𝐷𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑀𝐿𝐴𝑁𝐷

The big Ravager’s face turns a shade grayer before his mouth pinches and his crimson eyes narrow. “Someone tried to force you into it, girlie?”

She tilts her head. Yes, she almost says, then second-guesses herself. Had she not been complicit?

And then she remembers how she had wanted to run out into the lightning or walk into the sea that night. She remembers the lacelike pattern of the rain reflected on the shadowed walls, the guttered candle, and how she’d craved Rocket’s hot hands crushing her throat rather than signing that electrocontract in antiseptic shadows of the Arete. She remembers how she’d spent most of her existence feeling colder and more lifeless than anything on Fron.

And she thinks about Pete, and his desperation to marry Gamora before the next life-threatening conflict. She thinks about the warmth of the little dining nook in the Fronnish kitchens, and the braziers under the beds where Littlefoot is already snoring and snuffling softly. She thinks of the Fronnishfolk out in the snow, planting posts for stringlights, and digging firepits with Ravagers to keep all the wedding-guests warm. She thinks about a universe that is constantly expanding, with each galaxy growing further away from one beside it, and she thinks of everyone and everything becoming more separate and distinct and alone.

And then she thinks of what it means to find love in spite of all that, and how it’s not only a joy for the people involved, but a lamp-post and a lighthouse for others, too.

Instead of answering directly, she repeats, “I was nearly married once. I was hours away from being a wife. Minutes, maybe. We were going to have dinner. Sign an electrocontract.” She hesitates. Her teeth sink into her lip. “I couldn’t stop shivering. I was fantasizing about death. Ravager-weddings might mean always being remembered — but I would have given up almost anything to make my betrothed forget.”

The Centaurian’s scarlet eyes grow harder. “Did Rat kill ‘em yet?” Then: “Sorry. Rocket kill ‘em yet?”

Pearl pulls back, and when she smiles, it feels surprisingly light on her face. “Oh, no,” she tells the captain. “Not yet."

read chapter forty-one. eisce. ✩ cicatrix masterlist & notes | see warnings and art below.

cicatrix .⋆☁︎:･꧂ 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.

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 ♡ | rocket combs pearl's hair | immerensis (sketch)

WARNINGS for this chapter: just the briefest mention of hypothetical molestation/sexual assault.

fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎‬ | much smut ❤︎‬❤︎‬ cicatrix masterlist | navigation | fiction masterlist

J’jark’s left orbital socket aches, the skin already tight with swelling. His nasal cavity is hot with pressure, thudding dully in time with his heart. He gulps back another hiccupy moan and tries to cinch his bladder more tightly. Why had he ever thought this was a good idea?

Hubris, he realizes immediately. Hubris and greed. The money had looked so good when he’d been ‘toxxed on Denebolan godkiller and a fuckton of World Tree Root. Not to mention the boost to his reputation.

The Guardians of the Galaxy are a menace to people like us, a syrupy voice had whispered in his ear. They need to be removed from the picture — which is where you come in.

A purring, throaty chuckle.

We’ve all seen how distracted they get when their beloved Captain is in danger.

NOW POSTED

The Captain’s spine snaps straight up. He rocks back in his seat. Somehow, his shoulders seem to broaden: chest and tail both puffing. Those laid-flat ears are perked forward.

J’jark stares up at him shakily.

“Patch it through.”

“Uh. You sure, cap’n?”

“Am I—? Yeah, dickhead. Patch it through.”

There’s a moment of scratchy silence. A brief burst of static, and then a soft hum.

Your voice, when it comes through the comms, is a soft sugar-bomb.

“Rocket?”

read patched through on ao3 now. ~4,045 words | please check warnings below.

NOTES: happy birthday to volume three, and happy anniversary to the liberation of the arete! thank you for your patience as i relocate my living space and navigate problems with internet access. i hope you enjoy the semi-dark, semi-fluffy bit of nonsense. i am so grateful i am to be part of this amazing community.

CONTEXT: mcu post-vol3, inspired just a little by the characters and storyline from Rocket Raccoon: The Blue River Score (2017).

WARNINGS: off-screen brutality (rocket has beat the shit outta this guy). lots of descriptions of pain. threats with a firearm and threats of murder. (rocket canonically "want[s] to kill some guys!" circa vol2). fluff with a gn-reader who wears rocket's shirts even though they're way too small, plus fluffy unicorn slippers. pet-names like "sugar," "sweetheart," and "baby." minimal editing! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

But whatever the situation is, he snaps — and when he does, it’s illuminating.  “Fuck that,” he snarls, so suddenly and savagely that you flinch and blink over at him with wounded doe-eyes. Whatever Guardians are with you in the commons bay gasp, and try to admonish him — but he barely hears them.  And now that he’s looking at you, his eyes are stuck on yours: relentless, burning, all hot whiskey and burnt rubies.  “Don’t ever frickin’ think about making yourself smaller because some stupid Terran shitbags said you’d be better that way,” he seethes.

a soft fixation. [ANTICIPATED APRIL 9]

CONTEXT: mcu-inspired, canon-divergent. starts post-vol2, ends post vol-3.

WARNINGS: short drabbly-thing, kinda stream-of-consciousness. reader is chubby, described as having wide hips, brief reference to terran beauty standards (implied fatphobia) and some insecurity. suggestive with the lightest dash of smut. light biting, mention of sexual activity, brief descriptions of touching, implied oral.

cock rings are popularly used to help people stay harder for longer…which actually is not his primary use for this particular toy. stamina is not an issue for rocket given the baculum bone; he can stay hard for as long as you need and as long as you can take—and trust me, you’re gonna take it—but there are plenty of other benefits to using a cock ring in his eyes.

first of all, anything that makes sex feel even better is an immediate yes for him. not everyone experiences increased sensitivity when using a cock ring, but his hands and his dick are lined with nerves, and the ring tends to kick up an extra notch of sensation as it plumps him up and makes every touch just a little more intense.

there’s also the, uh, aestheticalistic benefit to cock rings.

he can tell how much you like it, especially when you’re kneeling nice and pretty between his legs, staring at his extra swollen dick with the ring wrapped beneath his balls—all wide-eyed and stupid and cock-hungry in a way that makes him throb. it makes the veins that trail along the sides of his cock pulse and pop out a little extra too, perfect for you to map out with your tongue and lick along until he’s all sloppy.

and even if it doesn’t make him stay erect for any longer, it does make him a hell of a lot harder. now, rocket doesn’t have any hangups about being smaller than a humie—he keeps his partners satisfied just fine at his current size, thankyouverymuch…but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate trying to figure out just how much he can stuff up all your tiny little holes. and if a cock ring means that he’s the one doing the stuffing, then how could he possibly refuse? the cock ring doesn’t create a dramatic difference in size for him or anything, but he likes that it makes him that tiny bit thicker and a tiny bit longer, all to fill you up that much better—and fuck, if it doesn’t make you feel that much tighter too.

there’s also the fact that orgasms feel a lot deeper with it on. it’s a lot more intense, a full body sensation that makes his spine curl while he pulses and feels his cock spill in a way that he can only describe as explosive. and his personal favorite: it makes him come nice, thick loads for a sweet little somebody to lap up, or perhaps for him to pump inside of you, or splatter across your face—or shoot wherever he fuckin’ feels like, really, since you’re so willing.

he’d worn a stupid grin on his face for hours after the first time the two of you had used a cock ring. it isn’t long until he gives you a dangerous look, the smile splitting across his face suddenly threatening as he considers the silicone loop sitting in his palm.

“Did you know they make versions of these that frickin’ vibrate? I wonder what else I could rig ‘em to do.”

—

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