. and yes, i am so tired i might as well be drunk, so please forgive any messiness of this chapter. in my head i had imagined it very slow-burn and delicious, but now i suspect it is clunky and clumsy. either way, i had a hard time deciding where this was worth a ✩ or a ❤︎‬ in the ratings, so i sorta gave it both?? anyway i hope you enjoy, my little glass suncatchers. sorry for being a day late again and please note that i might be late next week too as we are still waiting on some results for this surprise-brain-surgery-thing.

WARNINGS for chapter nine: description of hand surgery/butchery. massages and the resulting filthy fantasies.

a story about scars. two survivors learn about themselves, each other, hope, and the universe. a freakish little monster visits the high evolutionary’s bride on her wedding night. an adventure of intergalactic proportions ensues. aka raccoons make plans; the universe laughs.

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

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

I need him carnally (Rocket Raccoon).

All good stuff!!!

the eidos collection.

navigation | full fanfiction masterlist | collections masterlist headcanons & imagines | sfw fanfiction masterlist | nsfw fanfiction masterlist

for those of you who are fans of eidos-rocket, here's a little collection of everything i've written for him! ...so far, anyway.

here are some things to expect!

all fics are COMPLETE unless otherwise noted!

more detail about what you can expect from my fiction

typically, platonic & spicy stories will feature a gn reader (no use of y/n). smutty stories are more likely to feature a "female" reader or oc.

i hope you enjoy these fics featuring our favorite bearded "you slept with a cop?" guy!

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

full fiction~

bookshop at the end of the universe. ❤︎‬ 18+ only MDNI | f!reader | word count: 9,157. rocket wants out — of the rain, and everything else. eidos-game vibes. mild smut. for nonnie. see post for warnings & context | autumn comfort collection.

the holiday gun show. ❤︎‬ 18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | oneshot | word count: 17,781. rocket has his own holiday traditions: doin' community service and generally bein' an upstanding pillar of his favorite local community, of course. what the flark were you thinking? friends-to-lovers, loosely eidos-inspired. see post for warnings. | borealis: year two

negotiations. ✩ mid-to-high-grade spice | gn reader | no use of y/n | oneshot | 1,834 words. you and rocket make a deal (not for the first time). eidos-inspired, a little more suggestive. | ♡ kiss kiss ♡ BANG BANG

practice ✩ low-grade spice | gn reader | 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. see post for warnings | anthology ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

casual writings~

initial thoughts on eidos-rocket a response to an ask. unedited ramblings/musings.

thoughts on the beard a response to an ask. unedited little imagine (the foundation for practice, below).

rocket smells like drabbles on what every rendition of rocket smells like (imo), including our eidos guy.

eidos-rocket-headcanons full list of my eidos-rocket headcanons, specifically in relation to the ask about eidos-rocket with an so

support banner by @/adornedwithlight | outer-space divider by @enchanthings |

by solitudee

Please, if you need it, get help.

hey so protip if you have abusive parents and need to get around the house as quietly as possible, stay close to furniture and other heavy stuff because the floor is settled there and it’s less likely to creak

Agree 100%

anyone who says they would rather be an avenger than a guardian is a fool. the guardians go on constant outer space adventures with a talking tree set to 70’s dad music. plus they all love and would literally die for each other. what do the avengers do? assemble for five minutes then get into a walmart parking lot fight and never see each other again. fuck you.

Truer scenario never existed.

Rocket: How many times do I have to apologize?

Quill: Once would be nice!

Rocket: Hmm… no.

A painting by the amazing artist Ksenia Buridanova that is giving me Knot vibes from Chapter 16 of Entanglement. Don’t worry though, this fucker will be so, so sorry in the near and coming future. A peek at the next chapter under the picture.

Thalisk whispered something low and growling to Knoliadin before switching back to the standard Badoon that her translator could make sense of. “I advise caution, my prince. The girl has yet to learn proper respect, proper reverence,” he warned as he made his way across the room.

“I’m sure that with your careful tutelage, she will learn quickly, Thalisk. Your methods are, no doubt, impeccable.” Knoliadin replied, an understated elegance to his words that Petra had never before heard from him.

“I do not anticipate her being an apt pupil. Insouciance seems to be bred into her bones.” Thalisk answered.

“Odd,” Knoliadin answered with a frown in his voice, “I have found her to be a quick study. She has already passed the third level of Jalwek-Pazon in a short amount of time. Consider her heritage. Consider the sort of being she is.”

Even though terror was buzzing in her finger tips, the way the two men were talking about her like she wasn’t even there was starting to really annoy her. She didn’t like how he called her a ‘being’ as if she were something other. The sound of moving fabric and footsteps yanked her thoughts back into horror.

A gentle whisper of a touch brushed against Petra’s face. She strained wildly to get out of reach, to get away from Knoliadin, but could not escape. He dragged the back of his fingers across her cheek with a barely there caress. His touch was distressing, his skin seemed to buzz against hers as if little tingling fibers were connecting them where skin met skin. “I can feel the fear pounding in your neck like a trapped animal. Be calm. I will not harm you.” When he lifted his hand away, the fibrous strings stretched, pulled, and thinned, but did not separate completely. I made her skin itch and twitch, she wanted to scratch herself bloody with her nails.

Petra flinched hard enough that she experienced a bracing shock as he traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb. It made her slump in her bonds and groan again as pain danced up her nerves. “Shhhh,” Knoliadin crooned as his hand lingered on her shoulder.

When she recovered somewhat, she made a small noise of protest as he slid his claws into her hair. “Shall I remove the blindfold? I imagine it would comfort you to see where you are.” He said as he loosened the fastenings on the sides. A rustle of fabric and Petra was squinting her eyes even at the dim lights of the room.

She couldn’t see much. She knew if she turned her head too quickly she would feel burning electric torment, so she focused on what was directly below her feet. Gleaming metal, sleek and sterile duraplastic lined counters. Machines both familiar and strange loomed like ghosts in the shadowed room. There was an IV of fluids and nutrients hanging above her head, and she was laying restrained on a padded surgical table. A medical lab. She was in the ship’s medical bay. Wide bands cuffed her wrists, ankles, shoulders, waist, and hips. An uncomfortable pressure on her head made her suspect some sort of electrodes were placed there.

“There she is,” Knoliadin said, and Petra’s eyes flickered to her side to see him smiling down at her. He wore a dark eye patch over his ruined eye and a sleek red and golden brocade robe of Shiar wood dove silk. Before she could stop the sound, a whine spilled over her lips. “Shhhh,” he repeated, as he cupped her face, “So, you feel it too, our connection, our bond.” It was as if her cheek was threaded to his palm with squirming, writhing worms that consumed both of their flesh at once.

“You didn’t mean to create this connection, did you?” he asked, voice full of sympathy, compassion. He glided his clawed thumb under her eye to catch the first drops of moisture there.

“No,” she answered, eyes overflowing with tears.

“You did only mean to heal me? Nothing else?”

“Yes, only that.”