A/N: Hello there reader, I'm Kersync! :) Thanks for stoppin' by! This lil' Guardians of the Galaxy FanFiction is something I've been wanting to write for quite awhile now! After seeing the movie for the first time back in 2014, I had immediately developed a love for the characters, settings, aesthetics and themes. Being a huge Sci-Fi fan, this film was pretty much everything I could've wanted, and the universe it had introduced was perfect for exploring! So after seeing the movie, and all the other films in the MCU, I took to the comics and read pretty much everything there was on the 'New' Guardians of the Galaxy. As I read through, it became pretty clear to me that Rocket was by far my favorite of the Guardians. There was just something about his witty, aggressive and introverted character that I found distinctly unique and interesting! I also thoroughly enjoyed the way he'd interact with the other people around him. It was a bit later when I developed a love for the Rocket Raccoon comics – more specifically, the 2014 comic series. In my opinion, it truly did the best job of illustrating that there was so much more to his character that was on the surface, and that he let others see. It also showcased his sarcastic, conniving, and lovable nature in a variety of entertaining situations. The humor, the wit, the action, it all made for an extremely enjoyable read. Now personally, I love the high-octane, filled-with-guns-and-explosions action genre - but if I had to choose, I'd go with the emotion, passion and love that the romance genre offers. And having read a great deal of Rocket Raccoon comics, I didn't find much of that. This got me asking that classic question - "What If?" ...What if Rocket Raccoon found a love interest? In this story, I plan to explore just that, as well as Rocket's past, how he deals with emotions he'd never felt before, and of course, falling in love! Enjoy! If it's bad, please leave a review and I will try to make it less bad. :D

things to note:

i take elements from various Rocket Raccoon comics, but the characters are depicted very differently from their comic book counterparts - for example, the character Sale in this story is nothing like Captain Sale from the 2014 comic series

-in an AU that takes place after the events of the first Guardians of the Galaxy movie

-contains blood and gore

-also contains hot raccoon sex

Rocket and The Imp

[A Guardians of the Galaxy FanFiction]

Chapter One – Southern Nights

In the dangerous, ruthless, lawless streets of Knowhere, a figure watches over all. An infamous ghost. A shattered soul. A wanderer with nowhere left to go. Over the course of a few short years, this mysterious entity had become a feared local legend. A metal-faced specter who routinely neutralized the most evil and corrupt criminals in all of the lawless land - bringing morality the most immoral place in the entire galaxy. Mysterious and unknown to all. A masked menace to the scoundrels and sinners of Knowhere, and a savior to the innocent. Evildoers would call it nothing more than a glorified vigilante, the biggest nuisance in Knowhere, and they'd always refer to it by the same name.

The Imp.

Atop one of the tallest buildings in the mining colony, it stood. Its red eyes glowed and its black cloak gently shifted with the wind. The rooftop was a large, expansive area with dark gray metal jutting out in several odd places. This, in combination of the high altitude, the surrounding view of outer space, and the huge cavernous walls of the inner skull of Knowhere, all created quite a morbidly serene place to reflect. The Imp walked over and sat on a overturned crate near the edge of the roof, to overlook and observe a populated street.

After a few minutes, and once sure that there was no one nearby, the Imp took a deep breath, pulled back its black silk hood, and removed the cybernetic face plate. The mask was composed of vibranium with an added dark tint. Near the middle of the plate were two red cybernetic slits, resembling a pair of angry, evil eyes. The Imp sighed and began to reflect on the day, as it usually did at this time.

"Finally caught him today. V'Lytau the Slaver. His screams were fucking annoying. Freed his 'inventory' – twenty poor Iellian females. Also stopped four mugging attempts today. Tourists should really stop coming here. All in all, I could say it was a pretty productive day. Been awake for thirty hours. I can barely keep my eyes open, yet I can't fall asleep. The fuck is wrong with me?"

A freezing cold chill flutters deep in its chest. Feelings of pessimism, depression, and soul-crushing fear began to return. As always, it began its methods to suppress and forget them.

"Don't...Don't."

Being a public enemy and wanted dead by about ninety nine percent of Knowhere's citizens led the Imp to realize something. One in its position must have no weaknesses, no doubts, no fear, and no room for error, if one were to survive.

Whenever the Imp detected even the slightest amount of uncertainty within, it reminded itself of its montra.

"Don't be weak."

But today was different.

It...didn't work.

The Imp didn't know why, or how, but it felt a difference in the air. The Imp's uncertainty was consuming itself, again, and it began to ponder the questions that it never dared to think about.

"I'm...not weak - Weak souls would've crumbled under my circumstances. I know this. But...that isn't what is wrong, now is it?"

A stressed sigh exited its lips.

"Then, what is it? What...is it?"

The Imp took a deep breath, a cold, icy sharp chill stabbing at its heart. Slowly, it removed a black leather glove, staring at the furred, shaking paw in front of its lavender eyes.

"Where did I come from?"

Its blood ran cold.

"Am...am I all alone?"

Thoughts began to completely overwhelm and swallow the specter into a pit of emotional darkness. The Imp felt the entire universe collapsing around it – growing genuinely terrified and profoundly angry at itself for courting the dangerous thoughts.

Then it heard footsteps, and its eyes shot open.

"Adult Male. About...three hundred plus pounds. Armed. Ten meters away. Nine meters. Eight."

The Imp quickly put on its cybernetic mask, whipping around to turn towards the offender.

He was just as it suspected, a large, hulking, blue alien wielding some sort of metal axe. The attacker quickly sprinted forward, shouting some expletives in its native language, no doubt.

The Imp drew its pistol, and taking short, shallow breaths, it flicked a dial on the edge of the gun's barrel – effectively setting the gun's explosive damage to maximum. All previous thoughts left its mind, as the Imp aimed the laser pistol at the offender.

"Don't be weak."

The Imp didn't care to question this man or his motives, nor did it need to. The Imp was a target, always a target, and this thug was now another enemy. With no second thoughts, it pulled the trigger. A miniscule explosive projectile expelled from the barrel, seamlessly sliding into the man's skull before he could even swing. After a split-second, the projectile detonated, and exploded with a deafening boom and a sharp crack of bone. The blast sent remnants of the offender's head scattering all over the rooftop, and dark crimson coating the roof in a ten meter radius. The lifeless body fell forward, splatting into a large pool of blood, as that ever-familiar thud of a dead body hitting the wet ground echoed throughout the night air.

The Imp walked over to the corpse, taking a deep breath, finding its thoughts stabilized at the calming act of violence.

"Don't be weak...Don't...It's...It's not about being happy. It's about being safe - staying alive."

It turned on its heel, walked to the edge of the building and hopped off, grabbing a pipe to break its speed. The Imp threw its feet on the side of the brick structure, arched its back and and flipped off, landing perfectly on two feet.

The alleyway was dark and foggy. The Imp's mask glinted red and lit the way. Knowhere had no suns within the distance to light the planet enough to give the illusion of a daytime cycle, so the planet was in a perpetual state of night. And in the night, the Imp found solace in the darkness and the shadows.

After just a few minutes of walking through the alleyways, the Imp heard something. The sound of rattling cans, and some swearing.

The Imp ducked and hid behind an overturned dumpster, waiting and obtaining information.

"...who would want to kill me? And pay 30,000 credits for it?!" said a gruff, stressed voice.

Upon hearing this, the dark specter pulled its pistol from its side belt, running its fingers up the cold, inviting texture of the grip.

"Some scared outlaw coming to terms with their first bounty? That's cute. And sad."

"30,000 is an awful lot for you to not know the reason." it quipped, before turning the corner of the dumpster and aiming its pistol.

The outlaw jumped in shock. Had it not been for the Imp's mask, the individual would have clearly seen the Imp's own eyes widen in shock, for the sight before it, was a raccoon.

"A bipedal raccoon," It thought. "A distraught, bipedal, rugged, lean, raccoon- what?"

The Imp shook its head and approached him once more, pistol drawn and aimed at the animal's head. He appeared flustered, frustrated, confused, and...drunk? Without a thought, the Imp approached him again, stepping into the dim violet light.

The raccoon spoke.

"I got more than 30,000 credits if you'd let me-"

"Shut up." The Imp interrupted, "Who are you?"

"You saw the bounty, shouldn't you know?" He fired back, his voice sounding raspy and agitated.

The Imp hadn't seen it, although she usually checked bounty listings around this time.

"What are you? How many of you are there?" The Imp questioned.

"What? I'm the only one! The fuck are you getting at?" He barked.

"There has to be more." it growled.

The Imp's heart was racing. Everything it thought it knew was changing.

"I'm not the only one. I'm not alone. Who is he? He's just like me. Kinda. He's putting his arms down. He's approaching me."

The Imp noticed its pistol was shaking slightly. It brought it back to its full height and aimed directly at the raccoon. The raccoon's eyes faltered a bit. The Imp saw a weakness within him, and was reminded of its own. It quickly flicked a dial on the edge of the gun's barrel, effectively setting the gun's explosive damage off, and quickly changing the gun's setting to 'stun'.

He started to speak again when the Imp pulled the trigger.

The recoil was the weakest the Imp had ever felt, the energized pellet shooting out of the barrel and into the raccoon's face. Within moments, he became discombobulated, falling back onto the dirt and mud, motionless.

The Imp stepped forward, and squatted to get a closer look. It took its glove off, and placed it on the unconscious raccoon's neck. There was still a pulse.

"He's fine. He's also a fucking raccoon. I can't leave him here. He may have answers. And...he looks just like me."

It performed a touch motion onto the side of it's faceplate, enabling it's HUD, and displaying its route home.

The Imp then turned back down to look at the raccoon, and met his closed eyes.

"Well, almost like me."

Hours Earlier

Rocket stumbled across Knowhere, dispelling his thoughts and worries about his friends, and deciding he'd be better off not caring.

The months following the defeat of Ronan seemed to be some of the best days of Rocket's life. With his previous criminal record expunged by the Nova-Corp, along with a new life and new friends, he felt a warm feeling of odd, unfamiliar joy. It was definitely something he was unaccustomed to. Not that he was complaining of course.

Not yet, at least.

Eventually word spread throughout the galaxy of the Guardian's heroics, and several employment opportunities were made available to them. Within just a few months, the Guardians have accomplished an impressive number of heroic acts. Each experience and adventure had brought the team closer together, optimizing their teamwork and enlightening their spirits. Although incredibly dangerous and life-threatening, the raccoon wouldn't have it any other way. Rocket needed adventure in his life. And there stood the problem.

It had been months since their last mission, and it seemed the galaxy was safe for the time being.

However, the months of the doing nothing but that same routine with the same people with the same music, wore him down. The last straw occurred not to long ago, when Star-Lord had once again refused a contract Rocket had accepted on account of it being too shady and immoral. An argument spiraled from there, soon turning physical and past the point of no return.

It led him to quit.

It was never meant to be a permanent thing, but as days turned to weeks, it soon began to feel that way. So there he was, having just landed on Knowhere and looking for something to do. As he walked past the droves of people, he did his best to ignore the looks he was getting. But he could never pretend they weren't there, and it fueled his rage to end. Rocket looked up ahead, spotting what seemed to be a bar, judging by the large neon universal sign for alcohol, and picked up the pace. He walked through the front doors and was assaulted by a cloud of musky smoke.

It was a dimly lit bar, reeking of toxic liquids, foreign odors that were probably poisonous to him, and was just overall incredibly musty. The sound of angry, alien chatter filled the air. The bar seemed to be only half full. Rocket approached an empty barstool with empty seats to the left and right of it. Just the way he liked it. Like most stools, and chairs in general, the raccoon embarrassingly had to make a short jump just to be able to situation himself into a sitting position. Once settled, Rocket called to the bartender.

"Hey! Can I get a drink over here?" He inquired with a raspy, annoyed tone.

"Do you have the credits to cover that?" the elderly barkeep condescendingly asked.

"'Course I do!" Rocket lied.

"What'll it be then?" He exhaled.

"I, um, really don't care." Rocket deadpanned.

The barkeep grabbed a bottle covered in alien text and poured Rocket a glass. Grabbing a hold of it in his furred paws, Rocket sniffed the liquid. It was an odor he'd never smelled before, but it wasn't bad. He took a sip.

"It's fine." He thought.

Rocket furrowed his brow. He stared hard at the dirty metal counter, hopelessly looking for a solution to his existential crisis within the elaborate rust stains.

"I'm getting sick and goddamn tired of this 'Hero's code' bullshit."

He sipped the toxic liquid again.

"Fucking - about a year ago, I would have been happy to just be alive. To, at best case scenario, score a huge bounty and make some credits. To get my hands on the deadliest armaments the galaxy had to offer. To do whatever the hell I wanted with no regard for morals."

He chuckled.

"But I think...I think I've grown out of that. Hell I still love blowing a hole through some sorry fucker's head, don't get me wrong, It's just...I..."

He swallowed his emotions with another drink.

"Now what fucking reasons do I have to have a goddamn existential crisis like this?! I pretty much have everything I want."

Rocket stopped and stared at the solid black liquid, staring at it until the surface became calm. He looked at his reflection, and a paw traveled up his face to rub against the fur of his cheek.

"...Do I, though?"

His train of thought was interrupted with a thunderous impact nearby. He turned to see a large, hulking purple beast sitting in the stool beside him.

"Aye barkeep, I think your bar's infested!" The brute cackled, pointing at Rocket.

"Now that wouldn't be a slight to me, would it, fatass?" He fired back.

"Hah! It talks!"

"Ya know, if I hadn't just ingested about a quarter of my weight with this toxic shit, I'd just about claw your fucking eyes out!"

They both shared a laugh.

"Now why do I get the feelin' I've run into your stinky mug before?"

"I dunno, ever heard of the frickin' Guardians of the Galaxy?," Rocket asked, his voice slurred and rich with sarcasm. "Or have you heard of any other four-foot BAMFs round here?"

"Ya know, actually, I have..." The brute said, pulling out a tablet.

"'Course you have. Wait, which one were you-"

"Holy FLARG!" He exclaimed, his eyes widening at his phone. "Now how'd ya get a bounty of 30,000 credits on your head?"

"What the fuck is a flarg?" Rocket burped. "And w-what're you talking about, I didn't do shit-"

Just then the large beast pulled out a knife and pointed it at Rocket's neck, a gleeful expression on his face.

"Best part? It pays even more for you dead!" He chuckled wickedly.

Rocket rolled his eyes, annoyed at the beast's horrible attempt at a threatening pose. He grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted it at a horrific angle. The beast screamed, hearing the tendons in his wrist tear and pop, dropping the knife and jumping off the stool. Rocket followed suit, frustratingly stomping to the front door. Just then, an orange alien beast stepped in front of his path, blocking him and drawing a pistol.

"Freeze, rabbit!" The beast growled, his pistol charging up and beginning to fire.

With a deafeningly loud blast and a blindingly bright flash of white, Rocket leapt to the side, expertly dodging the plasma bullet. He slid under the beast's feet in an attempt to escape, only to be kicked in the face by another attacker. His hands shot up to grip his snout as it throbbed in pain. He quickly realized that he was in the worst possible planet for having such a large bounty on his head. Apparently, Knowhere is full of thugs who would be willing to kill for money. Who knew?

The raccoon quickly pushed himself off the ground after tumbling backwards, and almost tripped.

"Could kill everyone in here if I wasn't so fucking drunk-"

He got up just in time to avoid a gunshot from another attacker, push over a table, and duck behind it to scope out the bar and look for any point of escape. He spotted a back door. Rocket pushed the table over again as a distraction, then bolted for it.

Swinging the large steel door open, he stumbled outside and found himself in a wide opening near a heavily populated street. He then spotted a narrow crevice between two buildings and quickly ran toward it, maneuvering and scampering his way through, and eventually ending up in an alleyway.

It was incredibly dark, only being slightly illuminated by a nearby purple neon sign. The alley was also miraculously quiet, save for the hiss of steam rising from an exposed pipe and the muted, distance sounds of city life.

Rocket looked around. There was no one.

Then he lost it.

In a drunken rage, he shouted. After taking out his frustration on a few piles of garbage and cursing some more, Rocket threw his shoulder bag to the ground and sat up against a wall. He held his head in his paws, confused and bewildered.

"Who would want to kill me? And pay 30,000 credits for it?" He asked himself.

He then heard footsteps.

"30,000 is an awful lot for you to not know the reason," a digitized, bit-crushed voice answered.

Rocket quickly stood up, looking both ways for the source of the sound. Before he could reply, the sight of two red, glowing eyes at the end of the alleyway frightened him into silence.

"Fucking assassins…" He mused.

The eyes were approaching him.

Rocket felt his back for his weapon – it wasn't there.

"Shit! It's in my fuckin' bag-"

His thoughts were cut short as the figure now was now closer. A large, slim pistol became visible in the dim purple neon light – aiming directly at his face. Being angry, exhausted, confused and drunk, he felt he didn't have enough fight in him to go for the attacker's gun. Instead, he shot a threatening glare and slowly lifted his paws up.

"I got more than 30,000 credits if you'd let me-"

"Shut up." It interrupted. "Who are you?"

"You saw the bounty, shouldn't you know?"

"What are you? How many of you are there?"

"What? I'm the only one! The fuck are you getting at?"

"Are there more?" The figure asked, it's robotic voice changing pitch slightly, almost as if it's voice cracked. The figure stepped closer, it's full form being illuminated in the light.

"Female assassin?"

The figure was his height, had an armored tail, and was…visually voluptuous.

"Curvy assassin?!"

Rocket's heart fluttered, and his mind drew a blank. He slowly lowered his arms, and took a step forward.

"Are you-"

The figure shot.

The last thing Rocket recalled was a purple light on a feminine form, dark and dastardly red eyes peering into him, and a blinding blue flash. Then it was over.