if ur still taking requests, can u write about rocket stopping me from picking at my clothes? kinda hyperspecific but I've ruined many shirts by pulling at the stitching until my sleeves are split in half and the bottom of my shirt is all frayed
so sorry this took me so long, nonnie-honey. i really, really hope this is helpful and that you feel loved. ♡♡♡
✩࿐࿔ stop destroying your frickin clothes. [new 12/18]
smut-free| no use of y/n | gn reader | drabbles | word count: 1,209.
࿔ eat somethin. at least grab a frickin’ snack. (wc: 576)
࿔ go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)
࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done. & stop doomscrolling (wc: 925)
࿔ take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)
࿔ leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)
࿔ take a fuckin study break. (wc: 1,020)
࿔ drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)
࿔ stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1649) for this sweet nonnie. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
࿔ just buy the damn thing already. for sinikettu [est 1/1]
࿔ get some goddamn sunshine
࿔ did you take your meds today?
take a minute. where are your hands? are you pulling apart your clothes (or something else you'd rather not be pulling apart)? let's try to find something else to do for a little while.
this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based, meant to take place post-volume 3, but headcanon however you want ♡
“All right.”
You nearly jump out of your skin, eyes wide and guilty when Rocket slams a bundle of cloth down onto the low coffee table in front of you. You’d been lounging in Groot’s apartment, waiting for the Big Guy to come home from whatever task Rocket had him doing today. The Flora Colossus has been begging you to play a new game he’d gotten, and you’d finally found the time to stop by.
Unfortunately, time not spent busying your hands with something else means time spent demolishing the seams of your clothing. Little threads here and there, plucked and unraveled. Loops and pockets detaching themselves from you, seemingly at random — floating off somewhere into the ether, and leaving only holes and gaping tears behind.
“You were doing it again, weren’t you?” he asks.
There’s no reason you should have to answer. He already knows. You flush and look guiltily at your fingers, lacing them together to keep them hostage.
“All right,” he repeats briskly, not bothering to prod you once he realizes you’re not going to say anything. “C’mon. Got a job for you.”
if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.
feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best
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(total word count: 9,061)