18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/3 parts | word count: 44,521.
COMPLETE. back to main masterlist.
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.
mcu-based, post-volume-three. see warnings below.
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 collects Parts One through Three.
Part One. Sugared Violets. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ groot attempts to parent-trap his dad. ✩
Part Two. Crystallized Ginger. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ nebula talks some sense into the captain. ❤︎
Part Three. Candied Apples. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ thievery in the garden.❤︎❤︎
WARNINGS: rising sexual tension and possible secondhand embarassment in part one. flirting, teasing, and rocket's filthy fantasies in part two. smut in chapter three (see chapter heading for warnings).
no skin color, hair texture, or body shape/size specified in this work - the bodies depicted above & below are solely present to show off the damn dress.
some explicit statements or references ✩
explicit scenes or fantasy sequences ❤︎
long, detailed, and graphic explicit content ❤︎❤︎
deliberately smut-free, mostly or entirely platonic ✮
florescence❀ (a meetgroot*)
year four: formation ⋆˚✿˖°
[NEW 9/24] ❤︎❤︎ my very long and ongoing birthday gift to the rocket fan community ~ thank you for sharing this space with me ♡♡♡
florescence❀ masterlist | read year four on ao3
navigation | fanfiction masterlist | art masterlist
read year four on ao3 | florescence❀ masterlist
navigation | fanfiction masterlist | art masterlist
18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 5/6 years | word count: pending.
everything blossoms. rating increases. see warnings below and on ao3.
“I like it,” he interrupts quickly, his voice somehow straddling the knife-edge between sharp and raspy. “I frickin’ — I like it.”
Your smile tugs wider on your lips. “Yeah?”
He shrugs, and his burnt-ruby eyes shift away to some hidden shadowed corner of the cottage ceiling. He huffs a breath — almost a scoff, if not for the strangled yearning you can hear folded into the sound.
“I mean. It’s fine. Whatever.”
You chew your lip, and take a page out of his book, dropping your lids to half-mast and gazing at him through hooded eyes, lashes heavy. “I bet I can think of some other things you might like.”
He blinks. “Okay.”
You feel the curve of your lips twitch again, cheeks lifting your eyes into soft crescents. Oh, he’s not getting it. At all. You’re surprised, based on the heat you sometimes see gathering in his lava-glowing eyes — the knowing smirk that so often tilts the corner of his mouth and presses one fang into his lip. But he seems only perplexed as you lean forward, eyes flickering with something dark and warm before he shutters them. They fly wide when you lift yourself to your hands and knees, pupils following to eclipse that ring of molten red as you slowly begin to crawl toward him. You tip your back into a little arch, letting your hips roll and sway as you lope toward him on all fours. His eyes get bigger and bigger — the beautiful soft brows of his mask arching higher and his pupils swelling and blooming like dark moons, catching firelight and fickering into flat copper coins as you move through the room, all the way until you’ve knelt yourself right at his feet. It’s a spot you’ve sat in a hundred times before, curved at the base of the chair you’d long ago decided was his — but it’s different now. You know it is, because you’re making it different. You coast your fingers against the bottom hems of his jumpsuit, up the outer seams on his calves, and then dance your fingertips over his knees — watching his sharply-drawn inhalations through the feathery haze of your lashes.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and it’s almost choked.
“Sweetheart,” you purr. “I’m trying to seduce you.”
read more ao3 | florescence❀ masterlist
WARNINGS: dirty talk, seduction, striptease, fellatio, praise to the nth power, body worship, nervous rocket, implied dom rocket, dirty talk, mentions of sex toys and anal play and tit-fucking and The Tail, (accidental?) sensation play/marking with claws, use of "slut" (affectionate), mentions of creative positions, aftercare, outdoor sex, lots of feelings. a near break-up.
“The only chance we got is to get to the other side of the universe as fast as we can and maybe, just maybe, we'll be able to live full lives before that whack-job ever gets there.”
rocket & groot leave their friends behind on knowhere, despite the latter’s protests, and end up hiding out on a nothing-planet (with a non-extradition policy) at the edge of the shi’ar galaxy.
flower divider by @/thecutestgrotto • planet divider by @/edensrose • mdni & support banners by @/saradika-graphics • moodboard by me! ♡
an excerpt from Part Three
Candied Apples. 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑
thievery in the garden.❤︎❤︎
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist
finally finished drafting the third (and final) part of ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑ (a meetgroot), currently clocking in at 37 pages and 17,251 words of teasing, smut, and sentimental nonsense. is any of it good? who knows? but i should be done editing it and have it posted sometime next month (you can check the monthly forecast on july 1 and i should have a semi-concrete posting date by then). in the meantime, to whet your appetite...
fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎ | much smut ❤︎❤︎
18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/3 parts | wip | word count: pending.
“All right, sweetheart,” he croons, his mouth still just a breath from your jaw, from the soft needy flesh of your throat. You feel yourself sway toward him, but he shifts at the same time you do: pulling back, keeping himself just a whisper out of your reach. “Go on. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about, so I know what you like when I put my hands all over you.”
“I — I think about a lot of different things,” you manage to choke out. Your eyes flicker: catching him in your periphery, then casting back out over the city and the sparkling of its lights. You can see your rooftop community garden from here, and the ropes of plasma orbs draped like glittering diamond necklaces over the rows of growing things. You concentrate on it. Your breath feels shallow and thin, lungs straining with the weight of your need. “Sometimes I — sometimes I think about you being rough with me.” Maybe you shouldn’t say that. Maybe you should ask for gentle, for light touches and sweet words, for something romantic and soft. You do like romantic and soft, sometimes. But right now you’re so desperate — for touch, for his touch — right now you’re so greedy and needy and wanting — that any softer fantasies turn instead into bruising hands and welts left by claws, and thrusts so hard that your teeth click together in your dreams.
Admitting it aloud, though? You’re not sure you’ve ever been so humiliated in your life. Your eyes flutter closed in a wince, and your thighs clench under your ruffled skirt.
“Oh, yeah?” The drawl of his voice is low and entertained. He tsks. “Just like I thought — gettin’ yourself into trouble here, and too shy to do anything about it. You’re gonna have to be more specifical than that, princess.”
You bite your lip and hazard a sideways glance at him. “What — how—”
“What’s it like when you think about me—” His voice drops, turning predatory. “—being all rough with you?”
“I — I don’t know.” Your breath feels even more tattered and frayed. “You seem — strong. I think you could maybe — throw me around if you wanted to?” God. You press your fingertips back into your cheeks, giving up the charade of pretending to being anything but mortified. “I guess — I’m not really sure how that would work since I’m so much bigger than you?”
He tilts his face in closer to you — a whisper of his fur against the back of your fingers. “Oh, I think I can figure it out.” Each word is bitten around a sharp-toothed smile. “So tell me more, shy girl. In these damp little daydreams of yours, do I got you on all fours?”
You hiccuping a gasp, knees suddenly wobbling at the image that flashes to the forefront of your mind. “Uhm, sometimes,” you whisper. “Other times, uhm — on my back? With, uhm, my knees folded up against my chest?”
He makes a sound in your ear — a sort of low, rumbling clicking noise. The edges of his fur vibrate against you. “Uh-huh. That sounds nice to me, angel. A real nice little thing you’re just aching to give me.”
You swallow.
“Anything else, when I take you rough?” It’s a purr, you realize — a true purr. You hadn’t known a purr could sound so dangerous. “You like getting your ass slapped, angel?” The endearment sounds like a taunt, now.
You lick your lips. “I — I’ve never tried it before, but…” You trail off, everything in you furling so tight you can’t get the words out.
“But you think about it,” he finishes with a grin — so smug, so self-satisfied and sharp that you can feel it cramping your abdomen. Your eyes are wide on him when you nod, before they swerve away — trying to retain some last scrap of self-preservation.
Still, you can hear him chuckle — can feel it, teasing against the skin that’s crying out for him.
“You open to us trying a little bit of that, then?” he rumbles against you, tilting his head and dipping his nose deeper into the space between your neck and your shoulder — like he wants to nuzzle in, but won’t. He’s taunting you — maybe taunting himself too — and he’s close enough that you can pick up on the scent of him: something like juniper, and something like blackberries. Leather — probably from his uniform — and something sharp and smoky. You breathe it in greedily — take it into your lungs like you’d plant a garden of it if you could.
“M’not interested in smacking your face around,” the Captain adds, “but I’d slap just about any other part of you if you let me.” He pulls back, and from the corner of your eye, you can see his tongue run over his teeth — like he’s imagining tasting the warmth of your skin after it’s been struck a few times. “I’d frickin’ love to see you bounce, sweetheart.”
Your breath stutters out of your lungs in a shaky stumble that you try to crush back. Your fingers clutch rigidly at the edge of the wall. “I’d be okay with that,” you manage to squeak out, trying to reign in the thump of your heart on your breastbone.
His hand snaps out, black skin on black shadows, and he grips the line of your chin and turns your face abruptly toward him. It’s sudden, and maybe a little scary — your heart and belly both tumble inside you and you choke on a gasp — but it’s also the first time he’s really touched you beyond his knuckles teasing under your sundress-strap, and the featherlight bracelet of his fingers on your wrist. You immediately melt into his grasp. Everything inside you leans into him, until you dazedly think that he’s holding you up, just by his fingertips kissing your face. He startles at the way you sink into his demanding grasp — then lets another pitying smirk curl the corner of his mouth.
“Needy little Terran pet,” he muses, stroking his thumb just once, back and forth along your jaw. You struggle to hold back the little whimper wisping up over your ribs, and you think at first that you’re successful — but he must see your throat working, because he laughs again: softly, this time, but meanly.
“Gotta say though, angel, I’m not interested in what you’re okay with.”
For the first time, his voice drops from a quiet, mocking sort of laughter and into something closer to a growl. It sounds dangerous, but your body doesn’t seem to realize that — or maybe it doesn’t care. Your skin prickles deliciously: every muscle straining for him, every cell lighting up and begging.
“M’only interested in what’s gonna make you wet. And what’s gonna make you whine for more.”
Your mouth pools with saliva and you have to swallow. “W-what about you?” you whisper, and your voice is as shivery as new leaves in a manufactured Knowhere breeze, trembling on the play of shadow and soft glow, filtering over the rooftops and glimmering between the branches of Groot’s trees. “What did — what do you think about? What do you like?”
The threat in his voice drops away, but you’d be a fool to think for a moment that he isn’t still a predator in his own right. The smirk grows wider: unrepentant and leering.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he purrs. “I like to run my frickin’ mouth.”
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
new! flower dividers & banners by @/saradika-graphics
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
18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 3/3 parts | word count: 44,521.
COMPLETE FRIDAY, JULY 19.
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.
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist
giftwrap: a follow-up to ⋆˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣windfall
thievery in the garden. see warnings below.
You’re laughing when Rocket finds you: perched in Groot’s garden on the rooftop of your shared building, surrounded by stringlights and the glossy garden greenery. You and Groot are both wrapped up in dusk-purple shadows and warm little glimmers: heads bowed toward each other while you chuckle and chatter softly, whispers wreathing in and out of the redolence of ripe fruit and sweet flowers. Fey specks of pollen dance in the glow of haloed plasma orbs, all tiny and clinking merrily.
Rocket’s pretty sure nothing sounds as nice as your little laugh, though.
You don’t notice him at first — which he doesn’t mind at all. It gives him a chance to take you in: rumpled holey cardigan looped over your elbows, the lavender bow of your sundress tied primly between your shoulderblades. Cosmo had met him where he’d docked the Bowie — trotting beside him while he’d strolled through the Knowhere streets, mentally latched onto the coordinates of your little “community garden” like a high-grade nav-system. She’d been telling him how you’d been working all day — up on your rooftop, coaching the kids, feeding the raccoons. She’d been as surprised as Rocket when you hadn’t been there.
But then he’d glanced up from the edge of the roof and his eyes had lit on the vines of Groot’s garden, dangling over the higher rooftop a few buildings down, and somehow he’d just known. You’d come here, of course — cleaned yourself up a little, he realizes now, grateful he’d stopped in his own apartment to do the same. He stares at you now, and imagines how carefully you must’ve gotten yourself tied up in this fragile little dress he’d been obsessing over.
And then you’d set up this cute little homecoming dinner.
All for him.
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣read more on ao3 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑
forty pages and 18,800+ words on this final chapter alone. now ⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall is complete so i can go vomit and then hide under my bed with a pint of mint gelato. i truly, truly hope you enjoyed and i'm not anxious or crying about it at all (final chapters are so goddamn DIFFICULT). special love to my shy, ultra-feminine friends out there - this one's for you. (oh, and if you haven't read giftwrap yet, it was meant to be a follow-up to this, so you may wanna check it out ig)
WARNINGS: so much dirty talk/teasing/begging. dom/sub vibes, nipple-play, edging. low-grade humiliation maybe?, light degradation, fervent praise. mentions of exhibitionism, oral sex, bondage. pet names like angel, sweetheart, doll, etc. beware the tail + lots of sucking-on-fingers.
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist | main masterlist
fluff ✮ | spice ✩ | some smut ❤︎ | much smut ❤︎❤︎
⋆˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⋆(a meetgroot*) NEW 3/27 ❤︎
Part Two. Crystallized Ginger.
18+ only MDNI | no use of y/n | f!reader | 2/3 parts | wip | word count: pending.
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.
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 windfall masterlist 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑
nebula talks some sense into the captain.
The mission is a success, though Rocket isn’t sure how.
All he’s been managing to think about, the whole frickin’ time, is you: drenched in artificial sunlight, naked legs tucked to one side, those faded lavender ribbons tied at your ankles while you’d cupped your earth-stained palms protectively over Groot’s plants. The ruffled hem of your skirt had been hiked up high on your thighs, flecked with dirt anyway, knees smudged — you must have been kneeling at some point in the flowerbeds, he imagines. He sees, again, your shoulders, gleaming and protected only by straps as thin as electrical wire, and a couple more smears of soil.
You’d pushed back a handful of hair with your forearm, and left a streak of dirt on your cheekbone.
I don’t like to be noticed.
Too bad. He’d frickin’ noticed.
⭑˚.⚘𖡼𖥧𖤣 read more on ao3 𖤣𖥧𖡼⚘.˚⭑
ANXIETY BAYBEE ~ hope you enjoy
some explicit statements or references ✩
explicit scenes or fantasy sequences ❤︎
long, detailed, and graphic explicit content ❤︎❤︎
deliberately smut-free, mostly or entirely platonic ✮
