Kitty Everyone Who Interacts With Him Lovessss And Hatessss Him Sooooo Much At Exactly The Same Time.

I love this so much, and yes his partner would freak out that he said this.

I’m not sure if this is a fact or not, but I read on tiktok that apparently your brain shows you seven minutes of your life when you’re dying and those seven minutes are supposed to be the best parts of your life.

So I thought of what if Rocket sent this to you as a text message, thinking it would be sweet, but he didn’t really take in the “dying” part of it 😭

-

Rocket: “Apparently when you die, your brain shows you 7 minutes of the best moments of your life. You would be my 7 minutes.”

And about 15 minutes later, he got a face call from you and he picked up and you were sobbing. “What is wrong with you? Why would you say something like that?” Obviously crying because it was so sweet yet so sad.

Rocket laughed a bit, “it was supposed to be nice!”

You replied, crying harder, “it was nice, you fuck! Very nice! Now look what you did!”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry! I wanted to be sweet.”

“By talking about you dying?!”

“I don’t know! Just in case—“

“In case of what? Because if you think—“

“Nothing, nothing, I’m exaggerating!”

“If you think you’re not coming back here, Rocket…”

“Listen, the only reason I wouldn’t come back on time would be because I was getting you flowers on the way home. I ain’t leaving, baby. Okay?”

-

Thank you tiktok for this beautiful yet heartwrenching idea :)

The duo becomes a trio…

heartspur.⋆☁︎:･꧂

[anticipated 6/7]

18+ only | rocket x f!oc | 12/25+ | wip | wordcount: pending. see pearl's character design.

rocket and pearl get in a fight. rocket shares a secret. warnings below.

“I am Groot.” Rocket turns toward the sound instinctively and she watches his neck crane back, ember-eyes flying wide. Groot smiles down at him softly from behind her. “I am Groot.” “Got it,” her survivor says shortly. “I’m Rocket. Now. I hear you got a frickin’ bounty on your head—” “I am Groot,” the Taluhnisan says. “Yeah,” Rocket snaps. “I got that—” “Sorry,” pearl intervenes, flushing. “I should have explained. He’s — it’s Taluhnisan. The language. You just don’t understand it — yet. But you will,” she adds hurriedly, and she can feel a hopeful, rueful little smile blooming in the corner of her mouth. “You will,” she repeats. “I think you’ll pick it up so quickly—” “So he can only say one frickin’ thing?!” “No — sorry,” she apologizes again, “I’m not explaining well. He’s saying a lot right now, and he understands everything, but Taluhnisans have very inflexible larynxes. So his apparent vocabulary is, uhm — limited? To, well, I and am and Groot. In exactly that order.” “I am Groot,” the Taluhnisan says unhelpfully. Rocket sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Okay, morons. Who’s holding the bounty?” “I am Groot.” “Uhm—” A noisy groan bubbles up in his lungs. “I’ll just look it up, I guess,” he snarls, and lifts his datapad to scan the Taluhnisan.  Whatever he sees on the screen is apparently less-than-ideal, because he spits out a curse that only reads in her translator as some kind of facial parasite — then repeats it a number of times.

from chapter thirteen. heartspur. ✩ 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: canon-typical violence against animals.

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

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

Oh, my heart. 💔Let’s all go and save all the baby Rocket’s in the multiverse. That’s my new mission. I am deeply regretting not having Petra give Rocket a plushie. 🧸I only didn’t because she didn’t have any to give. 😭 They became each other’s plushie.

Holy shit, I am rolling on the floor hearing that lil’ gremlin shout, “Faster! Faster! Come on you can go faster than that! Stop bein’ a wimp and go!”from his little basket seat. 🚲 🧺

That last line is an emotional kick in the teeth.🦵🦷 So perfect and lovely. I am so soft for baby Rocket. He deserves the world.🌎

rocket fanart masterlist | headcanons & imagines masterlist art masterlist | main masterlist

boring meeting scribble time!

maybe in some other universe when baby-rocket escapes from halfworld, the universe gives him a just a little bit of overdue luck and he stumbles into you. you’re still a kid and you don’t really know what you’re doing, so he probably bites you at least once. but it won’t be too long till you’re feeding him eggs and fish and fresh summertime cantaloupe. in winter, you drink cocoa by the heat vents and he naps for days in the blanket forts you made together. the spring and autumn bring syrupy-golden afternoons where you strap a helmet on him and sit him in your bike-basket while you ride around town; he’s always goading you to go faster. on hot days the two of you set up a kiddie-sized pool (you’d ride him in your bike to the beach but he’s so metal-heavy you’re afraid he’d be in trouble if the water got over his head). you’ve given him every necessity and comfort you can think of, even though you’re just a kid yourself, but his favorite thing is the otter stuffie you gifted him with shortly after he arrived, when he was still felt uncomfortable and unsafe. he won’t say why but he carries it with him everywhere — even into the pool.

the only thing he loves more than that soft, ragged plushie is you.

rocket fanart masterlist | headcanons & imagines masterlist art masterlist | main masterlist banners by @/thecutestgrotto and @/saradika-graphics

happy hanukkah!!!!

Ahhhhhhh!!!! My heart is so filled with emotions. This is so, so lovely! I can’t believe that there were two new ones today! I love it x ♾️!

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind Possessing and caressing me

Jai guru deva, om Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes They call me on and on across the universe Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letterbox they They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe

Jai guru deva, om Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world

Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing Through my open ears inciting and inviting me Limitless undying love which shines around me like a million suns It calls me on and on across the universe

Jai guru deva, om Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world Nothing's gonna change my world

Jai guru deva Jai guru deva Jai guru deva Jai guru deva Jai guru deva Jai guru deva

-The Beatles

————

I adore the story Entanglement and Amor’ by @hibatasblog and @bbasmos! I love to think of them in parallel universes, different but connected by the struggle, grief and strife of both companions. All of which comply to a deep seated love. I can’t wait for all the new chapters because I’m a greedy bitch!

Love these!

Rocket Raccoon and Groot sketches by Mike Maihack

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

Rocket: That explains why you’re into Nebula.

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

Sexy grooming time.

ᯓ⋆｡°✩ practice

for a nonnie who asks the important questions main masterlist | oneshot masterlist

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. or, you accidentally seduce rocket. he intentionally seduces you back. WARNINGS: general suggestiveness, lil bit of pining on your part. eidos-rocket is a bossy little shit and calls you buttercup x2. this is pure lighthearted fun & doesn’t delve into the inner workings of rocket’s trust-issues and angst.

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.

initial ask | the beard | rocket smells like eidos-rocket-headcanons | main masterlist | oneshot masterlist

“Hey.”

You’d looked up, startled that he was talking to you. You’d been curled up on the mustard-yellow sofa, catching up on one of drax’s favorite dramas on a holopad, and you’d been careful not to look up when Rocket had entered the space and plopped down on the couch across from you — the fact that he’d been out here at all, willing to share space with you, had seemed like something of a miracle — and you’d had to fight every instinct to not steal surreptitious glances out of your periphery. He’d been in a suit — broad shoulders and a narrow waist, the plume of his tail as ridiculously thick and fluffy as always — carefully rebraiding his beard.

“How’s this look?”

You’d hesitated, squinting one eye and screwing up the corner of your mouth. “You look good,” you’d admitted, and he’d preened.

“Got a hot date,” he’d informed you smugly, and it had made something in your belly plummet low. It hadn’t even been anything new — Rocket had been going out as long as you’d known him, whenever the Milano had docked somewhere that had allowed for it. Still, the prospect of dealing with him the next day, after he’d thoroughly enjoyed yet another apparently-meaningless one-night-stand? The idea of watching him smirk smugly for hours while he accused everyone else of needing to get laid? It had made your vagus nerve twist miserably. You’d wished you could roll your eyes at yourself without him misinterpreting the look.

You’ve got to get over this stupid crush of yours. 

“Cool,” you’d said aloud, weakly. “Have fun.”

He’d been the one who’d ended up rolling his eyes — still at your expense — and you’d decided to live vicariously through his disdainful expression. "The beard okay?” he’d asked, persistent.

You’d leaned forward, hinging at the waist to see better. It had looked a bit asymmetrical — like one side had been braided a little more tightly than the other — and once you’d begun studying it, you’d been able to see a few threads of glossy fur that had crimped up and escaped between the beads. You’d gestured with your own hands to your chin. 

“It’s not quite as neat as it usually is,” you’d admitted, and to be honest, it had given you a frisson of concern. He’d always been obsessive about his fur: brushing out his tail with quick deft fingers whenever he thought there might be a bit of debris in it, making sure his goggles didn’t damage the soft velvet pile at the base of his ears. Distractedly finger-combing the ruff at his throat and cheeks throughout the day, probably without even realizing it. He’d been particularly meticulous about the goatee — intentional in a way that had immediately endeared him even further to you. He’d always kept the silky-looking beard immaculate, and you can’t remember ever seeing even a hair out of place on it, outside of the occasional firefight — and even that had been rare.

His lip had curled in something between a snarl and a grimace. “Mirror in my room got broken in that last tangle with the Badoon,” he’d admitted. “I’ve been trying to do it without seeing.” He’d begun loosening the little braid, about to make another attempt.

You’d hesitated, then cautiously set aside the holopad. “Let me?”

You’d braced yourself for some loud, derisive comment, already wincing — but he’d been silent. When you’d dared to look across at him, he’d been sizing you up, one eye half-squinted and both of them dark and inscrutable.

“Okaaay,” he’d said slowly. “Yeah, okay.” A scowl and a dismissive wave of one clawed hand. “Don’t flark it up.”

You’d risen cautiously, keeping your eyes on his chin — afraid you’d lose your nerve if you’d looked anywhere else. Without thinking, you’d gently nudged his knees apart with your own, and dropped down between them. The foam pad on the floor had given you a little bit of protection from the duranium plating underneath, but you hadn’t bothered trying to get comfortable. Instead, you’d focused on sliding your hands between his own, gently loosening them from where they’d gone still in his beard. You’d slid the beads aside and placed them carefully in his palm, trying to ignore the heated-leather of his hand brushing your fingertips. Then you’d gently — almost reverently — unlaced the braid. The strands had been so silky and glossy, cool as water flowing over your fingers. This close, you’d been able to smell him: the gingery scent of burnt everbloom, a whiff of iron. Something like cedar and black pepper.

Oh, you’d thought, trying not to pout. He's going to make his date drool. 

You try not to be the jealous sort but, it had seemed so unfair. You’d gotten butterflies just because he’d just been willing to tolerate your presence enough to be in the same room with you. Meanwhile, he’d seemed unmoved by you in any way — vacillating only between a distant acceptance of your occasional accidental displays of affection and admiration, and utter, debilitating annoyance.

Debilitating for you, anyway. 

It hadn’t been that you hadn’t wanted him to go out — not exactly. You’d wanted him to have fun, to be happy, to enjoy people and drinks and whatever. You’d only wished that the prospect of him spending the night with someone else hadn’t made your heart turn over so forlornly in your chest. 

The stupid organ had thought it was an abandoned kitten at a shelter, mewing for a home.

God, you’d thought suddenly. What if he brings his date back to get laid?

You’d released a miserable little sigh without meaning to, your breath fanning gently over the silk of his beard and his mouth. You’d seen his lips part over a brief flash of sharp teeth — then close and tighten — and you’d tried to ignore the knot of misery in your belly while you’d smoothed the strands into three sections, stroking them until they’d been sleek as satin ribbon. Tenderly — careful not to pull — you’d begun to weave the sections together, nice and even. 

You’d braided it all the way to the end, to help the beads slide on more smoothly — a wooden one that looked remarkably like Groot, a red sphere, and two black nuts. You’d plucked them like berries from where he’d set them on the cushion at his side. Tying the tail with the tiny clear elastic had been the most difficult part — you’d been so worried about tugging too hard — and then you’d eased the bottom two nuts down to cover the tie before carefully combing out the ends with your fingers, rumpling the loose strands free of the braid. Leaning back, you’d braced your hands on his thighs and eyed your work critically. 

“It’s not quite as good as it usually is,” you’d admitted, ribs all tight and guilty on your lungs, “but it’s better than what you had just now.”

When you’d glanced up at the rest of his face, your breath had tangled into a gasp. His eyes had been hot and dark, roving over you. The ghost of surprise had still been gleaming in them, but if he’d been stunned when you’d dropped yourself to your knees between his thighs, that shock — along with the tooth-gritting frustration and confusion and conflict that he’d been silently grappling with since the first mission he’d shared with you — had mostly faded in the wake of something infinitely more focused and intent.

After all, an opportunity had fallen — well, not in his lap so much as directly between his thighs — but he’d never been one to check a free ship for a serial number.

“Well,” he’d said, his voice low and drawling, dripping like half-crystallized maple syrup all over your skin, “maybe you just need more practice, buttercup.”

Which is probably how you find yourself a few cycles later, tucked inside Rocket’s bunk, sprawled over his belly in the curve of his hammock: trying to comb through the satiny threads while his claws prickle against the skin of your shoulderblade. 

“Focus,” he says, and snickers when you jolt under the sharp tickle of his claws. He’s leaning back against his other hand and forearm, tilting his chin up while he looks down the sides of his face at you with glinting, teasing eyes.

“You’re distracting me,” you protest, fingers shaking as you try to divide the lengths of silken fur into even sections. Your eyes blur when the leathery pads of his fingers slip delicately under the edge of your tanktop, coasting against your skin. It’s a struggle not to squirm against him — a fight that you must be losing, based on the growing grin in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re distracting me,” he mimics, pitching his voice into something far more whiny than is fair. You scowl. “How are you gonna get better at this if we don’t increase the difficulty-level? C’mon,” he adds, finding that spot next to your spine that always makes you arch when he presses insistently against the muscle, “M’not even using both hands.”

You glower at him, but the look falls apart when he massages his fingers into that spot again. A shudder runs from the nape of your neck to the small of your back — an inhale catching and rattling in your lungs, so sudden you feel it in the back of your throat — and your hips buck against him without your conscious permission. Heat pools in your abdomen and your cheeks, radiant. You wrangle up all your self-control to attempt a glare. 

“Aww,” he jeers. “You’re flarkin’ cute when you pout.”

“Be nice.” You try to sound firm — commanding. “I’m the one with the power, here.”  To make your point, you tug gently on the silk strands woven between your fingers.

But Rocket just grins at you lazily, whiskey-dark eyes hooded and warm. “That’s a laugh.”

His fingers dive deep into that muscle again, making you gasp and crumple against him. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’ve just pulled harder than intended on the lengthy strands of fur at his chin. Then his hand is coasting up the valley of your spine — claws dancing and teasing, leaving threads of fire and chills in their wake. The hot ribbons of desire in your abdomen suddenly feel braided themselves: twisted together and tightening, beaded with arousal.

“Just ‘cause you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re in charge,” he gloats. “And I got it on  good authority that you like it when I’m a little mean.” His hand sweeps up to anchor to the back of your throat: not squeezing, just resting the warm weight of his palm there, fingers collaring the sides of your neck in a way that makes a shiver run the length of your spine again. His grin widens and his eyes grow smoky and heated. 

“Now get back to work, buttercup.”

initial ask | the beard | rocket smells like eidos-rocket-headcanons | main masterlist | oneshot masterlist

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