#Gotg Fluff

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N: you promise not to tell her?

Drax: I promise

Mantis walks in…

Drax: I do not understand how Y/N could have a crush on Mantis! Y/N is like a twig!

Y/N: Drax!

Drax: what? There is no way you could crush her, you do not have my type of physique yet

Mantis giggles and blushes…

[raccoonfallsharder]

go to frickin' bed ✩࿐࿔ (the captain says to)

hey kiddo. snuggle up in your favorite blanket. drink some sleepytime tea. stop doomscrolling. let rocket put on his dad-glasses and read you a bedtime story. captain's orders.

in honor of it being finals season for many of you, i'm resharing the go to frickin' bed already drabble/minific from ✩࿐࿔ take what you need here, in full. ao3 version here.

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabbles | word count: 737.

You almost don’t hear him at first.

“Hey.” Rock snaps his fingers at you. “You with me?”

“Mmm?” You pick your eyes up from your work, and you’re surprised by how much they weigh. “Sorry? What?”

Rocket’s standing next to the couch, staring at you. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just catching up on some stuff,” you tell him, grimacing down at the Terran laptop cradled on your thighs. You close your eyes in annoyance, and wonder if you can get away with just, like, not opening them again.

“You look like shit.”

“And you know how to turn on the sweet-talk,” you say mildly.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

You frown and reach for your coffee mug - take a sip before you realize it’s room-temperature, and grimace. You set the caffeine back down. “I don’t know. Like…” You try to calculate when you went to bed, then adjust for the time you probably spent scrolling on your phone, and compare it to when your alarm went off this morning. “Like, maybe fourish hours? Could’ve been five, but I woke up in the middle and it was hard to turn my brain off.”

His carnelian eyes narrow, and his ears flick toward you. “Aren’t you Terran humies supposed to get, like, seventeen hours of sleep or something?”

You choke. “What? No. That’s, like, cats or something. What the hell?”

“Well, how many, then?”

“Like - eight. Ideally. But I think some people need more and some need less.”

He eyes you witheringly. “I can tell you right now, you ain’t one of the ones who needs less.”

An exhausted laugh stumbles up your ribs and over your lips. “You’re such an ass.”

His eyes are still narrowed, tracking you. He pulls a thin piece of tech out of his pocket, then looks at you. “When d’you gotta get up tomorrow?”

You pull up your calendar. “God. Uh. Probably in like – ten hours?”

He holds up a clawed finger. “I’ll be back in one. Then I’m taking you to bed.”

You clutch imaginary pearls. “Buy me dinner first, dude.”

“Ohhh,” he drawls. “I see. You got jokes.” He’s still brandishing that single, sharp-clawed finger, extending his arm till it’s an inch away from the tip of your nose. “One hour. Get your shit together and in a good place to stop by then.” He snags your coffee mug. “And no more of this frickin’ poison tonight.” He gives you that stupid wink of his and turns to swagger away before tossing over his shoulder, “Captain’s orders.”

“Geeezus,” you groan, but as soon as he’s rounded the corner, you start trying to figure out what you can do before it’s time to wrap up. When Rocket gets an idea in his head, it’s not like you can do anything to stop him.

Sure enough, he’s back – too soon. You’d lost track of time once again, which is probably why you never go to bed at a reasonable hour in the first place.

What’s surprising isn’t that he’s back, but that he has a mug in his hands. From here, you can smell something peppermint-sweet, and you know it’s the Usarkian bedtime tea that Mantis brings you whenever she passes by Knowhere.

“C’mon,” he says impatiently, and you sigh and close your laptop. He stops you before you can bundle everything up in your arms, soundlessly handing you the tea while he collects your belongings and gestures for you to follow him with a brisk nod of his head. You sip the tea carefully as you trail after him – but he waits while you drink it, while you brush your teeth and get changed. “In,” he orders.

You want to tell him, This is fuckin’ ridiculous – but it’s also kind of nice. Meekly, you slide into bed, and he fully tucks you in, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Your eyes must be huge, but you let him, and you might think you had already fallen asleep and that this is all a dream – except he’s scowling and grumbling I gotta take care of everything around here while he fusses with the blankets, and that’s how you know he hasn’t been bodysnatched or something.

“All right,” he says gruffly. “I’m turnin’ out the lights.”

That brandished claw is back.

“And put your frickin’ phone-thing away, or I’ll turn off the Terran internet. You know I will.”

remember: brains don't retain jackshit without sleep, nutrients, and moments of rest.

you got this. you're gonna win your finals.

check the ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlistfor more self-care reminders, including eat somethin, take a fuckin study break, and drink some goddamn water (yeah that still means you).

[love-for-faeries-go-burrrr]

OMG PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LOOK AT THIS I AM DYING ITS SO FREAKING CUTEEEEEE

A commission I got done of my girl, Rose and Mantis fangirling over antennas!

Taglist: @saaandy @raccoonfallsharder @funkydancingdinosaur @pompompoyo

Art creds to: Yunokiru-Str on DeviantArt.

[sleepingdeath-sapphic]

hiiii i love how you’ve laid out your blog it’s so easy to navigate :)

could i request best friends to lovers with Gamora either a one shot or head cannons and possibly smut if you’re up for it ? thank you <3

friends to lovers hcs ; guardians of the galaxy

thank you for requesting anon <3

this includes gamora <3

reader is assumed as gender neutral <3

my account is 16+, please interact accordingly <3

note : i’ve never properly written for gamora before so this is quite short, i may eventually come back and rework this. in the meantime, i hope that you enjoy this sfw post lol <3

this is pretty much the only way to end up in an actual relationship with gamora — not just because her traumatic past has left her with plenty of trust issues and a strained relationship with intimacy and affection, but also because unless you two are something extremely casual she needs to know that she can (a) trust you to not turn her in for a bounty from her adopted father or anyone else who may have it out for her, (b) rely on you to have her back and help her out when things get difficult in general life or in the heat of a battle (yes she’s more than capable of defending herself, obviously, but having someone that looks out for her at all times massively lessens her burdens and makes life a whole lot easier), and (c) know that you’re looking out for her best interests and are willing to step in and speak out if she’s in the wrong or needs to adjust her approach for a particular mission (seeing feared and known as the intimidating assassin she trained to be is good for the ego and all, but having someone who loves her enough to stand up and correct her when she’s wrong just as much as they’ll stand by her when she’s right is really important), and having a background of intimate friendship would have more than given you the time to prove yourself to her in these ways and thus would make the transition to being romantic partners much easier for both of you

additionally, as her closest friend you were already gamora’s confidant — so trusted that you were the first one she came to about any and all fears and concerns and frustrations with the rest of the group, so trusted that she’d often reconsider her stance and approach if you advised her against it, so trusted that you were the one she’d seek out when she was more sober than she wanted to admit in order to vent about the difficulties she’d faced in her life before meeting you all, and likewise she was the one you’d go to for all the same reasons — and consequently you entered your relationship without any secrets left to keep and felt no need to hide anything from each other going forward because of this established routine (after all, why would you change what isn’t broken?)

the shift from strictly platonic teammates and (in quill’s words) besties to romantic lovers and bedmates would have been extremely slow — slow enough that neither of you would be able to, in hindsight, point to an exact moment or timeframe where things felt noticeably different — and would have felt so natural that there wasn’t really an awkward crushing phase for you both to experience because you didn’t even notice the shift happening until you were well and truly on the other side of it

it wasn’t as if one day you were just friends and the next you were kissing. no. more like you both continued to get closer and touchier and more relaxed around each other as time went on and gamora got used to casual physical intimacy until one day you just looked at each other, realised something had changed, and quietly acknowledged it without saying anything or putting a label on it because it just felt right

you never called her your girlfriend, but she was the person you’d give your life to protect

she never claimed you as her lover, but you were the person she couldn’t bare to lose

you never said that she was more than a friend, but you were always at your happiest and most relaxed when she was safe by your side

she never announced that you were dating, but she was always quick to scare off and threaten anyone who tried to flirt with you when you were out and about as a group

neither of you cared about naming what was between you because all that mattered was how you both felt, but everyone else knew that you two cared deeply and intimately for each other and were generally just happy for you both

but that didn’t mean that the other guardians didn’t (often very crudely) tease the living hell out of you both when one of you emerged looking exhausted from the other’s bunk or when they caught gamora admiring you from across the room, and it certainly didn’t stop nebula from picking up on her sister’s feelings and very bluntly interrogating you both about your relationship after she joined your ragtag travelling group

[cissyenthusiast010155]

OMG THE CORSETRY KINK WITH NEBULA

Worshipping you RIGHT NOW ILYSM

-🌌

Hehe thank you, lovely anon!! You are too kind 🥰🥰 I really appreciate your thoughtfulness ♥️ I’m so glad you enjoyed my Corsetry Kink with Nebula fic! I enjoy Nebula as well, and I can’t wait to write more for her!! Hope you have a lovely day/night 💞💞

Nebula Masterlist

Talk with Me ❤️‍🔥

[gremlin-girly]

Spare Parts

So I had my first ask the other day from @cookieshakr (and idk how the ask got deleted im sorry). But since I wrote so much of the ask, it would be a shame not to post it. So dearest ask, thank you for being my first ask and I hope this did your ask justice!

"So idk if you've seen the Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special, but i crack up at the scene of Rocket getting Bucky’s arm as a gift. Can you do like a Bucky x reader of maybe their POV of how his arm got taken and box up all pretty; like they're relaxing at home and reader hears a knock at the door just to see Nebula there and just some kinda fluff and chaos."

Tags/Warnings: FLUFF, just wholesome wholesome times, Christmas gifts, and a lil hint of angst from Bucky (bc well it's him), established relationship, petnames (baby, doll, sweetheart)

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, copied or put through an AI machine.

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader (for the one use of "doll" and one of "ma'am")

Summary: When an unexpected guest arrives at you and Bucky's apartment, it sparks a Christmas gift no one was expecting.

Word count: 803

Masterlist | Flufftcember 2024 | The Bucky Barnes Collection

When you heard the knock at your door late one December evening, you didn’t expect to see Nebula stood awkwardly in your hallway looking at her feet.

“Uh hey, Nebula.” You stand aside to let her in. “What’s up? You okay?”

Nebula doesn't move from the hallway. “I need Bucky’s arm.”

“You what?” Your baffled expression meets her sheepish one, like she doesn't quite want to take your boyfriend's arm.

"Sweetheart?" Bucky calls from the couch, the annoyance at your disappearance from his side coming through only slightly. "Who is it?"

"Nebula." You call back and then add, just as awkwardly as Nebula had, "She needs your arm?"

“You can’t have my arm.” Bucky pipes up from the couch, looking over at her with a frown. He’d already paused the movie you’d both been watching before Nebula’s interruption but his growing irritation at being disturbed was already beginning to show.

"I have Rocket as my secret santa." Nebula pleads. "Your arm is the perfect gift!"

“You should come in.” You sigh.

“Doll, you can’t be serious.” Bucky huffs. “It’s my arm.”

“Rocket would take good care of it.” Nebula counters, crossing the threshold.

You hold up your hands silencing them both.

“I have a better idea.” You pad to the spare room and after a few minutes of rustling and cursing, you re-appear with a box in hand, both Nebula and Bucky staring at you.

“Shuri gave it to me. It’s a spare.” You shrug, opening the lid to reveal a beautifully preserved metal left arm. The arm in the box sparkles with that new arm shine that was absent from Bucky’s current arm.

“A spare?” Bucky asks horrified. “What did she think I’d do? Put this one down and lose it?”

"Kinda." You offer Bucky a sympathetic look when he frowns at you. "Plus I'm sick of it taking up space in the closet. Not to mention the awkwardness of explaining it to my mom when she visited."

Nebula’s black eyes are like saucers as she stares down at the arm. Bucky and you share a look; an unspoken agreement to help out your friend, and to put a smile on the chaotic raccoon's face at Christmas.

“What do you think?”

“You... You’d give this to me? For Rocket?” She looks over at Bucky with a heart-meltingly sweet look and he sighs in defeat.

“Yeah. I don’t need it.” He waves his left arm at her. “Besides, this is a win-win. Let him think you beat me for it too.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes it look like you beat up and assassin just to get him the perfect gift.” Bucky chuckles.

"Thank you." Nebula says sincerely with a big, bright smile.

You're clutching the top of the dining chair with a white knuckle grip, trying to keep yourself from melting into a puddle at the scene before you. Nebula takes the box from you, angling it awkwardly in her arms.

"You're not taking it like that are you?" You gape at her and Nebuka blinks, looking between you and Bucky in confusion.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"You need to wrap it." You grin excitedly at her. "Stay right there. I have some paper and ribbon. Bucky get the scissors and tape."

"Yes ma'am." Bucky salutes you mockingly and heads to the miscellaneous kitchen drawer filled to the brim with odds and ends and random batteries.

Handing you the tape and scissors upon your return, he watches with mild amusement as you demonstrate to Nebula how to wrap the box; letting her choose the paper and the bow (which happened to be the biggest you had).

Once Rocket's arm was perfectly wrapped, Nebula gave you an awkward hug and thanked you before turning to Bucky.

The assassins gave eachother a wordless nod of respect, and Nebula and extra quiet thank you before heading back to the ship.

“That was... nice.” You say, folding your arms after the door closes. “I feel like Rocket will appreciate having his own arm.”

Bucky’s arms slide around your waist. “Do you know how weird it is gifting your own arm?”

“It was a spare.” You say playfully, leaning you head onto his shoulder.

“Your own spare arm?” Bucky corrects with a chuckle. “I don’t know. It was sweet. Reminded me of Becca, actually.”

You sag a little in Bucky’s grip and pat his flesh hand gently at his confession, giving him a peck to the cheek. “Oh, sweetheart...”

“No, no. In a good way, not a sad way. Promise.”

You hum softly not quite believing him but dropping the subject in favour of more kisses.

“Well, in the spirit of Christmas, I say we go and finish our movie.”

"Finally." He huffs, picking you up and walking back to the sofa with you in his arms.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Ok so- I need some period fluff with Peter Quill. I saw you do it for Tangerine, and while I’m not a part of that fandom, i thought it would be really sweet to do it with Quill.

It’s totally okay if you’re not interested or too busy or something! Just a thought!

~Bear🐻

hii bear!! I just had to do this first (again sorry to all the others in my inbox, I’ll get there, I promise) thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

if anyone wants the tan fic, link is here

“shark week”

Peter Quill x f reader

wc || 0.8k

warnings || periods but no specific details, fluff

I don’t usually struggle with titles, but this one I did (could you tell?) 😭 I’ll change it if I think of something better

masterlist + rules

taglist

When it was your time of the month, you had a tendency to be quite sluggish and withdrawn, only ever leaving the bedroom to get more snacks or to use the bathroom. So when Peter noticed that you were confined to the comfort of his apartment on Knowhere, he was naturally a bit worried. You and Peter had been dating for a little while now, so your periods weren’t exactly foreign to him. It was just something that usually slipped his mind as he’d often be confused by different calendars amongst various planets.

Today was your least favourite of all, the day of your period that left you feeling debilitated. So for that very reason, you had spent the majority of the day snuggled in Peter’s sheets, drifting in and out of sleep and eating copious amounts of Zarg Nuts.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you see Peter standing in the doorway looking at you with an uneasy expression that instantly softens once he sees you awaken. “Hey,” he says softly, making his way over to the bed and taking a seat at the edge. “You doing okay?” Lacing his hand into yours, brushing his thumb over the back of it.

“Yeah.” You reply, sweetly smiling at him. “Just feeling shitty.”

“Why?” He tenderly questions, eyebrows furrowing as if to analyse your face.

“Bleeding.” You whisper, softly chuckling.

His eyes blow huge, darting over you with caution. “Oh— oh” he responds, finally catching on. “Shark week… again?”

“Yeah Pete, that’s how they work.” You laugh hard, abruptly cutting off when you feel something you shouldn’t have.

His reaction mimics yours, eyes widening when he sees your parted lips. “What? You okay?” His gaze follows you as you bolt out of bed. “What’s going on?”

“Just need—“ your reply muffles behind the bathroom door.

“Need what?” He sweetly questions, nuzzling his ear to the door.

“Shit.” You mumble. Now talking loud enough for him to hear. “In the nightstand, top drawer… there’s a—a paper type box, please can you bring it to me?”

Within seconds, he’s back and knocking on the door with your box of feminine products. “Do I put it under the door, or— or close my eyes? I don’t know what to do, what do I do here?” He replies, his tone flustered as he presses back up against the door.

Adjusting yourself and hiding the toilet paper. “You can come in.”

He slowly opens the door, hand clutched over his eyes as he wavers the box towards you, using the space around him as a guide. Accidentally bumping into a few things along the way. “Put your hand out… what can I get you? What do you need?” He warmly asks, gingerly backing out to give you a moment of privacy.

Stifling a snicker as you watch him leave. “I think I’m okay for now… maybe some tea? Steal it from Mantis, she has good tea.”

“On it.” Running away only to return a second later. Enunciating through the door. “I love you!”

“I love you!” You loudly reply, a wide smile spread along your lips.

When you return to the bedroom, you see Peter bundled under the covers with snacks spread across the bed, holding items to help with your cramps and pains. “Get in.” He grins, opening the covers so you could slip yourself in beside him. Snuggling next to him, he lifts your head so he could support your neck with his bicep, holding you tight against him. “I don’t know if you need this now, or…?” He starts, pulling a hot water bottle from under the sheets.

“Was that on your stomach?” You ask, a giggle held behind your lips.

Chuckling. “Yeah… feels really good.”

“Yeah, I know.” You laugh, nuzzling the side of your head into his chest. “I don’t need it right now, you can keep it.”

“Oh, you’re the best.” He smiles, resting the flat bottle over his abdomen. “Just take it off me if you need it.”

Hiding a grin, you look up at him, gazing in admiration. “I need it now.” Watching his smile slightly fade. “I’m just kidding.”

He fakes a laugh with accentuated and playful features. “Do you need anything? … medicine? Back rub? Foot rub? Kisses? Bath? Sleep? Food? Chocolate? Tummy rub? Tea? — no we got tea. I think making out will help, yeah making out will definitely help.” He aimlessly lists, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yes.”

“To what?” He boyishly grins, twisting his neck to kiss your temple.

“To it all.” You reply, wrapping your arm over his chest. “But I think a nap first, that okay?”

“I’m always down for a nap.”

[okasuka]

Peter quill x brooding reader - just made this for fun tbh

The ship jolted as it touched down on a dusty, bustling planet. The marketplace buzzed with life—vendors shouting, alien species bartering, and the faint hum of music drifting from somewhere in the maze of stalls. Peter Quill, Gamora, Rocket, and Y/N descended the ramp of the Milano, each scanning the area.

“Alright,” Peter started, clapping his hands together. “Standard Guardian protocol. Split up, grab supplies, and—uh—try not to blow anything up.” His eyes flicked toward Rocket.

Rocket raised his paws defensively. “What? That was one time! And to be fair, the explosives were defective.”

Gamora rolled her eyes and slung her sword onto her back. “I’ll find food and water,” she said curtly. “Y/N, Peter, why don’t you handle clothing? Rocket can… just not cause trouble.”

Rocket snorted. “I’ll handle the tech parts. I’m not a child.” He paused. “But if you find any fancy space grenades, I call dibs.”

Gamora didn’t dignify that with a response. She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Peter and Y/N standing awkwardly by the ship.

“Well,” Peter said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, “looks like it’s just you and me, Y/N. Gonna be fun.”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance, her expression as unreadable as ever. “Let’s just get it over with.”

The two wandered through the stalls, dodging eager merchants and curious aliens. Y/N kept her pace steady, her Thraxan heritage lending a faint glow to her skin in the planet’s sunlight. Peter tried not to stare, but it was hard not to notice her, even when she was in full brooding mode.

“So,” Peter began, trying to break the silence, “you’re not a fan of shopping, huh? Not your thing?”

Y/N’s lips twitched—barely noticeable, but it was there. “What gave it away?”

“Oh, just your boundless enthusiasm,” he quipped, flashing her his signature grin. “Come on, it’s not so bad. Shopping can be fun. You find something cool, you try it on, you look amazing…”

“Do you always talk this much?” she interrupted, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness.

Peter smirked. “Only when I’m with someone worth talking to.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, but Peter swore he saw a flicker of amusement in her golden eyes.

After an hour of searching, they stumbled upon what could generously be called a clothing shop. The merchant, a four-armed alien with a booming laugh, gestured them toward the racks. Peter’s optimism faded the moment he saw the selection.

Skimpy dresses. Skimpy tops. Skimpy… everything.

Y/N held up a piece of fabric that looked more like a decorative napkin than a shirt. “This is a joke, right?”

Peter stifled a laugh. “Uh… maybe it’s ‘local fashion’? Could be their thing.”

Y/N shot him a withering look and put the fabric back. “I’m not wearing this.”

Peter scratched the back of his neck, trying not to think about the mental image of Y/N in one of those outfits. “Yeah, I don’t think it really suits you. Too… flashy. You’re more of a, uh, leather jacket and combat boots kind of gal.”

“Good observation,” she said dryly, though there was a faint hint of approval in her voice.

The merchant approached, babbling in an alien language. Peter attempted to charm his way out of the situation, but Y/N quickly stepped in, speaking fluent Thraxan. The merchant nodded and scurried off, leaving Peter impressed.

“Wow,” he said. “Didn’t know you were bilingual. Or, uh, quad-lingual? Whatever that was.”

Y/N shrugged. “You pick things up when you’re a bounty hunter. Survival skills.”

“Cool, cool,” Peter said, rocking on his heels. “So… no skimpy outfits. Got it. But what do we do now? You still need something, right?”

She hesitated, her stoic mask slipping just enough for Peter to notice her discomfort. “I’ll make do with what I have.”

Peter frowned. “Hey, come on. That’s no way to live. Everyone deserves to feel good in what they’re wearing.” He paused, his tone softening. “You deserve it.”

Y/N looked at him, her expression unreadable again. “You’re… really bad at being subtle, you know that?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he admitted with a chuckle. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed to weigh her options. Finally, she sighed. “Let’s check one more place. If we don’t find anything, we’re done.”

The second shop wasn’t much better, but Y/N managed to find a simple, well-fitted jacket and sturdy pants—nothing flashy, but practical and functional. As she tried them on, Peter waited outside the fitting area, tapping his foot nervously. When she emerged, he blinked.

“Wow,” he said, a little too loud. “I mean… you look great. Not that you don’t always look great, but, uh, yeah.”

Y/N gave him a rare, faint smile. “Thanks, Quill.”

“Anytime,” Peter said, fumbling with his words as they approached the counter to pay.

Peter reached for his credits while Y/N adjusted her jacket. As she pulled her hands out of her pocket, one of her knives slipped from the lining of her jacket and clattered onto the floor. “Dammit,” she muttered, crouching down to pick it up.

That’s when it happened.

A massive alien, almost seven feet tall and covered in thick, leathery skin, sidled up behind her and smirked. He gave a sharp whistle and slapped her rear with one of his oversized hands. “Nice form, sweetheart,” the alien drawled in a grating voice.

Y/N froze mid-motion, gripping the hilt of her knife tightly as her golden eyes darkened with fury.

Peter stiffened beside her, his jaw clenching as he stepped forward. “Hey, pal,” he said, his tone deceptively casual. “Why don’t you back off before you regret it?”

The alien glanced at Peter and snorted, clearly unimpressed. “What’s it to you, little man? Didn’t know she needed a babysitter.”

Y/N stood up slowly, her expression deathly calm. “Touch me again,” she said coldly, “and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

Peter had seen Y/N pissed off before, but this was something else entirely. Her knuckles were white around the knife, and there was a dangerous glint in her eye that made even him a little nervous.

“Whoa, whoa, no violence in my shop!” the merchant interjected, stepping between them. He pointed a long, scaly finger at the alien. “Get out before I call security.”

The alien glared at Y/N and Peter, his smug demeanor fading slightly under Y/N’s icy stare. “Fine,” he grumbled, backing away. “Not worth my time, anyway.”

As he left, Y/N relaxed her grip on the knife, though her expression remained stormy.

“You okay?” Peter asked, his voice quieter now.

She nodded, slipping the knife back into her jacket. “I’m fine. He’s lucky the shopkeeper stepped in.”

Peter huffed, still glaring after the alien. “I don’t care how big that guy was. I was about two seconds away from teaching him a lesson.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You? Against him?”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me,” Peter shot back, though his tone was lighter now. “I’ve got moves. You know, if you ever need backup.”

Y/N looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, surprisingly, she gave a small chuckle. “Sure, Quill. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N handed over the credits for her new clothes, slipping the items into a small bag. She slung it over her shoulder and turned toward the exit, with Peter trailing behind her.

“Alright,” she said, brushing past the merchant’s counter. “Let’s get out of here before someone else decides to test their luck.”

“Yeah, good plan,” Peter muttered, still glancing over his shoulder, half expecting the alien creep to return.

They stepped into the marketplace, and the crowd had only grown thicker since they first arrived. Aliens of all shapes and sizes pushed and jostled one another, shouting over the noise of bartering and street performers.

Peter tried to keep up with Y/N, but the press of the crowd made it nearly impossible. One particularly large alien bumped into him, sending him stumbling directly into her.

“Quill,” Y/N snapped, turning to glare at him as he bumped into her side for the third time.

“Sorry!” Peter said, hands raised defensively. “It’s the crowd, not me. I swear.”

Y/N sighed, clearly annoyed, but instead of snapping at him again, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Come on. I’m not dragging you through this chaos.”

Peter’s breath caught as her fingers wrapped around his wrist, firm but not harsh. “Uh, right,” he stammered, stumbling after her as she pushed her way through the throng.

Y/N moved with purpose, cutting through the crowd like a knife. Peter, meanwhile, was trying very hard not to focus on the fact that she was holding onto him. Her grip was warm and steady, and his brain kept replaying the moment she’d decided to take charge.

“Keep up, Quill,” she muttered without turning around, her tone sharp but not unkind.

“Yup, keeping up,” Peter said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. He ignored the way his face felt like it was on fire.

They finally emerged from the sea of bodies into a slightly less crowded area. The rich, spicy scent of food hit them instantly. They were in what appeared to be the planet’s version of a food court—stalls lined the perimeter, each offering a dizzying array of dishes.

Y/N released Peter’s wrist and folded her arms, scanning the stalls. “Might as well grab something to eat while we’re here.”

Peter flexed his fingers, the ghost of her touch still lingering on his skin. He nodded quickly, trying to sound normal. “Yeah, good idea. All that shopping worked up an appetite.”

Y/N glanced at him sideways, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Hey, moral support is hard work!” he shot back, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but Peter thought he caught a flicker of amusement before she turned back to the stalls.

“What do you feel like eating?” she asked, her tone more neutral now.

Peter shrugged. “Anything that won’t try to eat me back is fine. You?”

Y/N stepped toward a stall selling skewered meats sizzling over an open flame. “This looks decent,” she said, nodding to the vendor.

Peter followed, still trying to shake off the ridiculous flustered feeling she’d managed to stir up without even trying. As they placed their orders, he stole a glance at her. Stoic and brooding as ever, Y/N was a walking contradiction—a tough, no-nonsense bounty hunter who occasionally let her walls slip just enough to drive him completely crazy.

“Quill,” Y/N said sharply, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he blinked, realizing she was holding out one of the skewers to him.

“Your food,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Peter said quickly, taking the skewer. “Just… taking in the sights.”

Y/N shook her head, clearly unimpressed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she turned back to her food.

Peter and Y/N found a small bench near the edge of the food court. It wasn’t exactly quiet, but it was better than the chaotic press of the marketplace. Y/N leaned back slightly, chewing on her skewer with casual indifference, while Peter took a more animated approach, alternating between bites and chatting about random topics.

“So,” Peter said, gesturing with his half-eaten skewer, “you think Rocket’s blown something up yet, or is he waiting for the perfect moment?”

Y/N gave him a sidelong glance. “If he hasn’t, it’s because he found something more dangerous to mess with.”

Peter chuckled. “Fair point. You know, one of these days, we’re gonna have to drag him away from a bomb before it—”

“Hello there, handsome,” a sultry voice interrupted.

Peter froze mid-bite, and Y/N’s eyes flicked up to the source of the voice. Standing in front of them was a tall, shimmering alien woman with deep blue skin and golden patterns that glowed faintly across her body. She wore what could barely be called clothing—more like strategically placed strips of fabric—and had an aura of practiced confidence.

“Well, aren’t you just a treat,” the alien woman purred, her golden eyes fixed on Peter. “What brings someone like you to this corner of the galaxy?”

Peter blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Uh… just, you know, on a… mission thing.”

The woman tilted her head, her smile widening. “A mission, huh? You must be very brave. Or very strong.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Maybe both?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond—probably to say something dumb, knowing him—but Y/N cut in, her voice icy and sharp.

“Back off.”

The alien woman turned, clearly unimpressed by Y/N’s tone. “And who are you, his bodyguard?”

Y/N stood, her golden eyes narrowing. “Something like that. And I’m telling you to leave. Now.”

The woman arched a delicate brow, but there was a flicker of unease in her golden eyes. Y/N’s stoic expression wasn’t one to be questioned lightly. After a tense moment, the alien scoffed and stepped back.

“Fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Enjoy your mission, hero.”

As she strutted away, Peter turned to Y/N, still half-stunned. “What the hell was that about?”

Y/N sat back down and resumed eating her skewer as if nothing had happened. “What?” she said flatly.

“You just scared off an alien supermodel,” Peter said, throwing his hands up. “What’s the deal?”

“She was a distraction,” Y/N said bluntly.

Peter frowned. “A distraction? From what?”

“From our job,” Y/N replied, her tone sharp. “We’re here to get supplies, not flirt with every local who bats their eyes at you.”

Peter squinted at her. “Really? That’s it? You weren’t, I don’t know, jealous or anything?”

Y/N gave him a withering look. “Don’t flatter yourself, Quill.”

Peter held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay. Just saying, it seemed a little… intense, is all.”

She shook her head and stood up, tossing the empty skewer into a nearby bin. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

Peter watched her as she strode away, her usual air of confidence and indifference firmly in place. He couldn’t quite figure her out—one moment, she was shutting him down with that stoic glare, and the next, she was scaring off someone just for talking to him.

“Definitely not jealous,” Peter muttered to himself, scrambling to catch up with her. “Right?”

The walk back to the ship was relatively uneventful, though Peter kept sneaking glances at Y/N. She was still wearing that same stoic expression, but he could tell she wasn’t as relaxed as she let on. He wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but he figured it was better to let her have her space—at least for now.

By the time they reached the Milano, the others hadn’t returned yet. Y/N immediately made her way to one of her workbenches near the cockpit, pulling out a half-finished gadget from a drawer. Peter watched her settle into her chair, her focus instantly sharpening.

He leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching her tinker. Her hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting small wires and tightening screws. After a moment of hesitation, he wandered over and leaned down over her shoulder.

“So,” Peter began, his tone curious, “what are you working on?”

Y/N didn’t look up from her work. “A signal disruptor. It scrambles short-range comms if you’re in a tight spot. Could come in handy if Rocket decides to run his mouth at the wrong time. Again.”

Peter chuckled. “Okay, that’s actually pretty cool. How does it work?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t shove him away. She held up a small component, pointing to a series of wires and circuits. “This regulates the frequency output. It has to be strong enough to jam the signal but not so strong that it fries the whole system. That’s why I’m adding a capacitor here—”

Peter leaned in closer, pretending to follow along. “Uh-huh. Capacitor. Right. Totally makes sense.”

Y/N smirked faintly, glancing at him. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Peter admitted with a grin. “But I like watching you work. You’re… really good at this stuff.”

Before Y/N could respond, heavy footsteps echoed through the ship’s ramp. Peter barely had time to straighten up before Drax’s booming voice filled the cockpit.

“Ah! There you are!” Drax said, his tone loud and enthusiastic as usual. “I was looking for you, Quill!”

Peter turned just as Drax marched up behind him. Without warning, Drax clapped a massive hand on Peter’s back, shoving him forward.

“Drax, what the—” Peter yelped as he stumbled straight into Y/N.

The momentum sent her chair skidding backward, and they both toppled onto the floor. Peter landed awkwardly on top of her, his hands bracing against the floor on either side of her head. For a split second, he froze, his face mere inches from hers.

“Uh… hey,” Peter said weakly, his face burning.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, her cheeks tinged with a faint red hue. But the surprise didn’t last long. Her expression darkened as anger replaced her embarrassment.

“Get. Off,” she growled.

Peter scrambled back instantly, raising his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean—Drax pushed me—”

Before he could finish, Y/N was already on her feet. She turned on Drax, her fury palpable.

“What is wrong with you?!” she snapped, shoving him hard in the chest.

Drax, unbothered, tilted his head. “You were both in the way. I was simply helping Quill.”

“Helping?” Y/N’s fists clenched at her sides. “You—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she punched Drax square in the chest with enough force to send him stumbling backward into the wall. The impact made a loud thud that reverberated through the ship.

Drax looked more confused than hurt, rubbing his chest as he frowned at her. “Why are you angry? I thought that was a good bonding moment for you and Quill.”

Y/N let out a frustrated growl and turned on her heel, storming out of the cockpit. Peter watched her go, wincing as she disappeared down the ladder into the lower levels of the ship.

“Nice going, Drax,” Peter muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Drax shrugged. “I thought she would appreciate my efforts.”

Peter sighed and started after her, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, she definitely appreciated it…”

The rest of the crew returned a short while later, Rocket leading the charge with an armful of new gadgets and a smug grin. Gamora followed close behind, looking exasperated but unscathed, while Groot shuffled in with a bright yellow fruit twice his size in his arms. Drax, unfazed by Y/N’s earlier punch, immediately began boasting about his “helpful interference.”

Peter barely listened. His thoughts were on Y/N, who hadn’t reappeared since storming off earlier.

“Hey, uh, I’ll be back in a bit,” Peter said, waving off Rocket’s sarcastic remark about his “lazy shopping trip.”

He headed down to the lower levels of the ship, where he figured Y/N had retreated. Sure enough, he found her at her usual workbench, surrounded by tools and scrap parts. She was hunched over an old MP3 player, her fingers delicately working on its inner components.

Peter leaned against the doorway, folding his arms. “Didn’t peg you for a music fan,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips.

Y/N glanced up briefly, her expression neutral as usual. “What makes you think I am?”

Peter gestured to the MP3 player. “That thing. Nobody messes with ancient tech like that unless they care about what’s on it.”

She shrugged, turning back to her work. “I like fixing things. Doesn’t mean I care about the music.”

“Uh-huh.” Peter stepped closer, leaning over her shoulder. “So what’s on it?”

Y/N hesitated, her hands pausing for a split second before resuming their work. “Just some old songs.”

Peter smirked, sensing her reluctance. “Come on. You can’t leave me hanging like that. I’m the music guy, remember? Let me guess… classical? Jazz? Maybe something weird like Klingon opera?”

Y/N actually snorted at that, though she didn’t look up. “No. Nothing like that.”

Peter tilted his head, his curiosity growing. “So what is it, then?”

Y/N sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to drop it. She set the MP3 player down and turned to face him, leaning back slightly in her chair. “It’s a mix. Some Fleetwood Mac, Nirvana, Green Day… MSI.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, Fleetwood Mac? Nirvana? Green Day? I didn’t know you had taste.”

“Funny,” Y/N said dryly. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“Are you kidding? I love Fleetwood Mac,” Peter said, sitting on the edge of the workbench. “’The Chain’? That’s a classic.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Didn’t think you’d be into anything that wasn’t pop rock from the ’70s.”

“Hey, I’m a man of many layers,” Peter said with a smirk. “What about Nirvana? You seem more like a ‘Heart-Shaped Box’ kind of person.”

“‘Drain You,’” Y/N corrected, her tone softening slightly. “It’s… raw. Simple. Gets the job done.”

Peter nodded, impressed. “Nice. And Green Day?”

“‘American Idiot.’ Obvious choice,” she said, leaning back further and crossing her arms.

Peter grinned. “Okay, I take it back. You’ve got better taste than I expected. But MSI? That’s a little, uh, intense.”

Y/N smirked faintly, the closest thing to a smile he’d seen from her all day. “You saying I can’t handle intense?”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Peter said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just… didn’t think you’d go for a song like ‘Stupid MF.’”

“It’s fitting,” Y/N said, her golden eyes flicking up to meet his. There was a hint of mischief in her gaze now. “Especially when I’m stuck dealing with you.”

Peter laughed, leaning back slightly. “Alright, fair. But I’m still the music guy here. If you ever wanna swap playlists, I’m your man.”

Y/N shook her head but didn’t outright dismiss him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Progress,” Peter muttered to himself, standing up. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. But if that MP3 player starts blasting ‘Dreams,’ you better let me know.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement on her face as he walked away.

Peter lingered just outside the doorway for a moment, glancing back to see Y/N already engrossed in the MP3 player again. There was something about seeing her like that—relaxed, almost vulnerable—that made him grin. She was still stoic, still guarded, but she’d let her walls drop just enough to share a little piece of herself. And for Peter, that was a win.

He wandered back to the main deck, where Rocket and Groot were arguing over something incomprehensible, and Gamora was cleaning her sword. Drax was sitting nearby, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Peter plopped down in the pilot’s chair, spinning it lazily. He thought about Y/N’s music taste, a mix of brooding intensity and rebellious edge. It made sense, in a way—just like her.

“You’re grinning like an idiot,” Gamora said, not looking up from her blade.

Peter snapped out of his thoughts, straightening up. “What? No, I’m not.”

“You are,” Rocket chimed in, smirking. “What, did Y/N finally smile at you? Gonna throw a party to celebrate?”

Peter glared at him, though his face betrayed him with a faint blush. “She likes Fleetwood Mac. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Congratulations,” Rocket said sarcastically. “You’ve discovered she’s not a robot. Anything else you wanna share with the class?”

“Leave him alone,” Gamora said, though her tone was only mildly disapproving. “We have more important things to worry about.”

Peter leaned back in the chair, still grinning despite himself. “You guys wouldn’t understand. It’s… character depth.”

Rocket groaned. “You’re hopeless.”

Meanwhile, Y/N stayed in the lower levels of the ship, tuning out the commotion above. She’d managed to fix the MP3 player, and now it sat in her hand, the screen glowing faintly. She scrolled through the playlist, stopping on “The Chain.”

The familiar opening notes began to play through her small headphones, and she closed her eyes for a moment. The song transported her back to simpler times—times before bounty hunting, before running with the Guardians. It wasn’t nostalgia, exactly, but it was grounding.

She didn’t realize Peter had come back until his voice broke through the quiet.

“Thought I told you to tell me if you played Fleetwood Mac,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Y/N pulled the headphones out and gave him a flat look. “Didn’t realize I was under orders.”

Peter walked over, his usual cocky grin in place. “Not orders. Just… you know, a suggestion. Sharing music’s a bonding thing. Team-building.”

Y/N turned her attention back to the MP3 player, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. “What do you want, Quill?”

Peter sat on the edge of her workbench, leaning closer to peer at the device. “Just wanted to see what else you’ve got on there. Maybe trade some song recommendations.”

Y/N hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. Then, with a sigh, she handed the MP3 player to him.

“Don’t break it,” she warned.

Peter took it with exaggerated care, scrolling through the playlist. He raised an eyebrow at some of the songs, chuckling when he saw “Stupid MF.”

“You weren’t kidding about this one,” he said, grinning. “Bet this is your theme song.”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Better than ‘Hooked on a Feeling.’”

Peter gasped, clutching his chest. “Hey, that song’s a masterpiece.”

“Sure it is,” Y/N said dryly.

Peter laughed, handing the MP3 player back to her. “Alright, tough girl. Next time, I’m making you listen to my playlist.”

“We’ll see,” she said, slipping the headphones back on.

Peter lingered for a moment, watching her as she fiddled with the player. Then he stood, stretching his arms. “Guess I’ll let you get back to your tinkering. Try not to let ‘Drain You’ put you in too bad of a mood.”

Y/N didn’t respond, but as he walked away, he thought he caught the faintest hint of a smile.

Y/N eventually made her way up to the cockpit, her repaired MP3 player tucked safely in her jacket pocket. She wasn’t in the mood for the usual chaos of the team, but she figured avoiding them all day wouldn’t exactly help their “team cohesion.”

When she entered, the usual scene greeted her: Rocket and Groot bickering over a pile of strange tech parts, Drax laughing at something no one else found funny, Gamora calmly cleaning her sword, and Peter lounging in the pilot’s chair, spinning it idly.

Gamora glanced up as Y/N entered. “Fixed whatever you were working on?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, leaning against the wall near Gamora. “Just an old player. Nothing urgent.”

Gamora nodded, setting her sword aside. “You’re always working on something. Do you ever relax?”

Y/N gave her a faint smirk. “Tinkering is relaxing. You should try it sometime.”

“I think I’d be terrible at it,” Gamora said dryly.

“Probably,” Y/N teased, surprising herself.

Gamora raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem offended. Instead, she leaned back slightly, studying Y/N. “You’ve got a sharp sense of humor when you want to.”

Y/N shrugged. “Don’t get used to it.”

That earned her a soft laugh from Gamora, and to her own surprise, Y/N felt herself chuckle a little as well.

“Holy krutack,” Rocket interrupted, his eyes wide in mock shock. “Did you guys see that? Y/N laughed. I think hell just froze over.”

Y/N turned to Rocket, her face quickly reverting to its usual stoic mask. “Careful, Rocket. I can take that big mouth of yours apart as easily as one of your gadgets.”

Rocket snorted, crossing his arms. “Oh yeah? You can try, but you’d—”

Before he could finish, Y/N stepped forward, towering over the small raccoon. She leaned down slightly, her voice calm but dangerously low. “You really wanna test that theory?”

Rocket blinked, his bravado faltering for a split second. “Uh… nah. I’m good.”

Peter burst out laughing, spinning his chair around to face them. “Oh man, I never get tired of watching you humble him.”

Rocket muttered something under his breath, retreating to the other side of the cockpit as Groot patted him consolingly.

Gamora gave Y/N a knowing look. “I see you’re not afraid to keep him in line.”

“Somebody has to,” Y/N said, her lips twitching upward in a small smirk.

Peter leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “You know, for someone who acts like they don’t like any of us, you’re pretty good at keeping this family together.”

Y/N shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. “Family? That’s a stretch.”

“Maybe,” Peter said with a shrug. “But it’s kind of true, isn’t it?”

Y/N didn’t respond, but her silence was telling. She glanced around the room at the mismatched group of criminals-turned-heroes and let out a quiet sigh.

“Fine,” she said at last. “But if anyone starts singing ‘We Are Family,’ I’m leaving.”

Peter grinned. “Noted.”

The Milano was quiet as the crew settled into their respective quarters for the night. Y/N had tried to sleep, but as usual, her mind refused to cooperate. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she gave up, pulling on a pair of baggy joggers and a sports bra before heading to the cockpit.

The faint hum of the ship’s systems filled the space as she settled into her usual spot. Tools and parts were scattered across the console, and she started tinkering with a new prototype—a compact energy blade she’d been designing for close combat. It was quiet, and for once, she appreciated the solitude.

But of course, it didn’t last.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence, and Y/N glanced up to see Peter wandering into the cockpit. He was in his usual sleepwear—an old band tee and sweatpants—but the moment his eyes landed on her, he froze.

“Uh…” Peter stammered, his gaze flicking away as if suddenly very interested in the walls.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, turning back to her work. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Peter said, clearing his throat as he forced himself to look at her face. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come up here and… you know, check the stars or whatever.”

“Right,” Y/N said, not bothering to look up.

Peter hesitated, shoving his hands into his pockets. His eyes kept betraying him, darting back to her exposed shoulders and toned arms before he quickly looked away again. “You, uh… working on something?”

“What does it look like?” she asked dryly, holding up the half-finished energy blade. “Close-quarters weapon. Small enough to conceal, strong enough to cut through just about anything.”

Peter stepped closer, his curiosity overcoming his awkwardness. “That’s… actually pretty cool. Does it work yet?”

“Not yet,” Y/N admitted. “Still working on stabilizing the energy output. If I fire it up now, it’ll probably explode.”

Peter chuckled, leaning against the console. “Exploding weapons. Sounds like Rocket’s dream come true.”

Y/N smirked faintly. “Exactly why I’m keeping it to myself for now.”

The silence that followed was oddly comfortable, though Peter couldn’t quite stop himself from sneaking another glance at her. The cockpit’s dim lighting highlighted the sharp angles of her face and the way her alien features blended seamlessly with her human ones.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said without looking up, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Peter snapped out of it, his face flushing. “I’m not! I was just… admiring your work.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, uh… do you ever sleep? Or are you like some kind of tinkering machine?”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh, setting her tools down. “I sleep when I need to. Tonight just… isn’t happening.”

Peter nodded, sitting down across from her. “Yeah, I get that. Nights like this, my brain just won’t shut up, you know?”

She glanced at him, her expression softening slightly. “What keeps you up?”

Peter hesitated, uncharacteristically serious. “A lot of things, I guess. The usual stuff—past mistakes, wondering if we’re gonna make it through the next mission… thinking about the people I care about.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow at that last part, but she didn’t push. “Fair enough.”

“What about you?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “What keeps you up?”

She was quiet for a moment, her golden eyes fixed on the weapon in her hands. “Same as you, I guess. Except I don’t dwell on it. I work. Keeps my mind busy.”

Peter nodded, watching her closely. “Makes sense. You’re kind of a badass like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Don’t start.”

“Just calling it like I see it,” Peter said, grinning.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a while after that, the quiet hum of the ship filling the space. Peter found himself oddly at ease, even as he tried very hard not to let his gaze wander again.

Y/N, for her part, didn’t seem to mind his presence—though she’d never admit it.

The next morning, the crew gathered in the cockpit, groggy but ready for their next job. Rocket was rummaging through a bag of stolen gadgets, Groot was munching on the alien fruit he’d brought back from the market, and Drax was sharpening his knives. Gamora stood by the navigation console, while Y/N leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“So,” Peter began, spinning his chair around dramatically. “Our mystery client wants us to retrieve a package from some warehouse on Terrex-4. Easy job, big payout. Sounds like a win to me.”

Gamora frowned. “If it’s so easy, why did they hire us?”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe they like our charm.”

“Or maybe they’re setting us up,” Y/N said flatly.

Rocket snorted. “Paranoid much?”

“Not paranoia,” Y/N replied. “Experience.”

“Alright, we’ll play it safe,” Peter said, trying to defuse the tension. “But we’re not passing up a payday. Let’s move out.”

The warehouse on Terrex-4 was a rusted, crumbling structure in the middle of a barren desert. The Guardians entered cautiously, weapons drawn and senses on high alert.

“Where’s the package?” Gamora asked, scanning the dimly lit interior.

“Should be right… there,” Peter said, pointing to a metallic crate near the center of the room.

But before anyone could approach it, a familiar whistle pierced the air, and a glowing Yaka arrow shot past Peter’s head, embedding itself in the wall behind him.

“Aw, hell,” Peter muttered.

The Guardians spun around to see Yondu and his Ravagers stepping out of the shadows, weapons raised.

“Well, if it ain’t my favorite boy and his merry band of idiots,” Yondu drawled, his grin wide and dangerous.

“What the hell, Yondu?” Peter shouted. “This was supposed to be our job!”

“Funny thing about that,” Yondu said, twirling his Yaka arrow. “It was my job first. But I figured I’d let you do the heavy lifting. Now, hand over the crate and maybe I won’t kill ya.”

Rocket raised his blaster. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

The tension snapped like a rubber band, and chaos erupted.

Blaster fire lit up the warehouse as the Guardians fought their way out. Drax and Gamora took on the Ravagers in close combat, while Rocket and Groot provided covering fire. Peter and Y/N worked together to flank Yondu, who was using his arrow with deadly precision.

But the Ravagers were relentless, and even as the Guardians managed to reach the Milano, it wasn’t without cost.

Y/N covered their retreat, firing off her blaster as she backed into the ship’s ramp. A sharp pain suddenly tore through her arm, and she glanced down to see a deep gash, blood seeping through her jacket.

“Y/N!” Peter shouted, grabbing her by the uninjured arm and dragging her into the ship as the ramp closed behind them.

Rocket fired a final shot from the cockpit as the Milano blasted off, leaving the Ravagers cursing in their wake.

The ship’s medbay was a mess of supplies as Peter dug through the cabinets, his expression tense. Y/N sat on a bench, her jaw clenched as she pressed a cloth to the wound on her arm.

“Quit fussing,” she said as Peter returned with a medkit.

“You’re bleeding all over the place,” he shot back, kneeling in front of her. “This is gonna need stitches.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, letting him take her arm. Peter carefully removed the blood-soaked cloth, his brow furrowing as he examined the wound.

“This is deep,” he muttered. “How the hell did you not pass out?”

“Adrenaline,” Y/N said flatly. “Just hurry up.”

Peter grabbed a sterilized needle and thread, his hands surprisingly steady despite the situation. He worked in silence for a moment, the close proximity making him painfully aware of how warm she was, how her sharp features softened slightly when she wasn’t scowling.

Y/N, for her part, was doing her best to ignore the way Peter’s fingers brushed against her skin as he worked. She focused on the ceiling, her jaw tight.

“You okay?” Peter asked softly, glancing up at her.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice sharper than intended.

Peter smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “You know, for someone who’s so tough, you’re kinda terrible at letting people help you.”

Y/N gave him a flat look. “And for someone who can’t shut up, you’re surprisingly good at stitching.”

Peter chuckled, finishing the last stitch and cutting the thread. “Alright, you’re good to go. Try not to punch anything with that arm for a while.”

“Noted,” she muttered, flexing her fingers experimentally.

Before the moment could settle, Rocket sauntered into the medbay, a sly grin on his face.

“Well, ain’t this cozy,” he said, folding his arms. “You two need a room, or is the medbay romantic enough for ya?”

Peter flushed, standing up quickly. “Oh, shut up, Rocket.”

Y/N glared at the raccoon, her eyes narrowing. “Say one more word, and I’ll use you for target practice.”

Rocket snickered but backed off, muttering something under his breath as he left.

Peter turned back to Y/N, scratching the back of his neck. “You know he’s never gonna let this go, right?”

“Let him try,” Y/N said, standing up. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Peter grinned despite himself. “Yeah, I bet you have.”

Y/N shot him a look but didn’t bother responding as she left the medbay.

Peter watched her go, shaking his head with a small smile. “She’s gonna be the death of me.”

The Milano was unusually quiet as the crew settled back into their routines. Y/N headed to the lower levels of the ship to cool off, still irritated from the mission—and Rocket’s teasing. The gash on her arm throbbed faintly, but the stitches were holding.

Peter, meanwhile, wandered aimlessly around the cockpit, fidgeting with buttons and controls that didn’t need adjusting. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Y/N had looked at him earlier—sharp and exasperated, but not entirely dismissive. It was progress, in its own weird, complicated way.

Gamora’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Are you going to sit there brooding all night, or are you going to check on her?”

Peter spun his chair around. “What? I’m not brooding.”

“You are,” Gamora said without looking up from her blade. “She’s hurt, and you’ve been pacing like a caged animal since she walked out of the medbay.”

Peter hesitated, debating whether to argue, but Gamora’s knowing look stopped him.

“Alright, fine,” he muttered, standing up. “I’ll go… check.”

Peter found Y/N in her usual spot, a dimly lit corner of the workshop where she was fiddling with a damaged blaster. Tools and parts were spread out across the table, but her movements were slower than usual, her injured arm clearly giving her trouble.

“Should you really be doing that?” Peter asked, leaning against the doorway.

Y/N didn’t look up. “What do you want, Quill?”

“Just checking on you,” he said, stepping closer. “You know, because I’m a responsible leader and all that.”

She snorted softly. “Leader. Right.”

Peter grinned, pulling up a stool next to her. “You’re welcome, by the way. For saving your arm.”

“I don’t remember asking for your help,” she said, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

“Well, you’re welcome anyway,” he said lightly, glancing at the blaster she was working on. “You know, you could���ve just taken a break. The ship’s not gonna fall apart without you.”

Y/N finally looked up, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t do breaks.”

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No breaks. Got it.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of the ship filling the space. Peter watched as Y/N’s hands moved deftly over the blaster, even with her injured arm. He couldn’t help but admire her focus—and her stubbornness.

“You’re kind of amazing, you know that?” he said suddenly.

Y/N paused, her hands hovering over the blaster. She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “What are you talking about?”

Peter shrugged, leaning back slightly. “You’re always fixing things, keeping us alive, holding your own in every fight… It’s impressive.”

She looked at him for a moment longer, then shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Peter admitted, grinning. “But I’m not wrong.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Go bother someone else, Quill. I’m busy.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, standing up. “But if you need anything—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted.

“Right,” he said, chuckling. “Of course you won’t.”

As he left the workshop, Y/N watched him go, shaking her head. Peter Quill was infuriating, annoying, and entirely too charming for his own good.

And yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to kick him out.

The Guardians hadn’t planned on spending the night on Ezeron-6, but after the chaos with Yondu and the Ravagers, the Milano needed refueling and some minor repairs. Peter found the closest available lodging—a rundown establishment with a flickering neon sign that read “Ezeron’s Finest”—and decided it was good enough for the night.

What they didn’t realize until they walked in was that “Ezeron’s Finest” wasn’t a standard inn. It was a strip club.

The group stood awkwardly near the entrance as music thumped through the air, and scantily clad alien dancers moved around the room, drawing the attention of the rowdy crowd. Rocket and Drax, of course, looked absolutely thrilled.

“This place is fantastic!” Rocket declared, hopping onto a barstool to get a better view of the stage.

“I agree,” Drax said, his tone unusually serious as he observed the dancers. “These performers are very talented.”

Gamora looked thoroughly unimpressed, her arms crossed. “We’re staying here? Seriously?”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, already regretting his decision. “Look, it was the closest place, okay? We’ll just stay the night and leave first thing in the morning.”

Y/N, as usual, was unfazed. She scanned the room, her expression flat. “I’ve seen worse.”

Gamora gave her a look. “This doesn’t bother you?”

Y/N shrugged. “Not my business.”

Peter, on the other hand, was clearly uncomfortable. His gaze darted around the room, trying (and failing) not to look at any of the dancers. “Let’s just… get our rooms and stay out of trouble, alright?”

The night passed uneventfully—for the most part. Drax and Rocket seemed to be enjoying themselves far too much, while Groot simply wandered around making friends with the staff. Gamora sat at a corner table, her arms crossed as she glared at anyone who came near her. Y/N, meanwhile, had claimed a seat at the bar, quietly sipping a drink while keeping an eye on the others.

Peter eventually found her there, his usual confidence slightly shaken by the setting. “Hey, uh… you wanna get out of here for a bit? Maybe… take a walk?”

Y/N glanced at him, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Why?”

“Just… you know, fresh air,” Peter said, fidgeting slightly.

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The two of them wandered through the quiet streets of Ezeron-6, the neon lights of the strip club fading behind them. The night air was cool, and the stars above were unusually bright.

For a while, they walked in silence, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of traffic and the occasional alien vendor closing up shop.

Finally, Peter cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So… I’ve been thinking.”

Y/N glanced at him. “That’s new.”

“Ha-ha,” he said, though his tone was distracted. “No, seriously. I’ve been thinking about… us.”

Y/N stopped walking, turning to face him. “What about us?”

Peter hesitated, running a hand through his hair. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. “Look, I’m not great at this kind of thing, but… I like you. A lot. More than I probably should.”

Y/N blinked, caught completely off guard. “Peter—”

“I know you’re probably gonna tell me this is a bad idea,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “And maybe it is. But I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. You’re… incredible, Y/N. And I’d be an idiot not to tell you.”

Y/N stared at him, her usual stoic mask cracking slightly as a mix of emotions flickered across her face. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come.

Instead, she stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him.

Peter froze for a moment, his eyes wide, but then he melted into the kiss, his hands coming up to rest on her waist. It was a brief, fierce moment of connection, and when she finally pulled away, they were both breathless.

Peter looked at her, his usual grin returning, though it was softer this time. “So… I’m guessing that’s a yes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Don’t push it.”

Peter chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Right. Got it.”

As they turned to head back to the inn, Peter couldn’t stop grinning. Y/N, for her part, kept her expression neutral, but her golden eyes were unusually bright.

Neither of them noticed the small figure watching them from the shadows.

“Well, ain’t this somethin’,” Rocket muttered to himself, a sly grin spreading across his face.

The Guardians were already back at the strip-club-turned-inn by the time Y/N and Peter returned from their walk. Gamora was in her room, Groot was curled up in a plant pot, and Drax had apparently decided to “help” clean up the stage area, much to the dismay of the dancers. Rocket, however, was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink—and wearing a smug grin.

As soon as Y/N and Peter walked in, Rocket’s ears twitched. He swiveled in his seat, the grin widening. “Well, well, well. Look who’s back from their little romantic stroll under the stars.”

Peter froze mid-step, glancing at Y/N. “Uh-oh.”

Y/N, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed, walking past Rocket without so much as a glance.

“Don’t pretend like I didn’t see ya,” Rocket continued, hopping off the barstool and following them. “The hand-holding, the dreamy stares, the kissing. Oh yeah, I saw it all.”

Peter groaned. “Rocket, c’mon—”

“I gotta say,” Rocket interrupted, ignoring him, “this is some quality dirt. And you know me—I’m not above sharing it with the rest of the crew. For the right price, of course.”

Y/N stopped walking. Slowly, she turned to face Rocket, her golden eyes narrowing.

“Uh, Rocket?” Peter said, backing up a step. “You might wanna rethink this—”

Rocket held up a paw, cutting him off. “Relax, Quill. I’m just having a little fun. Ain’t no harm in that, right?”

Y/N stepped forward, her movements deliberate and calm. Before Rocket could react, she grabbed him by the front of his jumpsuit and lifted him clean off the ground, slamming him against the nearest wall.

Rocket’s smug grin faltered. “H-Hey, easy now—”

Y/N leaned in, her voice low and dangerous. “You think this is funny? Trying to blackmail me?”

Rocket swallowed hard, his wide eyes darting to Peter. “Uh… it was just a joke?”

Her grip tightened. “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

“Okay, okay!” Rocket squeaked, holding up his paws in surrender. “No blackmail! I swear!”

Satisfied, Y/N released him, letting him drop to the floor with a thud. Rocket scrambled to his feet, brushing himself off and muttering something under his breath.

Peter, who had been watching the entire scene with barely concealed amusement, finally burst out laughing.

“That,” he said, pointing at Rocket, “was priceless.”

Rocket shot him a glare. “Yeah, laugh it up, Quill. You’re just lucky she likes you, or you’d be the one eating wall.”

Y/N glanced at Peter, her expression as neutral as ever. “He’s not wrong.”

Peter laughed even harder, leaning against the wall for support. “Totally worth it.”

Rocket grumbled something about “crazy humans” as he stomped off, leaving Peter and Y/N alone.

Y/N turned to Peter, raising an eyebrow. “You think that was funny?”

Peter wiped a tear from his eye, grinning. “Absolutely. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

She smirked faintly. “Good idea.”

Y/N walked off toward the front desk, Peter trailing behind her, still chuckling quietly to himself. The clerk—a tall, four-armed alien with smooth green skin and an air of boredom—barely looked up as they approached.

“We need a room for the night,” Y/N said bluntly.

The clerk raised one brow, glancing between her and Peter. “One room?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, sliding a credit chip across the counter.

The clerk’s bored expression shifted into a sly grin. “Ah. I see. Just one room. For the two of you. Together.”

Peter’s face turned bright red. “Oh, no, no, it’s not like that—”

The clerk ignored him, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Say no more. I know exactly what you’re looking for.”

Y/N frowned, her golden eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

The clerk handed her a keycard with a flourish, their grin widening. “The Lover’s Suite. Very private. Very soundproof. Perfect for… whatever it is you two crazy kids get up to.”

Peter sputtered. “That’s not—we’re not—”

Y/N grabbed the keycard without a word, her expression unreadable. She turned on her heel and started walking toward the stairs, leaving Peter to flounder behind her.

“Enjoy your night!” the clerk called after them, laughing.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Peter hurried to catch up with Y/N. “Uh, did you hear what that guy said? About the room?”

“I heard,” Y/N said flatly, not slowing down.

“And you’re just… okay with it?” Peter asked, his voice rising an octave.

She stopped at the door marked “Lover’s Suite” and slid the keycard into the lock. “What’s the problem, Quill? It’s just a room.”

Peter stared at her, his face still red. “It’s not just a room, it’s—”

The door clicked open, and Y/N pushed it wide, stepping inside. Peter followed reluctantly, his protests dying in his throat as he took in the sight before him.

The room was… exactly what the name suggested. Red silk sheets covered the circular bed in the center of the room. The walls were adorned with dim, glowing lights that gave everything a warm, romantic hue. A bottle of some alien champagne sat chilling on the nightstand, alongside two glasses.

Peter blinked. “Oh, come on.”

Y/N glanced around, unfazed. “It’s a bed. That’s all that matters.”

Peter pointed at the champagne. “That is not just a bed!”

She dropped her bag onto a chair and turned to face him, her arms crossed. “Do you want to sleep on the floor, or are you going to stop whining?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, deciding it was probably best not to argue.

Y/N rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her boots off. Peter hesitated for a moment before doing the same, sitting on the far side of the bed and trying very hard not to think about how weird this was.

After a few moments of silence, he couldn’t help but glance at her. “So, uh… this doesn’t bother you at all?”

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve stayed in worse places. This is nothing.”

Peter shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

She smirked faintly. “You’re just figuring that out?”

Peter laughed despite himself, leaning back against the pillows. As awkward as the situation was, he couldn’t deny that he felt… oddly comfortable.

“Well,” he said, glancing around the room again, “at least Rocket’s not here to see this. I’d never hear the end of it.”

Y/N snorted softly. “If he tries, I’ll put him through a wall.”

Peter grinned. “That’s my girl.”

She shot him a sharp look, and he immediately corrected himself. “I mean—uh, not like my girl, but—”

“Goodnight, Quill,” Y/N said firmly, turning off the lights.

Peter sighed, sinking deeper into the bed. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

Despite the room’s ridiculous décor, Peter couldn’t help but smile to himself as he drifted off.

The soft hum of the ship’s systems filtered through the Lover’s Suite as Peter stirred awake. He blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes and trying to piece together where he was. The red-tinted walls, the absurdly soft bed, and the faint scent of alien champagne all came rushing back.

“Oh, right. Strip-club-turned-inn,” he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

As he glanced around the room, his eyes landed on Y/N. She was standing with her back to him, pulling a fresh shirt over her head. For a moment, she was completely shirtless, her toned back illuminated by the dim glow of the room.

Peter’s gaze caught on something he hadn’t noticed before—a massive scar running diagonally across her back. It was jagged and uneven, the kind of wound that must have been deep and brutal when it was fresh.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. There was something strangely captivating about the way the scar curved with her muscles, a testament to her strength and resilience.

Y/N suddenly stiffened, as if sensing his gaze. She turned her head slightly, catching him staring out of the corner of her eye.

“See something you like, Quill?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peter immediately sat up straighter, his face turning red. “No! I mean—uh, I wasn’t—”

She pulled her shirt the rest of the way down and turned to face him, her golden eyes narrowing. “You’ve got about five seconds to explain yourself.”

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender. “Look, I just… noticed the scar. I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything, I swear.”

Y/N relaxed slightly, though her expression remained guarded. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It kinda is,” Peter said, his voice softer now. “What happened?”

She hesitated, crossing her arms. “It’s old. From before I joined the Guardians. Back when I was a bounty hunter.”

Peter nodded, not pushing her to elaborate. “It’s… intense. But I guess that makes sense. You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N shrugged, her tone dismissive. “Haven’t we all?”

Peter tilted his head, his usual cocky grin slipping back into place. “Yeah, but not all of us look as badass as you do while doing it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a faint smirk on her lips. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe,” Peter admitted, still smiling. “But I’m an honest idiot.”

She shook her head, turning to grab her gear. “Get ready. The others are probably waiting for us.”

Peter watched her for a moment longer, his grin softening. “You know, Y/N… you’re kind of amazing.”

“Stop talking before I regret not throwing you off the bed last night,” she said, but there was no real heat in her voice.

Peter chuckled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Noted.”

By the time Peter and Y/N made it to the common area of the ship, the rest of the Guardians were already there, preparing for the day ahead. Rocket was tinkering with one of his makeshift weapons, Gamora was cleaning her sword, and Drax was doing something vaguely threatening with a very large knife. Groot sat on the table, observing everything with mild interest.

“Morning, lovebirds,” Rocket called out the moment they stepped in, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Peter groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t start, Rocket.”

“Start what?” Rocket asked innocently. “I’m just saying, you two came out of that Lover’s Suite looking awfully refreshed.”

Y/N ignored him, walking over to her workstation and beginning to unpack her gear. “Say one more word, and I’ll weld your mouth shut.”

Rocket’s grin faltered slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tough guy act. Real convincing.”

Peter smirked, grabbing a cup of coffee. “You’d think Rocket would learn by now.”

“I don’t learn. That’s what makes me me,” Rocket replied, puffing out his chest.

“Right,” Y/N said, pulling out a particularly nasty-looking weapon and examining it. “And it’s why you’re always two seconds away from getting your tail handed to you.”

The group snickered, and Rocket muttered something about “everyone ganging up on him” as he went back to his tinkering.

Gamora glanced at Y/N, a hint of amusement in her usually serious gaze. “So… the Lover’s Suite, huh?”

Y/N sighed, not looking up from her work. “It was a bed. That’s it.”

Peter raised a hand. “To be fair, it was a ridiculously romantic bed.”

Gamora smirked. “And yet you survived.”

“Barely,” Y/N muttered, giving Peter a sideways glance.

The banter continued for a while as the Guardians finished their preparations, but Peter couldn’t help sneaking glances at Y/N. There was something different about her this morning—maybe it was the way she held herself, or the quiet confidence in her every move.

Or maybe, Peter thought with a small smile, it was the fact that he finally felt like he was starting to see the real her.

Later, as the crew prepared to land on their next destination, Peter found himself standing beside Y/N at the cockpit.

“So,” he said casually, leaning against the console, “you’re seriously not gonna tell me more about that scar?”

She shot him a look. “Why are you so interested?”

Peter shrugged, his tone playful. “What can I say? I’m curious. You’ve got this whole mysterious, brooding thing going on—it’s kinda your brand.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was a faint smirk on her lips. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day. If you stop being annoying.”

Peter grinned. “No promises.”

As the Milano began its descent, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Peter out of the corner of her eye. He was grinning like an idiot, as usual—but for once, she didn’t mind.

[cosmicstxrdust]

Not Like Quill

PAIRING: adam warlock & fem! quill’s sister!reader

WC: 2.5k (longer than I intended, oof!) 

SUMMARY: after your half-brother and half-sister leave, you’re left to fill in Peter’s shoes on the Guardian team. Unfortunately, Rocket can only see the faults where you lack the qualities that his best friend has. Luckily, though, a certain golden boy is always there to cheer you up.

WARNINGS: slight gotg three spoilers, fluff, angst if you squint.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: so this is my first official one shot AND first time writing for GOTG (hopefully I did a good job.) I saw GOTG3 in the theaters almost a week ago and WOW, was I surprised by Adam!! (I make it a point to not watch trailers to avoid spoilers.) I liked Will in The Dawn Treader but I haven’t seen any of his other movies since they’re not genres I usually watch, but I have been SLEEPING on this man!! I’m now obsessed with Gally (I’ve never even seen TMR but I’ve now read a ton of FFs) and, of course, Adam. So, here’s a one-shot :)

I know that Peter gave Rocket his Zune but in this scenario he gave it to you, his other half-sister. You do have powers but they’re not really mentioned here; if anyone is interested I can make a sequel/prequel.

Part 0 , Part 2

The repairs to Knowhere were going well— or at least as well as could be expected with leaders who bickered as much as the remaining Guardians. Peter and Mantis had left the planet a few weeks ago, leaving everyone quite sad at their departure. But, there were things to do so those that remained moved on as best they could in order help out. You, however, as Peter’s half-sister, had been hit harder by their departures than the others. Mantis and Peter were the only family you had, especially since the group had killed your father (not that he’d been a good one, of course.) Sure, the other Guardians had become like family to you over the years, but they weren’t blood— but this is also the only reason why you decided to stay instead of going off on your own like your siblings.

To make matters worse, the only physical reminder that you had of your brother was his Zune, which he’d left to you since you’d always stolen it anyway. Almost every day since his departure you could be found with the Zune clipped to your belt with at least one— and often both— earbuds plugged in to drown out the world. You busied yourself with helping the rest of the population repair their homes, enjoying the physical work as it tired you out too much to think about your missing family. When you weren’t working, you were training, which is how you (more officially) met one of the newest members of the Guardians, Adam. It hadn’t been the best first meeting, but that was a story for another time.

You were grateful to him for saving your brother so after he apologized for almost killing you, you forgave him pretty easily. Since you wanted to fill up your free time as much as possible, you offered to help train him because although he had powers, he’d barely been a match for the Guardians during the initial fight. You became close because of this and you found that you enjoyed his myriad of questions. You made sure to always be patient when answering him since you knew that the other Guardians were either too busy or would snap at him.

However, that was about the only good thing that had happened to you since the defeat of the High Evolutionary. The only time you really saw Rocket, Groot, Drax or Nebula was when you helped out around the headquarters or went on a mission, and even that wasn’t the same as it used to be. Rocket was a very different leader than Peter; he was, well, smarter, so that was good, but he had yet to acquire any sort of nurturing or encouraging attitude. When they trained as a team to get used to each other (as they had also added Kraglin and Viola to the group), Rocket would veer towards critical rather than critiquing.

“No, on your left, you idiot! Your other left!”

“You call that aim? Blurp could hit the target better than you!”

And, lastly, “that’s not how Quill would do it!”

Ouch. That one was always aimed at you, for anything Rocket could criticize you for. It didn’t have to just be training; sometimes he took it to ridiculous levels, either for the music you selected or the food you cooked. Anything you did, he compared you to your brother. And of course, you loved Peter; along with the other Guardians, he had saved you and Mantis from Ego and for that alone you would love him, but he had left you terribly big shoes to fill and you weren’t even the leader. You tried to hide how much Rocket’s words affected you— usually by keeping your Zune close at hand to drown him out, but they did get you down.

Even worse was his nickname for you. Although it had once been endearing, “little Quill” now felt like more of an insult— as if he knew you could never measure up to Peter. You never confronted him about this since you knew Rocket had a barbed tongue, but after being abandoned by your siblings, his words seemed to hit you harder than before. So, you kept your distance from him as best you could and tolerated it when you couldn’t.

On this particular day, you had decided to make chocolate chip cookies, which Peter had taught you to make on the first ‘Christmas’ that you’d been with the Guardians. You were really missing your brother so you plugged in your earbuds and started on the familiar recipe. In this instance, the kitchen that you were using was communal, so it was no surprise that someone else walked in on you as you baked. You didn’t notice at first, too lost in the music of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Adam had come into the kitchen after following the sweet scent that had caught his attention. He smiled a little at the sight of you standing at the counter, elbow-deep in. . . something. It was golden in color, although lighter than his skin, and flecked with black. He waved to get your attention but as usual, you were oblivious to your surroundings (and you were a fighter?) so he made his way over to you and tapped you on the shoulder.

Feeling the presence of another person, you turned around to see who it was— if it was anyone worth talking to— and when you saw that it was the (literal) golden boy, you sent him a smile and pulled one earbud out of your ear. “Hey, Adam.”

“Hi,” he replied you, still a little uncertain with less formal greetings. “What are you making? It smells really good.”

“Chocolate chip cookies,” you said. “Peter taught me how to make them. Do you want to try some?”

He looked at what was in the bowl curiously. “What does it taste like?”

“It’s sweet. If you liked the smell I’m sure you’d like the taste. Watch,” you instructed. Then you carefully picked up a small bit that had a chocolate chip in it before you at it. You closed your eyes and hummed at the delicious flavor.

Adam copied your action carefully, even going so far as to close his eyes and make the same sound— and then he repeated it more genuinely as he realized how good it was. You grinned at his reaction. “You like it, huh?” When he nodded, you added, “want to help? I’m almost at the fun part!”

“What’s that?”

“It’s where we make the cookies— this is just the batter,” you explained.

After you both washed your hands, you showed him how to form the batter into matching spheres and line them up on the baking tray. As you worked, you talked about the music you were listening to and even transferred your spare earbud to him so Adam could listen as well. Bohemian Rhapsody had become Starless by the band King Crimson. . . and of their better-known members, Adam Belew. You couldn’t help but find it amusing that Adam had the same name, and that one of the lines was “sundown dazzling day/gold through my eyes.”

As he finished forming one of the last cookies, Adam glanced up to see the hint of laughter in your expression. Although he didn’t know what was funny, he smiled back at you. For some reason that he didn’t understand, he was happy that you were happy; it was an emotion that you didn’t really seem to show that often, so the rare chance that he got to see it only made it more special. Your grin widened at you leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially: “now comes the fun part!”

He frowned with confusion. “I thought making the. . . cookies was the fun part,” he said slowly, trying out the new word.

“Sort of, but everyone knows the fun part is licking the bowl!” you exclaimed happily. “Like this.” You scraped some of the remaining batter together until it was big enough to eat before you popped it into your mouth. Together you made quick work of the remaining batter and then you put the bowl in the sink. You’d started the oven earlier, so it was ready for the tray.

After setting the timer, you made a face. “Now it’s time for the worst part: doing the dishes. Peter hated doing them so much that we usually just put them in the contamination chamber and chucked them out to space,” you explained with a giggle. “If anyone asked why we had to buy so many new dishes we just said that Peter was really clumsy.” You finished the story with a wistful look, remembering all the fun that you and your siblings had had before the Snap had ruined everything.

Adam wasn’t sure if doing the dishes was really that bad, but the happiness that had been present while making the cookies had slipped off your face, so he figured that it must be an arduous task. Wanting to spare you the discomfort, he offered: “I can do them, if you want. You did most of the work anyway.”

His suggestion pulled you back to the present and you shook your head. “You don’t have to. Since this is your first time having cookies you can just enjoy them. Next time you have to help,” you added playfully, covering up your sadness as you always did with humor— you learned that from your brother, after all.

The golden boy allowed a small smile at that, although he’d picked up on your habit. “I can wash and you can dry?”

You agreed, and soon the task was done. While you waited for the cookies to be finished you answered a few more of Adam’s questions. You found his curiosity refreshing after spending so much time with smart-ass, know-it-all teammates that wouldn’t know how to ask question if it slapped them in their face. (And yes, you did love your teammates— that’s why you could call them out on their stubbornness.)

The cookies were done about fifteen minutes later and you took them out to cool for another ten before you took one for yourself and one for Adam. You sat down next to him and bit into the warm dessert, closing your eyes again to enjoy it. As much as you liked the batter, the finished cookie was definitely better. Adam seemed to agree as he made the same sound of enjoyment from before, causing you to open your eyes and grin at him. “Good, huh?”

“Definitely,” he agreed, and he was finished with his cookie before you were done with yours.

You saw him eye the tray greedily, which caused you to laugh. “Go ahead, you can have another one.”

As he did so, the other members of the Guardians entered the room, apparently drawn by the same scent that Adam had smelled. Kraglin took his with a nod of thanks, stuffing one in his mouth as he left the room. Viola took one as curiously as Adam had, seeing as she’d never had a cookie either.

“You can take some to the other kids,” you told her— you’d made a double batch since they were pretty popular, so there was plenty. She thanked you as well and took some extra for her friends.

Then, it was Rocket’s turn. After the rest of his reactions to whatever you did, you found yourself holding your breath as you waited for his opinion. It only took a moment before he pronounced: “not bad, Little Quill.” You perked up at that, eyes wide with hope that you had finally done something right— something that Peter couldn’t do better than you. But Rocket wasn’t done: “not like Quill’s, though.”

You slumped in your chair as he took a few extra, oblivious to the effect his words had on you— but Adam noticed. “I think hers are better than Peter’s,” he spoke up quietly.

“Sure, blondie. You ain’t never tried Quill’s though, so ya don’t have a comparison.”

“I don’t need to,” he insisted, glancing over at you. “I know they’re better.”

Rocket scoffed with disbelief but didn’t bother arguing the point (he knew he was right, anyway), and left the room without so much as a thank you. Adam glanced over at your defeated posture; you’d been so confident and happy moments before the other Guardians had come in, but now you seemed to shrink into yourself, as if Rocket’s careless words had physically hurt you. Normally your recovery time after such an incident would be fast so no one else could pick up  on your feelings, but this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back— if you couldn’t do cookies right, what hope did you have for anything else?

You suddenly felt a warm hand settle on top yours, which had been resting on the counter. You looked up sharply, surprised by the touch— you hadn’t been so much as hugged since Peter and Mantis had left. Adam’s expression was sympathetic, but there was a hint of anger in his golden eyes. “You’re not like Quill,” he said.

Unfortunately, you mistook his words after being so used to Rocket’s insults and looked away. You’d expected this sort of thing from him, not from Adam, and the blow hit you harder than anything Rocket had ever said. “I know,” you snapped, taking your hand away from his. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He gave you a confused look since he wasn’t sure what chord he’d struck to cause your reaction. It dawned on him quickly how his words could have been interpreted and he gently took your hand again as he repeated more firmly: “you’re not like Quill. You’re. . . there isn’t anything to compare. You’re not your brother— Rocket shouldn’t expect the same things from you that he did for Peter.” He hesitated for only moment before he added, “I can. . . talk to him, if you want.”

As he’d spoken, you realized you’d made a mistake and your initial thoughts had been right: Adam wouldn’t use your brother against you. You felt guilty for jumping to conclusions and gave him an apologetic look. Then, his words really sank in; a statement about how special your uniqueness was from someone whose society was literally carbon copies made your face heat up at the impact of his sentiment. You found that you couldn’t look him in the eyes and lowered your gaze to your still-connected hands. “I— thank you,” you said softly. “I just wish Rocket would see that. You don’t have to talk to him— I should be able to do that myself; I’ve been his teammate for longer, after all. But. . . I really appreciate it.”

His expression softened as he squeezed your hand, which inexplicably made your stomach roll nauseously (but in a good way, like when Peter would do loop-the-loops with Milano’s pod.) “Anytime, Little Quill.”

And just like that, “little Quill” went right back to being an endearing nickname.

[narnian-neverlander]

In Whatever Way [Adam Warlock x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: When he unknowingly tests your patience, you snap at Adam and say something you immediately regret.

Word Count: 5,1k

Warnings: Guardians 3 spoilers, talk about canon typical violence, cursing, slight injury & mention of blood, bit of angst, hurt & comfort, idiots in love, author being a sucker for the ‘oh. oh.’ moment of realization trope

A/N: Kind of a follow up to this one, but can absolutely be read as a stand alone

I have exactly one complaint and that’s Adam not having Will’s freckles (for obvious bodypaint reasons), so I went ahead and fixed that 💁

If someone had told you a year ago that a Sovereign would become your favorite person in the galaxy, you would’ve laughed in their face and then put a bullet in between their eyes for good measure. But life’s got a twisted sense of humor sometimes.

That first night after the defeat of the High Evolutionary, it’d been way too messy and hectic to find Adam a place of his own, so you’d dropped him off at your tiny apartment, very specifically told him to stay put and to not touch anything, and then headed out again in search of food and some clothes. You’d found those, but alongside them, you’d also found the furry F’Saki Adam had basically adopted. He’d looked about as lost as his owner, so you’d tucked the little guy under your arm and had taken him with you. Arriving back at your home, you’d discovered Adam curled up on your bed, fast asleep. The F’Saki had immediately scurried out from your grasp, made himself comfortable at Adam’s legs and had started snoring almost right after. You’d stood in the middle of your room, still in your dirty, torn uniform and bone tired, a young Sovereign and his pet passed out on your bed and had actually stopped to wonder how on earth your life had gotten to that point.

Not seeing a reason for staying any longer, you’d decided you might as well go out and get blissfully blackout drunk with your friends. Leaving a note with the change of clothes and food, you’d turned towards the entrance to find Nebula standing in your doorway. She’d scanned the situation she’d walked in on very carefully and then had simply raised slender, judgmental brows at you. You’d shooed her out, gently closing the door behind you, and had reminded her that ‘Adopting strays that’ve tried to kill us is kinda our thing; didn’t think I’d need to tell you of all people.’

Ever since that night, Adam had been virtually glued to your side. It’d been a bit strange and uncomfortable at first; you weren’t used to always having company, much less that of a Sovereign. There’d most definitely been an adjustment period with quite a few mishaps, one of which had ended with him in the med-bay with a bloody nose after he’d scared the ever living daylights out of you while you’d been testing the upgrades Rocket had made to your gauntlets - you’d apologized profusely for the rest of that day. Over time though, it had become apparent that he meant you no harm, nor did he have any ill will, he simply wished to repay the kindness you’d shown him when he’d felt he had no one looking out for him anymore.

And despite the fact that his golden skin and hair, his engineered-to-be-perfect face and body and his manner of speaking reminded you of his heritage everyday, you’d found it increasingly easy to ignore the fact that he was part of the species responsible for so much pain in your life. Of course, it wouldn’t be fair to hold him accountable for actions committed by his people long before he was even born. But it wasn’t just that, Adam was simply… different from the rest of the Sovereign. He might’ve been created to be perfect, but he was far from it: He was only just understanding his own limits, landing him in situations that had him in over his head more often than not. He could be arrogant and quick to anger over the smallest details. He only liked learning things if they came to him easy, but grumpily and quickly dropped the ones that didn’t. But there was always an underlying innocent curiosity and kindness in his actions; in the way he’d so effortlessly bonded with the rescued animals he was now taking care of. In the way he always immediately offered assistance, no matter how menial the task. In the way he’d taken such an interest in any and all earth things, simply because they held special meaning to you. In the few months since he’d come into your life, he’d captivated you so completely, had gotten you to care for him so deeply and truly, it even shocked yourself at times still. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

There is however still one topic of conversation that never seems to get easier and that’s his late mother, Ayesha. High priestess and figurehead of the crusade against your kind; all because of shapeshifting abilities you never even asked for. You’re very well aware of the fact that, before he became a part of the Guardians, she was the only family Adam had. That he’d cared for her very much, he still does, it’s obvious in the way he talks about her. And usually you let him talk, for his sake; to let him grieve by sharing stories about the loved one he lost. But today’s been exhausting, to say the least. You’ve been up since the crack of dawn and nothing seems to work out the way it’s supposed to. At the moment, you’re down somewhere in the bowels of Knowhere, courtesy of a broken filtration system. And since your resident genius raccoon mechanic is off world with Groot and you aren’t half bad with machines, the honor of trying to fix it had gone to you. You’d been down there for hours now, though, and aren’t making any real progress. Adam had joined you a little while back, and while you usually welcome his company, he’s picked a particularly bad day to select his mother as a topic of conversation. Your nerves are frayed, your patience running thin, but you hold your tongue, choosing to only answer in occasional hums of acknowledgement to confirm that you’re listening. That works out just fine right up until the moment he says “You remind of her, actually.”

The wrench you’re currently using almost slips from your sweaty palms as you bristle and hiss “Don’t ever say that again.” His answer is immediate and while you’re not looking at him, you can hear the genuine confusion in his voice. “Why not? It’s the truth.” The more rational part of you knows he means it as a compliment - but that part seems to have taken the day off. You swallow the rising bile in your throat before you reply with “I am nothing like that vile woman. Don’t compare me to her again, do you understand?” You’ve quite obviously hit a nerve, as you hear him rise from his seated position on some debris and when he speaks again the confusion in his voice has given way to anger. “My mother was not vile, take that back!”

You mumble “Maybe not to you…” more to yourself than anything else as you busy yourself with the repairs, absolutely not in the mood for this conversation, but he hears anyways. “I don’t care what you might think of her; she loved me!” A bark of laughter escapes you before you can stop it, bitter and cruel. “Please, maybe she loved what you were supposed to be; the ultimate weapon, the next step in their precious perfect evolution, but you failed that spectacularly. And even that’s pushing it!” The bolt you’ve been trying to loosen seems to have gotten stuck even worse as you aggressively throw your whole weight down on the wrench’s handle, any and all social courtesies you’ve kept up around Adam in regards to this particular topic going right out the window. “But don’t take that personally; Sovereign just aren’t capable of love, it’s as simple as - FUCK!!” The bolt finally gives way, sending you face first into one of the pipes of the machinery. Pulling back with a pained hiss, you bring a hand to your throbbing forehead and let out a few more curses when it comes away bloody.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Two deep, slow breaths it takes for you to calm down. It takes two more for realization to hit and the regret that comes with it threatens to choke you on the spot. Adam’s gone deathly quiet and you’d honestly prefer if he lost his temper with you; that you could handle at least. You’re terrified of what you’ll find when you turn around, so you do so slowly and immediately wish you hadn’t at all.

Adam’s an awful liar; he wears his heart on his sleeve and his emotions always plain on his face for everyone to read. And right now? Even on that first night, when he’d been injured, scared and all alone, you don’t think he’d looked so completely and utterly heartbroken. His name has barely left your lips in a desperate plea when he turns and takes off, the golden glow of his powers vanishing around a corner and completely out of sight not a second later. There’s no point in going after him right now, you know that, he’s stubborn, especially when he’s upset - not that that helps you feel better about yourself in any capacity; you well and truly want to throw yourself out of the nearest airlock. With a heavy sigh, you pick up the discarded wrench from the floor, deciding to give the young Sovereign some space and quickly, haphazardly finish with your work instead.

By the time you leave the med-bay, a bandaid now covering the wound on your forehead, it’s been a good hour or two, so you make your way to Adam’s apartment, hesitantly knocking on the door. When there’s no answer, you peek through one of the small windows, but the room is empty except for Blurp curled up on the bed, snoring contently. You check the cantina next, then the complex where the animals had been set up. You check in with Kraglin and Cosmo, Drax and Phyla, and basically any residents of Knowhere that you come across - no one has seen the golden man since he went off to help you. Your search eventually brings you to the spaceport, where you find the Bowie freshly docked, Groot carrying crates down the loading ramp, Rocket on his shoulders. Considering you were running out of places to check that were actually on Knowhere and Adam didn’t need oxygen like the rest of you, you figure you might as well ask if they’d seen him somewhere in the general vicinity of the giant head while coming back.

“Rocket, have you seen Adam?” the question’s out of your mouth before you’ve even properly reached them and your furry friend doesn’t bother to look up from the data pad he’s studying as he scoffs “Nice to see you, too, (y/n). Yeah, me and Groot are fine, mission went great, thanks for asking; always touching to come home to such a warm welcome.” Mumbling out an apology you only half mean, you cross your arms over your chest and look at him expectantly. When he realizes you’re not gonna go away, he hooks the pad to his belt with a groan and looks at you, one elbow propped up against Groot’s head. “How the flarg would I know? Goldie’s attached to your hip, not mine.” You don’t wanna have to get into details right now, so you settle for “Usually, sure. But I messed up, he ran off and now I can’t find him.” Rocket snorts, clearly not buying it. “The guy looks at you like you hung the friggin’ stars in the sky, what could you of all people have possibly done to piss him off that bad?” Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you avoid eye contact with him and busy yourself with a loose thread on your shirt instead. Details it is after all. “I… might’ve insulted his mother and told him I don’t believe Sovereign are capable of love.” The quiet lasts for all of half a second before Rocket starts cackling so hard, he goes tumbling off of Groot’s shoulders and ends up on the ground; clutching his stomach he’s almost howling in laughter and it makes heat shoot up to your face in both embarrassment and anger as you stomp your foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “Rocket this isn’t funny!!”

The raccoon struggles to his feet, one paw still on his knee as the other wipes at his eyes. “You’re right; it’s not. It’s hysterical! I mean… if that’s how you talk to a guy you’re actually into, I’d hate to see how you treat the ones you don’t like.” Brows furrowing in bewilderment, the complete change of topic makes you fumble for a moment as you ask “What… what the hell is that supposed to mean?” All traces of amusement vanish from Rocket’s face, jaw going slack as he stares at you and realizes you’re serious. He lets out a low whistle before he states “Wow. And here I thought the golden boy was clueless. At least he’s got some excuse, he ain’t been around the galaxy for all that long, but you? You can’t be for real.” You’re very quickly growing very tired of this conversation, so with a huff, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “Rocket, are you gonna stand here and give me riddles for the rest of the day or are you gonna help me?” Said help comes from the tree that’s been busy unloading the ship up until now. “I am Groot.” Your head snaps towards your teammate at the insinuation. “What tracker?” Now it’s Rocket’s turn to look embarrassed, a disappointed sigh and a long, drawn out version of his name leaving your lips. “I thought we talked about this ages ago; you can’t go putting trackers on people without their consent!” He doesn’t seem all that bothered by your outburst as he mocks “Oh boo hoo, y’all constantly whine about that right up until the moment it benefits you - like right now!” But he goes digging through one of the pockets on his belt anyway and holds out the small device he finds to you. Your anger more or less evaporates as you are yet again reminded that Rocket does care, in his own way. You kneel down to his level, take the tracker and give him a hug as you thank him - and just for good measure, press a long, disgusting kiss to his furry cheek as payback for laughing at your predicament. He scrambles out of your hold in obvious discomfort, gagging noises accompanying you as you take your leave, but as usual, he needs to have the last word, shouting “Save the smooches for Goldilocks!!” at your retreating figure.

Not even ten minutes later, you’re looking up at one of the tallest buildings in Knowhere. It’s an old, dilapidated communications tower that is long overdue for demolition; it’s all rusted metal and broken off, jagged edges, entirely impossible to climb without flight capabilities. Out of options, you helplessly check the tracker once more just to make sure that, yes, unfortunately he’s really up there, Rocket’s tech could be trusted on that and squinting up at the top you’re almost sure you see a glimmer of gold. You pocket the device with a shaky inhale and cup your hands around your mouth. “Adam!” you shout, even though you don’t really need to; he’s got enhanced senses, you’re certain he’d be able to hear you even if you whispered. “Adam, I know you’re up there, can you please come down?” Five seconds pass. Then ten. Then thirty. Nothing. “Listen, I know I messed up and I know you’re upset, but this isn’t gonna just go away, we need to talk about it!” A full minute of silence passes this time, dread and anxiety weighing down your shoulders more and more with each second that ticks by. When you speak again, you’re worried about your voice breaking, so it does come out as a whisper this time. “Adam, please. At least give me a chance to fix this.” Head hung low, you run both hands through your hair and over your face with an annoyed groan, upset with both his stubbornness and with yourself for having caused this mess in the first place. Thinking your attempt at a conciliation lost, you turn to leave and almost fall flat on your ass in shock when you find Adam standing there, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at you. “I do not wish to speak with you.”

“And you don’t have to, you just… have to listen for a moment, alright?” It takes him a few long, agonizing seconds to begrudgingly nod and you let out a relieved breath. Despite the hours you’d just spent searching for him, carefully laying out what you wanted to say, you’re drawing a blank at this very moment, but you try anyways. “Okay, look… I’m sorry about what I said earlier, I truly am.” When he scoffs in disbelief you reach for his hand, only to have him pull away, making your heart sink. Ever since he’d started experiencing things for himself and figuring out his likes and dislikes, it’d become clear quite quickly that Adam enjoyed physical affection, especially when you were the one to initiate it. He’d never turned it down - until now. How badly had you messed up?

“I mean that, Adam. It’s just that… I know Ayesha was your family and you miss her, but the person you knew her to be and the person I knew her to be are… quite contrasting. And I honestly don’t think there’s a way for me to reconcile both views with each other. I’ve let you talk about her because it seemed to make you happy, but you have to understand that it’s hard for me to hear praises about a person who was directly responsible for so much suffering and pain in my life. However, I also know that my experiences and rage… blind me, to a certain degree; lumping together all Sovereign isn’t fair, cause everybody’s their own person and can make their own choices, you’ve proven that.”

You can see the gears turning in his head, but he stays quiet and avoids looking at you all the same. You swallow hard around the lump that’s formed in your throat before you continue speaking. “Be that as it may, I also want you to know that you don’t have to accept my apology if you don’t want to.” His eyes are on you in a second and the hopeful tone in his voice when he says ‘I don’t?’ threatens to split your heart in two. “No, you don’t. I’m apologizing because it’s the right thing to do and because I feel absolutely awful about having hurt someone I care so much about. But if you feel that I’ve crossed a line, then…” Clearing your throat to keep your voice from breaking, you feel tears burning behind your eyes. “Then you’re under no obligation to accept it for my sake and I’ll have to live with that. I’ll give you some time to think about it.” Brushing past him, calls of your name fall on deaf ears as you leave, considering that’s just about all the emotional toll you’ll be able to take today.

A pillow tightly clutched to your chest, you’re curled up in bed not much later, tears still fresh on your cheeks. Honestly, you’re not sure why exactly you’re even crying. Because you’re sad at the prospect of having lost a friend? Because, despite of what you said, you wish he’d been less stubborn and just accepted your apology? Because you’re frustrated with yourself over how close you’d allowed the two of you to grow in the first place? It really doesn’t make sense to you. It had taken years for the rest of the Guardians to chip away at the walls you’d built around yourself so that they could squeeze inside, but Adam? A few months was all it had taken for him to get under your skin. For you to look forward to spending time with him everyday. For his laugh to become your favorite sound. For —

Your train of thought gets stopped dead in it’s tracks by a soft knock on your door, immediately followed by the scratching of tiny claws and an all too familiar whine. Wiping your palms over your eyes to get rid of the rest of the wetness staining your face, you scramble out of bed and make your way towards the entrance of your apartment. As expected, you find Adam and Blurp on the other side, the F’Saki slipping inside like he owns the place as soon as he’s able. He makes himself comfortable on the foot of your bed and looks at both of you expectantly, all bright eyes and perked ears. A setup like this normally means movie night, a little tradition you’d started to help Adam get a hold on as many customs as possible while still having fun and not actually throwing him into social interactions that would make everybody involved uncomfortable. For all intents and purposes, with the dim lighting in your room, the messy bed and Adam on your doorstep in his usual sleeping getup of sweatpants and a tank top, it does look like that’s what’s about to happen, you can’t blame the little guy for misinterpreting. Dragging your gaze back to the golden man at your doorstep, you’re surprised to find he doesn’t look half as exhausted as you feel. Matter of fact, this is the calmest and most determined you’ve seen him all day.

“May I come in?” You step aside to let him, gently closing the door behind you both with a quiet click. “I’ve thought about what you told me earlier and I think I’ve come to a conclusion on what I must do.” Dreading what comes out of his mouth next, you can’t seem to muster up the strength to look at him and keep your eyes downcast, only for his hands to enter your field of view and grab hold of your own. “I need to apologize to you.” Your head snaps up to find that he’s completely serious and barely manage to stutter out an incredibly intelligent ‘Huh?’

Adam lightly squeezes your hands when he continues. “Up until you pointed it out, it never occurred to me how the topic of my mother, my people might make you feel. Unintentional or not, my actions hurt someone I care about and I don’t like how it makes me feel. Apologizing is what I should do in that case, correct?” You wrangle with yourself for a second, but then squeeze back gratefully. “Yes, that’s right, and I’m thankful that’s the conclusion you came to, but… Adam, you couldn’t have known. I never said anything about it, instead I let my negative emotions fester and grow until I couldn’t take it anymore and it all came out in the worst way possible. If anything, we’re both a little to blame for this.” Pausing to take a deep breath, you continue with the question you really want answered, even though you’ve got a pretty good idea already. “So… does that mean we’re okay? You’re not upset with me and want me out of your life?” You watch his eyes grow wide in shock and his hands move up to your shoulders to settle there with a firm grip. “Is that what you were afraid of? Why you’ve been crying?” Shrugging as best as you can, you mumble “Kind of? You seemed so angry with me, I just thought I’d crossed a line there was no coming back from and it made me sad, so—“ The sentence stays unfinished as Adam envelops you in a bone crushing hug, even lifting you off the ground a little.

“(y/n), you’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I came into this world and I don’t even want to think about what my life would be like without you in it.” he says, face buried in the crook of your neck and you’re glad for it as you feel heat rising all the way to the top of your ears. Hugging him back just as tight, you reply “I don’t want to think about my life without you in it anymore, either.” Content just being in each other’s arms, you stay like that for a bit, until he breaks the comfortable silence with a quiet call of your name as he carefully puts you back on your feet, to which you respond with a hum of acknowledgment. “Do you really think me incapable of love?” And just like that, the feeling of wanting to throw yourself out an airlock returns; frantically stringing together the word ‘No!’ about ten times as you pull back to properly look at him. “No, of course I don’t, that was just… When people are angry, they’ll sometimes say and do things they don’t actually mean. But I swear I don’t think that about you, how could I? You’re proving the opposite every day.”

“I am?” he questions, brows furrowed, confusion and doubt clear as day and you can’t help but laugh softly as you go to cup his handsome face between your palms. “Oh my sweet Adam, do you really not see it?” Bringing his own hands to lightly hold your wrists, he sighs. “I wasn’t created to love. I was created to kill. To destroy. To bring pain and misery. So when you said that, I was… I am scared you might be right.” Gently running your thumbs over his cheeks, you simply look at your golden boy for a mere moment. The last rays of the artificial sunlight filtering in through your blinds cast him in a beautiful glow; eyes warm like honey, skin glittering like stars and the pattern of slightly darker golden, coppery spots over his nose and cheeks, an imperfection akin to freckles you’re still surprised they let him keep, all the more prominent. Of course he’s capable of love, he has to be. Surely, you wouldn’t fall for someone who wouldn’t be able to—

Oh.

Oh.

So that’s what that prick of a raccoon had been talking about. With the benefit of hindsight, it honestly baffles you it had taken this long for the other shoe to drop. Adam calling your name is what kicks your brain back into functioning after that epiphany; you blink and shake your head a little before responding. “Sorry, I was just… never mind. Do you… do you really not see how your everyday actions show love?” His eyes flick between yours as he considers your words and then settles on “I’m… not entirely certain what love is supposed to look or feel like.”

“Oh dear, uhm…” you’re unsure if you’ll be able to explain that to him properly, but you’ll be damned if you don’t at least try. “Well… there’s many different forms of love. All similar, but slightly different in some ways. But overall it’s… to deeply care for another being, I guess? When being with them brings you joy? When you want to see them safe and happy? And even though you might wish for that happiness to be with you, it’ll be fine if it’s not cause they matter more to you than yourself.” Your hands have wandered to the base of his neck, fingers buried in the short hair as he cocks his head to the side in thought. “Like you and the rest of the Guardians let Peter Quill and Mantis go on their own paths even though it made you sad to see them go?” Grinning, you nod in confirmation. “Exactly. And the way you took it upon yourself to take care of the animals we saved? The way you adopted Blurp, in spite of what your mother wanted, cause you felt he was sad and lonely? How you went out of your way to make sure I felt comfortable around you? All of that means you care. All of that are ways of showing love.” It’s obvious he’s trying real hard to comprehend everything you’ve just explained to him, but it a lot, so you continue with “Love is one of the most simple and basic emotions in most beings. But navigating it and differentiating between it’s different forms can be difficult - for everyone. There’s no rush though, you can take all the time in the world to figure it all out for yourself. I promise you have nothing to worry about, you’re perfectly fine, okay?”

Adam brings one of his hands from your waist up to cup your cheek and smiles when you lean into his touch. This is what he’d been trying to tell you earlier, when he’d compared you to his mother: He trusts you completely, your judgement, too. You make him feel at peace like no one else in the universe. “Okay.” he replies and you return his smile, just barely containing the urge to pepper kisses over his pretty face and -

Yeah you’re gonna have to deal with this particular mess of emotions sooner rather than later.

The tender moment gets interrupted by Blurp whining at you two, impatiently hopping from one paw to another on the foot of your bed. “It would appear Blurp insists on a movie night. If you feel like it?” you chuckle and Adam happily agrees. So you set up everything as usual and settle on a lighthearted family comedy to watch. But the day’s been long, exhausting and emotionally draining; try as you might your eyes keep drifting shut and you’re out cold ten minutes into the movie.

The golden man jumps a bit when there’s a slight thump against his shoulder, only to find you fast asleep. His focus now on you instead of the movie, tender fingers ghosting over the bandaid on your forehead in concern, he thinks about what you’ve just told him. About what love was supposed to feel like and it dawns on him that yes, the warmth that spreads through his chest all the way down to his feet when you do as little as smile at him must be love. And yet when he’s with you it’s… different from what it felt like to be with his mother or to be with Blurp or the rest of the Guardians. It irks him to not be able to properly discern what makes you special; you’d said there were different forms of love, but how was he supposed to understand the difference?

As you curl into his side more, one arm coming across his chest to hug him and his name subconsciously falling from your lips in a barely audible, sleepy mumble, he realizes it doesn’t matter, nor does he really care, at least not right this moment. For now, it’s enough for him to be certain of the fact that he loves you and you love him - in whatever way.

[bamboobooshark]

MANTIS QUILL • 🌻

Dating The G.O.T.G Would Include; Mantis Quill || P.G. Rating || Fandom: Marvel (Gaurdians of The Galaxy)

Author’s Note: New year, new series! I decided I’d do a headcanon series to start the year off. This one is pretty simple; how the Guardians would be as your significant other! I’m going to be doing Mantis, Gamora, Peter, and Drax. Please comment if you’d like me to do anyone else!

CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

Dating Mantis Quill would include…

Touch! So much touch. Not just because of Mantis’ powers, but because she genuinely loves having you. She likes to know that you’re real and not some weird shape-shifting monster that could hurt her. She likes to awe over every aspect of you. Your skin, your hair, your eyes; she loves it all! She’ll ramble while pointing our your differences. “You don’t have my antennas, but you’ve got such pretty rings of colors around your eyes!” Things as simple as that.

Always knowing what’s up. Even though you love her to death, there’s people who you feel the complete opposite towards. If you come home and had a nasty interaction with someone, Mantis will immediately notice. She won’t have to touch you either, she’s learned your indicators. If you’re the type to talk it out, she’ll hold your hand to get the best understanding of what happened. If you’d rather not talk about it, she’ll hold you tightly until you feel better. Mantis is extremely kind towards you and will do anything to make you smile. She likes your “odd human smile.”

Giggling! Sometimes Mantis will laugh at you, or you’ll laugh at her. Either way it’s never with ill intent. She might ask you a question that’s worded so confusingly you can’t help but chuckle. You might do something simple like sneeze and Mantis will snicker at how loud you are. You two always end up smiling at each other. Most of the time your giggle fits end up in tears and trying to catch your breath.

Curiosity and so much of it. Both of you always want to ask each other what life was like in the galaxies or on Earth. The culture shocks always get a gasp out of the two of you. “You guys do what? How do you remember all of those holidays, that’s so many?” “I don’t know. We’ve got calendars and phones and other people to remind us!” Some of these questions will be about how machines work, foods, languages, all of that good stuff. Just for fun, Mantis will teach you her favorite sayings in her native language! If your first language isn’t English, you’ll share a similar saying/expression with her.

Having a pet. Both of you agreed having a little furry friend would be fun. You decided to let Mantis choose what fluffy companion you’d have. She chose a very large, intimidating, and soft dog. She said it was because it reminded her of a not bald version of Drax which got a laugh from you. It was a mutual agreement to name him Drax Junior. He sleeps in bed with the two of you, goes where you go, and never leaves your sides. If it’s the midst of summer and too hot for Drax Junior to go out, Mantis insists on staying home with him to keep him calm.

Meditating and learning about martial arts. If you’re physically able, Mantis is completely willing to teach you martial arts. She believes it’s an amazing skill to know. If you can’t for one reason or another, she’ll teach you how to meditate and do it extremely well. At first she’ll aid you by holding your hand to help you feel relaxed and slow your breathing. Eventually she’ll have less and less of an effect on you until you can meditate as well as her without her help. Once you do, she’ll praise you endlessly for it. She loves sharing her favorite activities with you!

Tag List: @gh0stlyb34r @wimpyvamps

Want to be tagged? Click the link here!

[fandomnerd9602]

Mantis fusses…

Mantis: I just wanted my love bug to have a great Christmas

Y/N wraps her in a hug…

Y/N: as long as I can hug you, I’m gonna have the most amazing Christmas ever

Mantis giggles…

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ stop biting your goddamn nails. [new 9/10]

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 2,921. read more on ao3 | ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | main masterlist

if you don't stop chewing on your frickin' fingers, the captain will find a way to make you.

hey nonnie-love, you marvelous little bumblebee. i hope helps a little. i know you've probably already tried everything under the sun to break this habit but maybe it will help to remember that in some timeline or another, there's a cranky sentient raccoon telling you to knock it the fuck off. he's going to make your life a living hell till you stop. because he cares about you that much.

The syrupy light glows, warm and topaz-bright, in warm watercolor splotches across the counter. You lose yourself for the next few minutes while Groot picks at the basket of candy and nuts that Mantlo — with a wink — brings out just for him. You double-check the purchase list, reconsider the medpack restock and decide to double it, and then linger over the munitions order too. Rocket had wanted you to order a thousand hundred-millimeter vibranium shells to test some new ludicrously-large cannon he’s working on, but you know how his experiments tend to go — not to mention how many times he’ll want to try it out. Maybe you should double-up that purchase too, just in case— “Hey!” You jolt on your barstool, nearly dropping the datapad propped against the counter. Too late. Like the ringtone you’d chosen to warn yourself not to answer certain calls, Rocket’s voice alerts you to the fact that your fingers are pressed up against your teeth, and you’ve been mindlessly chewing at your nailbeds for at least a few minutes. You fumble your hands guiltily into your lap. “I told you to stop frickin’ doing that,” the Captain of Knowhere scowls, stalking up to you with strides that somehow always seem to cover more distance than his short legs should be capable of.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

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. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

࿔ eat somethin. (wc: 576) ࿔ go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737) ࿔ get outta bed & get your shit done.(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: 1,609) ࿔ just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271) ࿔ it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923) ࿔ get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614) ࿔ did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288) ࿔ schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222) ࿔ do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994) ࿔ brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774) ࿔ nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231) ࿔ stop biting your goddamn nails (wc:) for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto taglist ✩ @suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 23,308.

[love-for-faeries-go-burrrr]

Mistletoe

Warning: Fluff, Kiss, OC X Rocket, sometime between GOTG & Infinity War.

Peter adored the mistletoe he hanged in a common hall of the Milano, he just loved the idea of getting to give Gamora a cheeky kiss with putting all the blame on tradition.

But Peter also had a devilish idea in mind for his furry best friend. Although it was hilarious for the idea of Drax acting like he would kiss Rocket, and Rocket threatening to shoot Drax in the face, he imagined his half-sister Rose placing a kiss on his flustered best friend Rocket.

It had been sometime since the Ego ordeal, Ego confirming to Peter and Rose that he fathered them. Rose’s mother had committed adultery and this crushed Rose because she grew up adoring the man who raised her, always being told he was her father. Her mother never even hinting that Rose was a child of adultery. Rose was having a rough time handling this information even some time after the event took place. Although Peter in his own was hurting too, Peter hoped that the upcoming holiday spirit would increase joy.

“So…this is a Terran tradition?” Rose asked, puzzled as she stared at the mistletoe above her. Peter standing next to her with a huge smile plastered on his face, “Yep! You kiss anyone who’s under it with you, you have to it’s tradition.” Peter said proudly.

Rose blinked twice at the mistletoe above her, then looked to her half brother and best friend. “Please tell me this tradition does have exceptions for siblings.” She said with a slightly worried face. Peter’s grin vanished as he took two steps forward so he wasn’t under Rose with it anymore. “Ew! Yeah, no kissing siblings!” Peter said adamantly.

“Thank goodness,” breathed out the Princess, worried she would have to kiss her sibling in order to honor his traditions. But again proceeding her attention to the mistletoe again, as Gamora walked by. Peter’s eyes widened, “No No No-”

Gamora’s eyes widened in disbelief when she felt a kiss planted on her cheek, realistically Gamora would’ve pummeled anyone to the ground who did that to her, but her shock was a little too much. She looked at Rose, who was just simply pointing upwards at the mistletoe.

Gamora let out a light chuckle and walked towards Peter, pulling him by his shoulder and whispering in his ear, “You’re really trying to be Rocket’s wing man with this?” Gamora gave Peter a are you sure about this look.

“Okay so like- Don’t do that again, Gamora is off limits.” Peter started as he tried using hand signals to convey that like certain people were off limits, “I am very confused by your traditions,” Rose said sweetly albeit wondering how her life got to this. Simultaneously, Peter facepalmed himself.

~Time Skip~

“Yo Peter what the hell? Gamora said Rose kissed her because of you?” Rocket said walking down the hallway, unaware of the mistletoe he was standing under. Peter rolled his eyes, maintaining his distance between Rocket and the sacred tradition, “Okay to my credit, it was on the cheek.” Peter said plainly. Peter’s eyes landed on a figure behind Rocket, but Rocket too confused by what the hell Peter was playing at, he stopped his complaining and tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

He knew that hand, Rose? Rocket looked to his left where a now crouching Rose was, using her left hand to hold Rocket’s chin, planted a delicate kiss on Rocket’s face. It was right between the cheek and lips meet, definitely more tender than the one she gave Gamora. Rocket’s whole body froze.

You would think Rocket was a deer in the headlights, shocked by the sudden kiss and closeness of Rose. Rose smiled sweetly before patting Rocket’s head and continuing on pass Peter, as she said something about following tradition for the sake of her brother.

“What. The. Fuck.” Rocket said, his eyes practically shooting lasers to Peter, who was fawning over what just happened. “They grow up so fast!” Peter said wiping fake tears from his face. Rocket started growling at his friend, but once Peter said “Wow my sister and best bud, can’t wait for you to be an in-law”, all bets were off.

Rose sat next Mantis in the common area, hearing Rocket chase around Peter, threatening to tear him limb from limb as the sound of objects falling and breaking echoed the Milano.

“What are they fighting about?” Mantis asked sweetly. “Oh…I think Rocket doesn’t like Terran Traditions? I just followed through with what Peter taught me about his traditions.” Rose answered, chuckling as she heard Rocket say something about shoving his foot where the sun doesn’t shine if Peter doesn’t explain what an in-law is, as Peter yelled for Drax to save him.

Mantis giggled, having already been confided by Peter about his plan. “Actually I think he’s really starting to like Terran Traditions” Mantis said, her voice dripping with the emphasis of the last two words. Mantis, placing a hand on Rose’s shoulder as a huge smile crept to her face. “And I think you are too!” Mantis exclaimed to a rather confused Rose.

Taglist: @raccoonfallsharder

Here’s a pic of my darling Rose <3

[anundyingfidelity]

400 followers ask

Adam Warlock and reader with the sunshine x grumpy dynamic, the reader is someone dangerous and very powerful that none of the other heroes want to get close to due to her reputation and her history, but Adam ignores it and in the end they fall in love 😩✊❤

long time i don't write for adam so yesss! hope you like this, i tried my best for a grumpy x sunshine dynamic for this one hahaha

event guidelines ✮ event masterlist ✮

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

I'M NOT IN LOVE — Adam Warlock x female reader

Word count: 689 (got carried awaaayyyy).

Genre: fluff.

Warnings: none I can really tell?

When Rocket and his team broke you out of your prison, he quickly understood why you were locked in the first place. A woman, captive of a crazy sorcerer who just held you as nothing more than a pet on a dirty planet, who was rageous and powerful, capable of destroying a star. That’s what the old man said to them.

Rocket was a fool and didn’t take his word though. Not until you tried to blow the ship going back to Knowhere, or when you tried to escape destroying miles of half built homes, or the countless times where you broke something with your super strength.

“Alright, stay here, witch,” Rocket ordered, taking you with Nebula’s help to a new place you’d call home for now. Behind his small figure, Adam followed closely in silence but intrigued by you, who seemed to completely ignore him.

“I’m not a witch!” you fumed, moving your arm away from the tight grip coming from the purple robot. “Don’t touch me, scum.”

“Nebula, stop,” the raccoon uttered as she stepped closer to you, ready to punch your face. She grunted and left the room, passing by the Sovereign.

Rocket continued. “We don’t wanna hurt you-”

“Then why take me here?! I never asked to be part of your stupid team!”

Being locked for so long had its effects on you, Rocket thought. That day he warned everyone to not be close to you since you were extremely dangerous, but Adam didn’t understand the captain. He had a second chance with the Guardians, it was fair to do the same thing with you. Under Rocket’s suspicious eyes, Adam got his approval to visit you and help you to the real world.

Contrary to the team, Adam was different. He saw pain and fear in your eyes that mixed with your powers made you a dangerous being, but a beautiful one nonetheless. He was the one who introduced you to the terran culture and their music. With it, Adam discovered the sounds of some songs would calm you down and he’d come to see a new sweet side of you. 

“Play it again,” you whispered, as you shared an earphone with Adam on the roof of your place in the middle of a somehow cold night. “I wanna hear it again.”

Adam beamed, doing as you said. The psychedelic melody started anew. “You like this song too much,” he teased.

I'm not in love

So don't forget it

It's just a silly phase I'm going through

Your brows furrowed, clearly annoyed. “Is that a problem, goldie?”

He just chuckled. “Not at all. Stop furrowing, it’s a joke.”

And just because

I call you up

Don't get me wrong,

Don't think you've got it made

Still you narrowed your eyes at him, with that angry face of yours. Sometimes you took so literal anything that escaped his lips. It was cute. Under the light of the city he admired you completely. Yes, sometimes you were a little mean to him and the team. Still you tried because of him. Adam was a very special person for you. But you wouldn’t admit it easily. 

I'm not in love, no no,

It's because…

I like to see you

“Okay,” you whispered finally, your features softening as the song played. It made you feel calm, at peace. Something you didn’t remember feeling before. Now after Adam came to your life, things were sort of different. You could feel it as much as Adam. He was bright, sunny, while you were totally the opposite of that.

But then again

That doesn't mean you mean that much to me

You locked eyes with his own, noticing he had been observing you long before. You sat so close together that you could feel the warmth of his body, contrasting the coldness of your own. He leaned closer with eyes closed, and as scared as you were, you let him kiss you softly on your lips. A quick peck on your lips before he pulled away.

“Sorry…”

You smiled, cheeks flushed. “Don’t.”

 It was the first time he saw your smile.

[zodiacs-web]

Lover is a Day

╰₊✧ Rocket Raccoon x Fem!Reader

╰₊✧ Synopsis: Cuddling and rain

╰₊✧ What's in the web: fluff, reader is a red panda for two reasons: 1 for me and 2 because i hyper fixated on red pandas for a bit ○( ＾皿＾)っ Hehehe…

PART 2

Small hands run across soft fur, attempting to hold onto her as he turns onto his side to grab his tablet. They've been asleep for a few hours now, and he doesn't want to ruin it. He checks the time and knows they've got two hours before they get to the designated spot.

It's a mission he doesn't really like, yet the money is worth it. He places the tablet back onto the nightstand before his hands land on her dark fur. Suddenly, he hears small taps, one by one by one, and then comes more, rain. It's raining.

He hadn't heard rain in a while, and it reminded him of something. In the planet, Tangle, where they are, it rarely rains. He doesn't want to wake you up, but he wishes he does so he can show you this rare phenomena. He closes his eyes before looking down to stare at you, a large fluffy red face and whiskers he gently plays with.

He loves how your large tail is, wrapped around his leg and large paws that are placed on his chest. Despite your large features, you're still quite smaller than him, and he finds that adorable. All while he admires you, he suddenly feels you shift, your eyes opening to reveal black beady eyes. He smiles when he hears you groan into his arm. You momentarily close your eyes before looking at him.

"How long...?" You murmur while he chuckles at the question that is barely a question at all.

"Two hours until the mission." He responds, his voice soft, yet the raspiness of his voice lingers. He sees your ears move before you speak.

"It's raining?"

"Yeah, on Tangle rain is rare here."

"Oh! That's really cool."

He almost laughs at how the conversation ended but you're still tired, so he'll let it go. He feels you snuggle up into his chest, inviting him back to sleep, and of course, he takes it. Turning his body so that you lay on his chest while he's on his back, his hand wrapping around your waist before closing his eyes and falling asleep.