#peter quill x ofc

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

just to be nearby

Peter Quill x F!Reader

Prompt: "I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

Summary: quill has spent months drunkenly wallowing over gamora, and you’ve been avoiding him the whole time. now, he’s impossible to escape, but you might be just the thing he needs to start to move on.��

Warnings: adult content, alcoholism, angst

Word Count: 1,782

Got a Request? Prompt List: here

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You stirred as you felt the mattress shift beneath you, a second’s confusion clouding your tired mind before you recognized the familiar rhythm of his breathing and the scent of leather and warm spice. Still, your brow furrowed even as your fingers stropped curling around the handle of the blade tucked between the mattress and the wall beside it.

“Quill?”

He hesitated where he loomed over you, and you rolled over, halfway onto your back to crane your neck towards him. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light, but you made out the shape of him, a shadow in a darker shade of black than the room around him. His voice came quietly, his words heavy. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Did you—?” Only the fact that you were still half-asleep stopped you from scoffing incredulously. Still, the darkness kept your volume no higher than a hiss. “It’s the middle of the night and you’ve just broken into my quarters! Of course you woke me!”

“Sorry,” he said again, and you frowned as you noticed the slurring of his words. You inhaled, the all-too-familiar scent of alcohol flooding your nose. “Sorry, I—”

You sighed, running a hand over your eyes. The last few days… you’d thought he’d been improving. After Mantis dropped their familial bomb and after all the crap with Kevin Bacon… he’d seemed like he was starting to ease up with the self-medication over losing Gamora. You’d lost count of how many times you’d watched the others pull him up from where he’d passed out on the floor or slumped over a table and carry him off to his bunk. But you… you’d been keeping your distance.

“You’re drunk, Quill.” you said, and he shook his head, but it wasn’t so much a denial as it was just tired acceptance. “How’d you even get in here?”

You’re barely made out the shrug of one of his shoulders. “Picked it.”

Rolling your eyes, you sat up. You caught hold of his bicep as he swayed unsteadily, threatening to fall of the edge of the bed. “Of course, you did,” you replied dryly. “You can barely stay upright, but you picked my lock, no problem.”

How you hadn’t woken up during the minutes he’d undoubtedly spent fumbling drunkenly at the lock, you had no idea.

“Need a better lock.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

He chuckled weakly, his voice catching in his throat. “I can’t… I can’t…”

“Quill?”

He sighed, moving to stand up. You found yourself moving instinctively with him despite yourself, catching hold of his wrist as his arm slipped out of your grasp. He stopped, and even in the dark, you could see his face turn back towards yours. You chewed the inside of your lip for a moment before speaking again.

“What are you doing in here?”

You felt his arm turn under your fingers and a shiver ran through you as his hand encircled your own wrist. His skin was warm against yours despite the cool air of your cabin. His grip was light, almost uncertain.

“Quill?”

“You’re avoiding me.”

You hesitated, taken aback. Honestly, you’d thought he’d been so drunk and so stuck on wallowing in that pit he’d built over Gamora that he wouldn’t even notice your absence. Or if he did, he wouldn’t care. You released his arm, but his own hand tightened ever-so-slightly on your wrist.

“You… you’re avoidin’ me,” he said again, and his voice thickened slightly, the beginnings of tears lodged in his throat. “She’s gone and you’re… I’m so sick of being…”

Alone.

You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him towards you. Peter’s arms banded around your middle tightly, burying his face in the curve of your neck. A shiver ran up your spine at the warmth of his breath against your shoulder, at the heat of his hand spread against your side.

He lingered in your embrace, sighing shakily against your skin as you reached up to run your finger through his hair. The curls were soft under your touch, and his arms tightened further around you as your fingernails just barely teased against his scalp. His body was so warm, and even the scent of booze couldn’t erase that feeling creeping up inside you.

You swallowed, forcing it down as you slowly pulled away from him again. “I’m sorry, Quill.”

He nodded again, his hands sliding around to briefly hold your waist. “I should…” he cleared his throat as he stood again on shaky legs. “I should go back to—”

“You can stay,” you said before reasonable thought could stop you, and you felt heat rise in your cheeks. “I mean… you can stay here tonight if you want… I kinda don’t trust you to make it back to your quarters without hurting yourself.”

You were such an asshole.

Peter stood still for a moment before he moved to rejoin you, and you shifted backward on the mattress to make room for him. Tugging the blankets back as he removed his boots, you found yourself averting you gaze as he sat beside you, despite there being no reason to. Quill didn’t seem to notice, and he pulled the blankets up over the both of you as he settled down against the pillows.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You smiled softly in the darkness. “S’okay.”

You made move to roll over and face the window, but Peter wrapped his arms around you before you could. He tugged you towards him gently, tucking his face against your hair. He exhaled slowly, and your eyes widened as his hands spread over your back, one between your shoulder blades. You’d only worn a tank top and shorts to bed, and his palm made your bare skin tingle. Your hands curled against his stomach; your face buried in his chest.

Quill’s breathing steadied slowly, becoming deeper with each exhale. The hand resting on the small of your back curled the fabric of your tank top softly, and you swallowed. Still, despite the pounding of your heart against its cage and just how unaccustomed you were to sharing your space so intimately, you found the sound of his own heart and the rise and fall of his chest steadily lulling you to unconsciousness.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. He said it so quietly you almost thought you could have imagined it, if it wasn’t for the ever-so-slight tightening of his arms around you. You felt his lips brush gently over your forehead with his words, just below your hairline, in what could have just maybe been a kiss.

The briefest brush of his lips against your skin and you felt your heart stutter in your chest. And, without really thinking, you leaned up in his arms and, with a moment’s hesitation… pressed a kiss of your own to his throat.

You felt his adam’s apple bob under your lips before you pulled away. Peter shifted back; his face barely lit by the window behind you as he met your gaze. His eyes were dark in the muted light and they searched yours questioningly. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears; feel your blood throbbing through every part of you. His eyes were magnetic, the lines of his face stark within the shadows. His lips parted as though he might say something else, and your gaze flickered towards them for a moment.

And then, after what felt like a forever hanging between the two of you, ever so slowly, Peter brought his lips down to yours.

He kissed you slowly, searchingly, his lips so soft against yours that his kiss was barely more than a whisper against your lips. Your fingers curled in the front of his shirt as your disbelief melted away, his facial hair teasing at your chin. His hand ghosted up along the side of your throat, his fingers sliding gently against the side of your face to curl in your hair. His thumb brushed over your cheek as you separated long enough to breathe, and you shivered.

Quill’s palm was so warm, his chest firm under your own hands. The worn fabric of his shirt bunched under your fingers, riding up just slightly enough to expose the line of his hipbone. His hand left your hair to trail down over your bare arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake before claiming your hip.

His grip urged you even closer to him as he kissed you again, pressing your hips into his. His thigh tucked between your knees, and you whimpered into his mouth. Peter’s hand slipped around to the small of your back, his touch sliding under your shirt to tease the sensitive skin of your lower back.

You took his face in your hands, fingers sliding through his beard. Quill groaned headily in response.

He pulled away to press his forehead against yours, his breathing hard. “Fuck…”

His voice was like a shock of cold water down your spine, and you jerked away from him instinctively.

Peter hesitated, his brow furrowing. His hand returned to your waist, smoothing your tank top back down over your exposed skin.

“We…” you swallowed, forcing yourself to take a shaking breath to steady yourself. Your hands had slipped down to rest on his shoulders, and you grasped his shirt in your hands. “…We shouldn’t… Peter, we can’t do this.”

His eyes closed, and you reached up to touch your hand to his cheek again. Your fingers were shaking slightly.

“We can’t do this when you’re missing someone else.”

“Y/N…”

You shook your head, and you could hear budding, unshed tears in the back of your voice. “I can’t be a stand-in for Gamora, Peter.”

How long had it been since you’d said her name?

He nodded, his face pressed into your palm, and you wiped away a tear with your thumb as it caught the light from the window.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

He shook his head, swallowing thickly. “No, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t’ve…”

Quill moved to pull further away from you, to leave the warmth of the bed, and you grabbed his shoulder, urging him back to facing you.

“You don’t have to go, Peter.”

“I should—”

“Please, don’t.”

He hesitated, eyes on yours, before he nodded slowly. You pulled him back into your arms gently, wrapping them around him. His head moved to rest against your chest, and you stroked your fingers through his curls as he banded his arms around your waist. You could feel him shudder softly in your embrace, could feel tears dampen your shirt.

But ever so slowly, the two of you fell asleep.

.

.

.

.

tags:@lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink @s0ftness @castieltrash1 @drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @bombardia​ @bellarkeselection​ @nix-rose-q​ @blue-chup

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

omg hi babe it's been so fucking long im not even sure if you remember me but how are you love omg 💗

i had like the worst fucking day ever and lately my mental health has been so fucking horrible and i just wanted to see if you could write a cute little fic ab reader having a horrible day and accidentally snapping at peter quill abt it and feeling annoyed by him a bit. you can write it whenever you want mwah 🫶🫶

but how are you doing omg ive been keeping up w u and your drabbles are so fucking cute omg 😭💗💗

ily mwah

-🎡

hii!! AAAH!! ofc I remember you, ive missed you omg!! im really sorry you’ve been having a hard time bby, I hope this can be of some comfort to you. I got a little carried away as I love comfort fics sm and must admit I kinda needed it too😭 but im doing good, hope things are going well for you too (or as well as they can) you’re so sweet thank you😩 ily angel💗 thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

…

got your back

peter quill x fem!reader

word count: 807

warnings: little angsty? reader snaps at quill and mentions of reader being insecure in the relationship. fluffy ending

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

Peter has many admirable qualities, the most endearing being his deep-rooted ability to empathise. You adored how he cares so deeply about others, especially the ones he loves most. It was one of the things that drew you to him the most. 

Lately, you have been having a rough time, so to speak, and things weren't going in your favour. Your boyfriend, Peter, was aware and did everything he could for you to feel better, even if it was only for a little while.

Every day was different. Some days were easier, others, not so much, and it just so happened that today was one of the more difficult days. It was the kind of day where everything went wrong. The day where your clothes get caught in every door handle, the kind where you drop everything you hold. The sort of day that leaves you with an empty pit in your stomach when you finally catch a minute alone. 

Peter was always so kind and patient with you that it often made you question what you did to deserve him. For you, he's loving and caring, sweet and funny, the perfect combination of all the best traits a person could have. 

You felt overwhelmed with many things and the self-doubt that Peter would find someone better than you weighed heavy on your mind. You were in your bedroom alone, door closed, curtains shut with your head in your palms. 

A soft knock on your door interrupts you from your thoughts. "Hey, honey? Everything okay?" Peter asks through the door, his tone full of warmth.

"Yeah," you reply shortly, burying your face in your arms.

"Are you sure? You can talk to me," he says. "I'm right here."

"Yes, I'm sure," you respond with more bite, growing frustrated.

"Okay, I'm here if you need me," he adds, speaking just as sweetly as before despite your harsh tone.

"I'm fine, just go away!" you snap, throwing a pillow at the door. "Fuck off, just leave me alone."

You didn't have to see his face to know how much your words had hurt him. You regret the sentence as soon as they slipped past your lips, but it was too late. You said them, and they can’t be unsaid. 

"Okay," he whispers, tapping on the door as a farewell.

It felt like it had all just got a whole lot worse, and you just tarnished the one thing that made it easier to cope. The guilt was eating you up, and all you wanted to do was apologise. But you told him to leave, so why would he still be here?

You pace your room for a few minutes, gathering your words for an apology while momentarily cursing yourself out. You were scrounging for ways to make it up to him and patch over the mess you made.

With a small pep talk and a final nod, you open your door and see Peter sitting on the floor beside the door, leaning against the wall with crossed legs.

"Hi," you smile weakly.

"Hey," he smiles, an airy tone to his voice, speaking like he finally got his breath back. "I'm sorry— I shouldn't have pushed you. I know how you get. It’s the last thing I wanted—" he anxiously gushes, talking like he had practiced it. 

You interrupt, shaking your head. "No, please don't do that. You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s all my fault— I'm so sorry. I should have never spoken to you like that. It all got too much, and I couldn't— I'm just really sorry," you profess, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater. 

"I know, honey," he replies, nodding understandingly. 

"You're too good to me," you whisper, avoiding his green gaze. "I'm just not used to it."

"I'm still here, baby and I ain't gonna leave you," he says, looking up at you with sweet doeful eyes. "I'm not leaving you like the others." 

He extends an arm, his hand reaching for yours as he guides you closer, gently tugging you downwards. He nods at his lap, so you straddle his crossed legs, pressing your chest to his, wrapping your arms around his neck to hug him tighter. His big, warm arms encase you and his hand brushes comforting strokes down your back, as his other clutches the back of your head, holding you like he's protecting you. 

You bury your face further into the crook of his neck, silently weeping and embracing him tighter. "I love you," you mumble against his skin, playing with the curls behind his ears. 

"I love you," he smiles, pulling back to look at you. He wipes under your eyes, softly brushing away your residual tears. He kisses the damp patch of skin beside your nose, looking at you with nothing but admiration. "... so much."

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

[bunnykuma]

i just watched Guardians 3 and now i want to write a fic about little reader x cg! peter quill & gamora, where r stays with peter and they try to remind gamora of their relationship….feeling flangsty

ofc there will be rocket content because i need to hug that little raccoon now…..

it’ll be loosely based on/inspired by @marvelfanfics1 cg!gaurdians fics bc i 🫶🏻them

[the-sprog]

Pietro ofc but I don't know if I need to check if Parker is a Jewish surname because if so I'd keep it that way. I do think about how uncle Ben (and subsequently Peter's clone) would be called Beniamino. SPEAKING OF CLONES one of those bitches really called himself Caino huh?

Antonio Stella is absolutely fucking fantastic. It fits so well too!

I've also got Stefano Ruggero (Steven Rogers. I'm missing the Grant part of it). The surnames are harder for some reason!!

I think Bruce should be Bruno (which hilariously is actually his middle name so he's Roberto Bruno in this).

Franklin Nelson is Franco (though I'd keep Frank Castle as that because it's a name he chose for himself. He's Italian American and I feel like I could still keep it that way). Or maybe Fernando now that I think about it.

Natasha and Yelena can stay as is because they're Russian. (I know I'm about to say dp can't stay the same but I think Russian still works. Either that or I make them French).

But Deadpool needs a new name AND nationality. What's the Italian equivalent to Canada? I'd say either Spain or Switzerland 🤔 and depending on the answer the name changes.

MK system needs to say as is for like 5/6 parts of them, especially if we're going w the tv show version. Marc can become Marco but his surname still needs to be Spector (for Jewish reasons). Steven is British and needs to stay such, I think I'd still fit. Jake we don't have much (the Jake is your oyster) but either we keep him that way or he becomes Jacopo/Giacomo Loretto. Layla and Jean-Paul still fit. As does Gina but barely.

Clint Barton stumps me. I can't think of any name that sounds similar! Cl-cl-claudio? I don't like it.

Scott Lang, again, stumps me.

As does Steven Strange (mostly for the surname here because a literal translation would convey the message but sound incredibly wrong)

Flash Thompson is easy because, again, nickname and the dudes real name is Eugene. Eugenio. Easy peasy.

Otto Octavius I feel like I can stay the same. It works imho. Or like instead of Octavius just Ottavio.

Thinking about Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson. Because the W can't happen. But Gaia and Maria- I realized also the J makes it hard. The only J name is Jessica 🤔. Or we go MCU and Michela our way into this character.

Karen Page- I got so many- Karen is really unique because we'll K name. But maybe Chiara to keep the sound?

The Osborns are hard. Harry ok sure Enrico. But Norman? I got nothing.

The whole Morales family Can keep their names since well their ethnic background is kinda important. Maybe Milo instead of Miles since he'd be afro-italian dna Puerto Rican.

I mean T'Challa also needs to stay the same.

Same for America Chavez.

QUINTAVIUS QUIRINIUS "QUENTIN" QUIRE I don't think we can make his name any better. He's perfect.

Wanda, Pietro, and Erik also need to stay the same.

But professor x needs a change. Carlo but the X eludes me.

There's so many X-Men. Logan... I don't think there's an equivalent. But also if we make Wade non-Canadian Logan needs to be the same. Though maybe it would be funnier if he were Canadian while Wade wasn't. Wade would be mad about it. Maybe.

Gwenpool needs to have the same surname but maybe she can get the Stacy treatment and be Gaia.

All the aliens can stay the same.

Peter Quill well Pietro. That one is gonna be pretty consistent.

"Quale maestro servi?"

"Che maestro servo? Cazzo devo rispondere? Gesù?"

"... Vieni dalla Terra?"

"Non vengo dalla Terra, vengo dalla Basilicata"

"Che è sulla Terra imbecille"

I had to.

Back on track.

Nicholas Fury is easy. Nicola Furia could very well be a name.

Philip Coulson also easy. Well the first part. Filippo goes hard.

Pepper Potts already works! Her real name is Virginia and Pepper is a nickname.

Bucky. On one hand, it wouldn't make sense to keep his name as is. On the OTHER how could I get rid of a name like Buchanan??? I also don't know how to go about James.

Sam Wilson, easy, Samuele.

There's so many characters I actually got a block.

I'll get back to you if I come up with more. Or some surnames.

Resisting the urge of writing a whole marvel universe where the only change is that everyone is Italian

[your-highnessmarvel]

Amaze Me

Requested by Anon: Could you do some Peter Quill fluff?

A/N: Although this request is all kinds of nonspecific, I’m totally doing it. My very first Peter Quill piece of writing, so be kind. I’ve also not tagged anyone because I don’t have a tag list opened for GoTG.

Warnings: none

*gif not mine

(Tags at the end)

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

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MASTERLIST

He sat at his desk, working through some old pieces of metal junk that, to him, were not junk at all. Headphones on. Music blasting in his ears. Head bobbing to the rhythm of the music. Peter looked explicitly in bliss, eyes concentrated and lips pursed. And to you, he looked beautiful. 

You walked up to his desk, leaning against the edge, your palm pressed into the wood. A smile turned the corner of his lips upwards until those dazzling orbs made contact with yours. Delicately, you removed the headset from his ears and set it on his shoulders. 

“Do you know,” you started in a wanton tone, “that when you are hard at work, you look absolutely gorgeous?” The smile that split his face was heartwarming and breathtaking. The stubble on his chin shadowed the bottom half of his face; the exact same color as his unruly hair. 

The metal junk in his hand made a clonk as it hit the table, released from his grip, his hands finding home on your knees. “And you,” he answered in a mocking tone, “look dashing when you lean up on my desk like that.” You squealed when his hands tickled their way up to your waist. 

Peter stood, laughing, standing between your legs as he tickled your waist and your back. You tried to control the laughter, but he was touching the spots that he knew would make you shriek. 

“Peter!” you laughed. “Peter, no!” 

“Always the same spots, huh, Y/N,” he joked, his hands resting on your shoulders. He moved a strand of hair away from your face, his gorgeous blue orbs boring into yours, his brows raised. 

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like I can’t get you back,” you said. A smirk tugged on your lips as your fingertips tapped along the strong muscles of his stomach. 

“But I’m stronger,” he countered with a cock of his head. “And I can just do this.”

And suddenly, you were thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, a shrieking laugh leaving your mouth. “Peter!” You tried growling, but the sound came out strange; a mixture of laughter and grumbling. You threw your fists against his back as he walked you to the couch, where he not-so-delicately threw you onto it. 

“You are in so much trouble, Peter Quill,” you scolded as he climbed over you, wide grin on his face. 

“Not as much as you, Y/N Y/L/N,” he answered, tapping your nose, which made you giggle. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his lips to yours, kissing him hard. When he backed away, out of breath, he gave you a stunning wolfish grin.

“Oh, you’re up to something,” he cooed. 

“I am,” you said, biting your lower lip. “And it involves you, Star Lord.” 

He rose his brows, but he was taken aback as you pushed him off, making him land hard onto the floor. You threw your head back, laughing, watching as he glazed his eyes over in a mixture of sarcasm and true amusement. 

“Ah, you never cease to impress me, Y/N.”

[marril96]

Loki had promised her once to show her the universe and all the realms. He never got a chance to do that, but a chance presented itself now for her to see it for herself, and she couldn't pass up on it.

A part of Loki would always stay with her. Maybe seeing all the things he didn't get to show her, visiting places he didn't get to take her, breathing the strange air and laying eyes upon sentient beings so different yet uncannily similar to humans would keep that part alive. Keep Loki alive.

For if her attempt at saving him hadn't worked, at the very least she could bask in the memories.

The world owed her that much.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

14,000,604 - Chapter Twelve

Oh, the ANGST in store...

[continued from]

The voices sounded tinny and very far away. No surprise, when Stephen considered he was hearing them as his consciousness raced across incalculable reaches of space, on his way back to his body. He had left Hope far behind him at the conclusion of the previous timeline, and though he hadn’t found it necessary to mention it to her, he had briefly returned to the New York Sanctum on this final repetition, for one small but vital action that would play into the victory he had ensured. His visit to Wong’s quarters took place in less than a blip, in comparison to all the time he had endured already, and it would still be five years until the enchantment he had placed upon the sealed packet he had left for his friend would allow his fellow Master to open the envelope and follow Stephen’s detailed instructions as to how and where to deploy the full forces of Kamar-Taj. As well as notifying the government of Wakanda and the leadership of New Asgard that their armies were needed, with only hours to spare, for an epic battle for the fate of the Universe. This was the final chess piece which the weary time traveler had pre-positioned—so that now, once he allowed himself to fall out of his Time Trance, Stephen need do no more but follow through on the course he had foreseen millions and millions of times. 

“…I’m half human. So that 50% of me that’s stupid? That’s 100% you.” Quill. Whom Stephen had learned over time was much smarter than people usually gave him credit for. And who had a heart far bigger than his bravado and oft inflated ego would normally allow for. 

“Your math is blowing my mind.” Tony. The man, the hero—the comrade who had fought at his side too many times to number—the friend who had laid down his life in Stephen’s defense, as often as Stephen had done for him. The loving father and husband, whom Stephen would, with no other recourse possible, be forced to doom. 

“Excuse me. But does your friend often do that?” That was the woman. Mantis. Empathic and tenderhearted. Yet with a spine of steel when faced with any threat to those that she held dear. Stephen had been blessed to be considered so in a surprising number of repetitions. 

“Strange, we alright?” Tony was right there to catch him, as Stephen fell out of his trance. God, though he’d lived this moment countless times, this time hurt worse than he could even have imagined. Because it was for keeps. Tony gave him a beat to catch his breath, then looked him straight in the eyes. “You’re back. You’re alright.” 

The rest of the group drew closer. Peter Parker voiced what they were all thinking. “Hey, what was that?” 

Stephen boiled it down to its simplest terms, knowing they were all on the clock for real now—and there was so much to do before Thanos arrived. “I went forward in time to view alternate futures.” He found he couldn’t meet their eyes, for he couldn’t possible reveal the full truth. “To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict.”

The gravity of that statement was felt my all. “How many did you see?” Quill asked. 

“14,000, 605.” And every single one of them is seared into my memory. 

Always, always, it had to be Tony that asked. The man whose sacrifice was inevitable now. “How many did we win?”

Stephen locked eyes with him, and in that moment felt as though he was pronouncing a death sentence. “One.”

                    _______________________________________

And so their preparations for, and the battle to wrest the gauntlet from Thanos had proceeded, not a one of his companions realizing that the outcome had already been determined. As he had in millions and millions of iterations, Stephen gave his all, throwing everything, every bit of magic he possessed, at the berserker whose whim was to prove his version of reality was the only one acceptable. He never used the Time Stone, for he’d already experienced the millions of disastrous results from doing so. And he gave no forewarning of Nebula’s arrival---a wild card to his compatriots, yet ultimately ineffective against the being she called father---but of utmost importance, as she provided the means to begin Tony’s journey back to Earth. 

Stephen could do nothing to prevent Quill’s reaction to the news of Gamora’s death, for he had learned in too many painful repetitions what a dead end that road would be. He had been grateful there was no chance for anyone to question him as to why he had allowed that violent disruption of their plan, or even why he hadn’t at least prepared Quill for the worst. 

All that mattered---even in the wake of his own final battle with Thanos---was that Tony survived. At all costs. And it had hurt like hell to give up the Time Stone, as though some vital part of his own life force had become invested in it, but Stephen knew that pain was only finite, for soon enough he would be erased from the equation. 

Even the inevitable recrimination in the Iron Man’s eyes as he asked Stephen why he’d made that choice, held an all too bitter sting, for the respect and friendship that flourished between them as they fought and bled and died side by side, was never to be. Instead, he knew that Tony would despise him in the coming years, only to realize in the final moments of his life---as Stephen had advised him before dissolving into nothingness---there had been no other way. 

Stephen would carry the memory of Stark’s face in the very moment he had understood his own inescapable mortality, like a stain on his soul all the remaining days of his life. And, as prepared as Stephen had believed himself to be for the endless questions, accusations, and outright hostility which would be hurled his way in the aftermath, there were times—even as he gave answer, while trying his best to remain as coolly clinical and as imperturbably emphatic as he had once been in delivering dire prognoses to his patients—he felt his spirit was being slowly crushed by the guilt he carried over the deaths of all of those who lost their lives in battle Earth. 

 The first such questions came from Pepper Stark, right there on the scorched battleground, after Thor and Steve Rogers had seen that Tony’s body had been removed with the greatest reverence and dignity they could provide. Though Stephen had anticipated her reaction to be the most damning of all, she had granted him an unexpected mercy, for which he would always be grateful. 

Stephen had been frozen in place, separated from the coterie of Avengers and their closest allies by of gulf of distance and their temporary indifference towards him. He had watched as Pepper accepted the condolences offered by all around her, with a dignity and strength he had already witnessed firsthand during those timelines that he had the privilege of spending time in her company. He had steeled himself, waiting for her to seek him out, as the sun finally began to pierce the heavy haze lingering in the wake of war. When she finally approached him, her tearstained face showed no righteous ire, her voice not a bit of the contempt he surely deserved. “Doctor Strange?” 

He nodded, his voice rough with self-recrimination and inescapable regret, “Ms. Stark—I’m so sorry for your…” 

She shook her head brusquely and held up a hand to silence him. “Please—I just need to know a couple of things before I start to make arrangements for Tony…” Pepper swallowed hard, nodded to herself, and then continued without breaking down, as Stephen was sure she needed to. “…he…Tony…was always perplexed and…well, frankly, angry…that you had told him there was just one possibility of defeating Thanos—and then gave up your Infinity Stone anyway.” 

Stephen bowed his head, “Of course…” 

“You told him that it was the only way…” 

“Yes,” he replied past the lump in his throat, raising his eyes to meet hers, “And I promise you that is the absolute truth…” 

She drew a long, deep breath before continuing. “14,000,605, he said…” Stephen marveled that he heard only a trace of bitterness in her voice. “…meaning you knew when you told him that, that he was going to die…” 

“I…I did.” God help me, I did—and I’ll be doing penance for it all the rest of my days. 

“Well, Doctor,” she drew herself to her full height, fearless and proud in the face of her grief, “I need you to tell me in complete honesty—before I have to go home and tell my daughter that she’ll never see her father again…I need you to tell me that you explored every single goddamn option before you condemned Tony to death.” 

“I swear on my soul, Ms. Stark,” Stephen replied without faltering, while the memory of having told Hope in their final moments together how sacred such a vow was, sent a chill down his spine. “On my immortal soul…that I sought every possible timeline where we could win without his sacrifice. And your husband…Tony… was the inevitable lynchpin.” He would not, for as much as it might soften her opinion of him, tell Pepper that the outcome he had looked for most desperately was one where his own death prevented Tony’s. 

Pepper narrowed her eyes, studying him so closely that Stephen felt that all his failings had been laid bare. “Alright,” she finally told him, “I…I can live with that. And if Tony had known that his life was required to save Morgan’s future…” Her voice had broken at last, and fresh tears filled her eyes, “…he would have accepted it as well.” Without further word, she turned and walked away. 

A few moments more, and Stephen had fallen to his knees, the pain of his guilt overwhelming him so completely, that even his memories of his time with Hope failed to give him even a whisper of comfort. And that was how Wong found him twenty minutes later---after having issued instructions to the surviving members of Kamar-Taj’s forces on how to proceed next---mercifully asking no questions, and instead, opening a portal back to the New York Sanctum and leading Stephen home.

               _____________________________________________

Wong was a man of infinite patience; he had come to the study of the Mystic Arts with that as one of his primary strengths, and his long service since then had honed that quality to a fine, enduring edge. Such patience was, for a large part, exactly what Stephen had needed, so that Wong naturally found himself looking after his friend and fellow master in the initial days after all The Lost had returned to Earth.

Though there was much work for the members of the Mystic Fraternity all around the world to do, at home and throughout the multiverse, sealing stress points and bleed-throughs from realities where Thanos’s deadly deed had not been reversed (and even from those where the Titan had succeeded in reducing the universe to its essential elements before creating new life as he deemed fit), the leadership of Kamar-Taj agreed with Wong’s assessment. His place remained with Strange for the time being, helping him through his recovery, until he was strong enough of heart and mind to return to his duties as Sanctum Master—and aid in the continuing task of completely curing Earth’s reality.

Stephen provided only the barest of answers to queries about his experiences, keeping most of the details to himself, as they were often too painful to recount. He spent most of his time in his rooms, trying to meditate (often failing to achieve the calm of mind and peace of heart he sought), studying arcane texts that delved into the mysteries of Time Magic, or standing his usual watch at the Anomaly Rue. Wong suspected that he was barely sleeping. He wasn’t eating much, either, and it took Wong nagging at his friend to keep him from becoming dehydrated. By the fourth day, he decided to slip a mild sleeping draught into Stephen’s afternoon tea, and was gratified by the result—the younger man slept the afternoon, evening, and then the night through—though Wong had made sure to check on him periodically, and enlisted Cloak to keep watch as well, with instructions to come get him should Strange experience any side effects, such as vivid nightmares. As bulletproof as Stephen normally managed to pretend he was, the stress and pain he was concealing now went far beyond even that incurred during his ordeal with Dormammu.

Day six of Earth’s new lease on life was also the day of the memorial service for Tony Stark, and although Wong advised against it, Stephen insisted on attending. Wong would have done so on his own anyway, out of respect for the Iron Man and his widow, having established as loose acquaintance with them since The Snap. Now it was an obligation, for he suspected that Stephen was willingly opening himself up to glares meant to wither and comments meant to accuse him of playing god, from the many friends and teammates grieving Stark. At least Pepper Stark had already settled with Strange, though Wong doubted it was public knowledge.

“You don’t have to hover like a nursemaid,” Stephen had reminded him as the portal to Pepper’s lakeside home closed behind them. “I’m more than ready for whatever anyone plans to dish out.”

“That remains to be seen, Stephen,” Wong had grunted, “In the meantime, just indulge my overprotective streak a while longer—in the interest of getting you back to full resumption of your duties, so that I can finally get back to mine.”

               ___________________________________________

Stephen would never have said it aloud, but he was grateful that Wong remained steadfast at his side, not only through the service—his friend’s dour mien discouraging many from approaching him with questions or admonishments—but in the period of his recovery. Though he became more and more engaged each day with the needs of Earth’s renewed reality, his feelings of self-worth were the lowest of his life. Most nights he had trouble falling asleep, and then staying asleep, and meditation didn’t help. Only when he focused on his vibrant memories of Hope, did he even find a modicum of peace.

Some days as he watched through the Sanctum window, he was tempted to bend his thought enough to search for her, but he never gave into that desire, as he knew he had relinquished that privilege ages ago, at least by her reckoning. And soon enough, he was called upon not only to dedicate himself more fully to help repair the damages wrecked by the subversion of reality—but to do his part as one of the faces which the public had come to trust for explanations, and for assurances that life on Earth was steadily moving closer to normalcy.

Stephen had been genuinely shocked when Nick Fury, along with Steve Rogers, had arrived at the Sanctum to recruit him for a series of televised interviews and public appearances—for Strange had believed himself to be one of the most hated men on the planet. Fury was one cool character alright, speaking his piece plainly, and it was obvious he’d done enough research into Stephen’s character and history to cut past even a trace of diplomatic bullshit. Instead, he’d presented the facts and called upon Stephen to do this service for the greater good of the country, let alone the world. While also making it clear that he absolutely understood the dire burden of having to make similar life and death decisions without the benefit of a single soul to second-guess one, let alone offer a different perspective. Stephen took some grim satisfaction in knowing that at least Fury respected him, despite the impression that he didn’t like him much.

Rogers barely spoke a word, and seemed to be there not only as the de facto leader of the reunited Avengers, but also a softening counterpoint to Fury’s blunt manner. There was no mistaking the quiet grief he carried at even the mention of Tony’s name—but Stephen could also see that he was duty bound to rise above any resentment he might harbor, so that they could work together to help their nation recover and move forward.

Though Stephen would have preferred to dedicate all his time to the efforts of the Mystic Fraternity to heal the cascade of damages, which still beset this reality, he committed to Fury’s plan, calling upon the poise and showmanship he had relied on during his notoriety as the preeminent neurosurgeon in the world, to get him through the onerous task. The world had no way to know that wasn’t him anymore—but at this point, he was beyond caring. Each day he felt more hollowed out than on the previous day, as his guilt rooted itself deeper inside. While the one thing he knew could dull his pain, he believed he had no right to seek.

Only once—about three weeks past the victory over Thanos—did Stephen even allow himself to speak of Hope aloud. He and Wong were briefly enjoying the cool evening air, up on the Sanctum roof, after an early summer heatwave had overtaken the City for an oppressive five days. Both of them indulging in Wong’s favorite Thai beer, as cold as it was rare for the two of them to do so, watching as dusk stole across the heavens. Speaking of only the most trivial things between long, comfortable gaps of silence. “The sky is still almost as clear as it was in those first days after The Snap,” he pondered out loud, “The stars are bound to be as bright as the last time I was here.”

Wong crooked his head, as Stephen had been loath to speak of the times he had retreated to the Sanctum to rejuvenate himself amidst his lonesome quest. He was aware that they had interacted on such occasions, and that he had given Stephen some timely advice multiple times when he had reached a dead end in his timeline search. Wong took a long pull of his beer and then casually asked, “Which time was that?”

Stephen sighed and rocked forward in his webbed lawn chair, his focus directed on the bottle cradled between his tremoring hands. “Just before the final timeline,” he admitted, too tired to regret awakening the bittersweet memories that flooded his mind. “I had the best of company that night.”

“Then it couldn’t have been me,” Wong snorted, intuiting Stephen’s secret well enough to finally ask, “The young woman you were seeing at the time? Ms., uhhhh…Collins, wasn’t it?”

Nodding silently, Stephen conjured her image behind his closed lids. “Hope. Hope Collins.” The corners of his mouth ticked up into a faint smile, as he recalled the silky fall of her auburn hair across his chest and the lovely spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose. How fiercely he was missing her now! Remembering how in that timeline she had confessed her love to him, and had plead for a charm to let her keep her memories of all hat had passed between them. Wondering now, if she had moved on, and if she even still lived in the City they both loved.

“She came looking for you, Stephen.” Wong waited a moment for his reply, and then continued when he offered none, “But you know that already, don’t you?”

He nodded the affirmative, certain his voice would crack if he tried to speak--but Wong was merciful enough to understand that. “She broke down when I confirmed what she’d seen on the news about your abduction. And I let her stay here a few nights as the power was out across the City that first week or so.”

“Thank you…”

“It was my pleasure to help her, Stephen.” Wong revealed, “As much for her sake as for yours.”

“Do you, um…do you happen to know, by any chance, what happened to her?” Stephen didn’t know how to brace himself for whatever Wong’s answer might be.

“Beyond the first six months, no.” He drained the remains of his beer. “She checked back here every few weeks. Not one to give up easy, that girl…”

“Yeah,” Stephen chuckled, despite the ache in his chest, “That’s my Hope, alright…”

Wong stood up and stretched, getting ready to head back into the Sanctum. “She rarely came empty handed either. Girl could bake,” he said, patting his belly. “A girl like that,” Wong added sagely, “They don’t come along more than once or twice in a man’s life. If he’s even that lucky.” He laid a hand on Stephen’s shoulder, “If you’re waiting for permission to seek her out again, you are the only one holding yourself back, my friend. You may believe you have atonement to offer for the final toll the Battle of Earth took—but I assure you, you do not.”

Stephen looked up to find his normally inscrutable friend wearing his most sincere and sympathetic expression. “She could be clear across the country by now, Wong. Or still here, but happily married with a couple of kids…”

“Yup. She could be. Or she could be right out there waiting, hoping that she meant enough to you then, for you to look for her now.” Wong patted Stephen’s shoulder in conclusion, “But you’ll never know either way, unless you try.”

As Wong slipped away, Stephen lifted his eyes to the sky, watching the stars begin to assert their presence as the dark around him thickened. I wish I may, I wish I might, he mouthed, a flicker of the hope he’d been forbidding himself now stirring to life, have the dearest wish I’ve ever asked for in my life…

 (to be continued)

Chapters 1-12 on AO3

tagging:  @strangelock221b @ben-locked @letterstosherlock @aeterna-auroral-avenger @starkiller-queen @frowerssx2 @tsukuyomi011​ @strangesunicornsparkle  @ravencatart @doctor-stephenstrange   @doctorstephenvincentstrange @elizaaugust @quietlymischievous @humanbornarchangel​ @battledress​ @camille09hart​ @splunge4me2art​ @d0ct0rstrangewife​   

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

peter quill and gamora

How has this not been asked yet? Damn o.o

Name: Eerca Quill

Gender: Female

Personality: Eerca is a woman that is constantly emotionally drained. She feels exhausted surrounding herself with people that don’t really listen, but often it’s out of her control. And she hates that - that feeling of being out of control. Structure is something she is particularly fond of because it makes her feel safe. Ironic considering who her dad is. But like him, she does like attempting to form some kind of strategy when they’re going to help people.

Special Talents: Eerca is as skilled a fighter as her mother. She’s also an amazing pilot. If she had to pick between the two, she’d stick to flying any day of the week. After what her mother grew up around, the idea of taking a life simply doesn’t sit well with her.

Who they like better: Eerca respects her parents more so than she likes them. She knows they want her to like them, but they tend to try too hard and it makes them come across overbearing. She does love them, but when all is said and done, she wouldn’t exactly say they have the potential to be friends.

Who they take after more: Eerca probably leans more towards her mother in terms of what she’s like. She often wishes her dad would grow up more and her drive to help people definitely comes more so from wanting to be good than from making some money.

Personal Head canon: She has her mother’s green skin, but I couldn’t exactly find a gif of that. She takes over as leader of the Guardians one day and, when she does, things change.

Face Claim:

If they had a kid

If you’re curious

Thanks for asking!!!!

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

closer still

Peter Quill x F!Reader

Just to Be Nearby Pt. 2 | Pt. 1 Here

Prompt: “I need you here.”

Summary: weeks after your close call with peter, you find him passed out in the knowhere commissary. despite your resolution to avoid him, you take it upon yourself to take him back to his quarters and get him into the shower.

Warnings: angst, smut, minors dni.

Word Count: 3,179

Got a Request? Prompt List: here

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The smell of stale liquor mingled with the usually comforting mix of warm spices and stewed meats as you stepped into the commissary, making your nose wrinkle in distaste. Slowing to a stop in the doorway, you pressed your lips together as if to brace yourself for a confrontation. A small, selfish part of you suddenly wished that you’d decided to skip dinner. That same part of you had you glance over your shoulder in case another Guardian had just happened to appear behind you so that you could dump this issue on them instead. You’d thought you’d been safe, choosing the commissary instead of the bar much closer to your quarters.

You sighed heavily, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stepped further inside.

The issue in question was sitting slumped against the wall beside one of the booths, an almost empty bottle of something undoubtedly alcoholic resting tipped against his knee, his fingertips on the neck of it. His head was lowered, chin to chest, and you weren’t immediately sure as to whether he was even conscious.

You glanced behind yourself again; at this hour, the convoluted pathways of this Knowhere neighborhood had been almost empty. And they seemed to be stubbornly remaining that way.

Goddamn it.

Well, at least you wouldn’t have an audience for this.

You cleared your throat. “Quill?”

He groaned, and you swallowed, moving to his side and kicking him lightly in the calf. Squatting down beside him, you pulled the bottle gently from his hand and set it on the table above you. Quill blinked slowly as he raised his head, a deep crease forming between his brows as he met your eye.

“Quill,” you repeated. You raised a hand hesitantly, touching it to his cheek. Peter leaned into your palm, his stubble scratching lightly at your skin. You smoothed your thumb over his cheekbone. “What are you doing in here?”

He groaned again, his hand fumbling blindly for your knee. He found it; his touch warm even through the denim of your jeans.

“Hey…” he smiled, his voice slurring. He shifted, trying to turn to face you properly. “You’re talking to me again.”

A guilty frown pulled at the edges of your lips at his words. Ducking your head to avoid his eye, you felt his hand squeeze your knee.

“C’mon,” you said finally, slinging his arm around your shoulders and hauling him to his feet with a labored grunt. “We need to get you sobered up and showered. You… you really stink, dude.”

Clint chuckled drunkenly, leaning heavily into your side. You adjusted your hold on him with a grimace, slinging an arm around his waist and leading him with some difficulty back to his own quarters.

After that night two weeks ago, the night he’d spent in your bed, you’d woken first. Morning light had urged your eyelids to part, and you’d frowned at the idea of waking fully. The two of you had moved in your slumber; you’d woken on your back and Peter had to have shifted with you. His cheek was pressed to your shoulder, his curls tickling your chin. Quill’s arm had been wrapped firmly around your waist, his hand clutching at your hip as if, even in his sleep, he’d been worried you were going to disappear.

Which is exactly what you did.

You’d let yourself linger in his embrace for a few minutes, reaching up to run your fingers through the hair by his ear. His lips had parted, a soft, sighing breath leaving him. His hand had tightened reflexively on your hip.

You’d extricated yourself carefully from under his arm and your breath had caught as his hand had dropped and skimmed over your upper thighs. He hadn’t stirred, other than a small, wordless grumble and a crease between his brows. You’d managed to clamber slowly out of the bed without waking him, and you’d cast him another glance as conflicted emotions swirling in your chest as you’d tugged a pair of pants and a jacket on over your pajamas and fled your own quarters.

You still felt guilt twist in your gut that he’d woken up alone that morning, and the feeling had only increased when he’d come looking for you the next day. You’d spotted him before he’d seen you, surprisingly alert and mostly sober as he’d approached. The decision to avoid him had been made at lightning speed, and you’d slipped out the side entrance of the building you were in and left him brushing off his curiosity about your location to Drax.

It was childish, maybe, but an awkward conversation about your near miss with him was the last thing you could face; it was easier, better to close those doors up between you again and let him wallow in peace. Let you wallow, too, for that matter. He’d taken the hint, and you’d gone back to keeping a much more sensible distance.

Quill huffed a breath as you leaned him back against the wall of the bathroom. It wasn’t much bigger than those on the ship, but standard in the quarters on Knowhere. A slim-set, wet-room style setup had the shower had hanging from the ceiling above you and the control panel for it was set into the wall opposite Quill.

“What’re we—?”

“You need a shower, Quill,” you reminded him, turning away from him to turn on the water. “And I kinda don’t trust you to not choke on your own puke if I put you to bed. So, you’re taking a shower, okay? Not we. Get… get undressed.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t make any kind of joke. Instead, you felt his hand take hold of your shoulder, steadying himself to pull off his boots. They landed with twin dull thumps in the other room as he tossed them aside.

You caught him pulling his shirt over his head as you turned back around, your face burning. You forced your eyes not to linger on the way the muscles of his torso stretched and relaxed with the movement. The booze in his system was still playing against him – against you – and he stumbled as he lost his balance again. You moved automatically, one hand catching his bicep, the other landing on his ribs. His skin was warm under your palm.

Quill met your eye, his body suddenly so close to yours, and your eyes widened as you heard the buckle of his belt clink.

Your hands shot downward instinctively to stop his, your fingers catching the waistband of his underwear He’d managed to lower both his pants and his briefs a couple of inches, and your fingertips grazed the soft, downy hair that led down from his navel.

His stomach flexed as he inhaled at your touch. You swallowed.

“I, uh…” you cleared your throat, withdrawing your hands as though they’d been burned. Tucking both hands into your back pockets, you fixed your gaze on his collarbone. Peter’s eyes were on your face. You could feel it. “Just… just keep your briefs on, okay? At least until I’m gone.”

You could feel the heat of the shower clinging in steam to the back of your neck as Quill removed his pants, catching him by the elbows as they caught on his feet and tripped him. Uncertain that he’d be able to stand on his own, you lowered him almost unceremoniously to the floor under the spray. You managed to get a hand between the back of his head and the wall before it met the metal.

Quill coughed, blinking water out of his eyes. His curled pasted themselves to his forehead and he pushed them back, tipping his had back to catch a mouthful of water. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, and you tried not fixate on the rivulets of water that ran down his neck.

Busying yourself awkwardly by collecting his clothes and adding them to the already considerable pile in the corner. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the myriad of empty bottles littering the room. But after a few minutes you gave up on feigning ignorance and tossed the lot of them in an empty storage crate. Glass shattered against glass, but at least his quarters looked less like an actual dive bar.

“So, uh…” you called out, moving to leave. “Try not to drown in there, okay?”

“Wait.”

It was the first time he’d really spoken since the commissary, and you froze, turning back to the bathroom again. His eyes were open, one leg bent and his elbow resting on his knee.

“Stay?”

You cast another look towards the door, towards the walls you’d been carefully rebuilding between the two of you. “Quill…”

“Please?” he entreated. “Stay? I need you here.”

You honestly couldn’t figure out what would make you a bigger asshole this time; staying or leaving. “I guess I can… wait out here ‘til you’re—”

“Y/N,” he said, the word barely audible over the sound of water hammering against the metal floor. “Stay here with me.”

“I don’t…” you swallowed as his meaning became clear, a shiver settling in the small of your back. “Okay. Just… keep it respectable, yeah?”

He smiled crookedly, head falling back against the wall again. You hesitated as you considered your options – wearing your clothes meant a modicum of modesty, but the idea of walking back to your bunk in soaking clothes screamed obvious. And the idea of being seen leaving Quill’s quarters in wet clothes…

You exhaled shakily before toeing off your boots and unfastening your jeans, shoving them down your legs before you could reconsider your choice. You kicked the pile towards his bedroom, pulling your t-shirt off overhead. You held it against your chest awkwardly, a tingling sensation as your eyes returned to Quill.

Peter’s head was still lolling back against the wall, but he watched you with lidded eyes. You swallowed again, cursed your sudden bashfulness, and tossed the shirt aside. He held out his hand again and you took it, letting his fingers curl firmly around yours and pull you down in front of him.

You sat between his legs, gasping at the heat of the water. Quill tugged you gently back against his chest, and you shivered as his skimmed a hand down over your bare shoulder, his fingers catching against the strap of your bra for a second. Pushing your hair back out of your face, you positioned yourself close enough to him that the water hit your chest instead of your face, you head tucked against his shoulder. Peter wrapped his arms almost hesitantly around you, finding your own in your lap. Your breath caught as his fingers curled around yours, grazing against your underwear. Fixing your eyes pointedly on the wall opposite, you turned your hands over and let him interlock his fingers with yours.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair.

Your tried for humor, ignoring the way your stomach flipped as his breath tickled your ear. “If you hurl on me, Quill, I swear to God I will beat your ass.”

He chuckled, his cheek bumping against the side of your head. He still sounded kind of drunk. “Why’d you go away?”

You didn’t see the point in playing innocent or dumb. Instead, you sighed. “You know why, Peter.”

Gamora.

He echoed your exhalation, his fingers squeezing yours lightly. “I… I miss you.”

“I’m…” Sorry. “I’m right here.”

You barely heard his response over the water, but his voice was in your ear. “I miss you even when you’re around.”

Your brow furrowed, and you turned in his arms to face him best you could without breaking away from his embrace. Quill met your eyes, blinking away water, and as your lips parted to respond, he leaned down to bring his lips to yours.

He caught you by surprise, just as he had the first time, his kiss just as heady as it had been before. His hand released yours and moved to claim your cheek, his fingers sliding into your hair. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone as his hand continued, coming to rest by your ear as his fingers curled in the hair at the back of your head. His other hand tightened on yours, his tongue touching your bottom lip.

You whimpered against his mouth, tongue meeting his tentatively as your free hand clutched at his thigh. Quill urged you closer and you released his hand to turn in his arms, thrilling at the feel of his hands taking hold of your hips. Your lips didn’t leave his – as long as you were kissing him the logic screaming in the back of your head was reduced to a whisper – and you found yourself straddling his lap.

Peter’s hand slid up your back, a shiver following it as his fingers slipped under the band of your bra. His other hand tightened on your waist. You took his face in your hands, shuddering as he moaned into your kiss. The sound was intoxicating, a throb-inducing rumble that vibrated through his chest and went straight between your legs.

Between the heat of him and the heat of the water you could barely breathe as you parted. The hand on your hip moved to the small of your back, pressing you further against him. You exhaled shakily; your forehead pressed to his as you felt him harden between your thighs.

“Don’t…” Peter murmured, his thumb brushing over the small of your back. You pulled back slightly, immediately apprehensive at the word, but his hand left the space between your shoulder blades to tuck hair behind your ear. “Don’t disappear, okay?”

You ducked your head, and you felt tears suddenly burn in your eyes. “Peter…”

His mouth found yours again, his hand still in your hair. His other hand retook your hip, and your breath caught, teeth catching on his lip as he rolled your hips against his. Quill moaned brokenly at the sensation of your teeth grazing his lip, of your hips moving against him, and you clutched at his shoulders to balance yourself over him. That moan was enough for you to forget your worry, at least for now, and you met his gaze, your own wide-eyed wonder mirrored on his face as you rocked against him again. Both his hands took your waist, fingers massaging into the sensitive flesh as he helped you in a slow, even pace against him and brought his lips to the side of your throat.

“God…” you whimpered, blinking against the shower spray as your head fell back and his teeth and tongue teased against your pulse point. You could feel the firmness of him pressing between your thighs, each roll of your hips against it sending a spark into the fire building inside you. “…Fuck.”

His lips moved to your collarbone, the base of your throat, before catching on your jaw and returning to your mouth. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were…

Your hands slid up either side of his neck to claim his cheeks, curl in his hair. He was still guiding you against him, his breath hot against your flesh. His hands were tight on your waist, his cock hard against the thin, soaked fabric of your underwear.

“Gorgeous…” he muttered before his lips found yours again. His hands moved to clutch the swell of your ass, and you groaned into him. “Fuckin’ gorgeous…”

“Quill…” He shook his head, a crease between his brows. Your correction came with your next, breathy moan. “Peter…”

“Fuck…” he replied hoarsely, his hands tightening on your ass. “Fuck, you feel so good. I—”

You moaned aloud as you felt all that wonderful pressure inside you finally burst, the rhythm of your hips stuttering as you came. Quill groaned against the underside of your jaw as your thighs squeezed around his. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you fought to steady your breathing, the pressure he sucked into the base of your throat sending ripples through your cunt.

Peter shuddered as you shifted against him, his hips moving automatically towards yours, desperate for the return of that glorious friction. His eyes rolled back and he cursed as you curled your hand around the length of him, hard as stone even between the soaked cotton blend of his underwear. “Christ, fuck, baby, I… God…”

Oh, when he called you ‘baby’…

You stroked him steadily through the fabric, the sound of his ragged breathing making you shiver. One of his hands moved to grasp your thigh, kneading into the flesh of it with each move of your hand. The other returned to your hair, balling in it, gripping it at the nape of your neck to hold you against him, your forehead pressed to his. He continued to mutter brokenly, hoarsely, half his words washed away with the water. He thrust up disjointedly into your hand, moaned as you squeezed the base, and brought his lips back to yours as he came.

You could feel him quivering against you as he came down, his hand loosening in your hair. It moved to your cheek, fingertips tracing along the edge of your jaw. His lips touched yours once, twice as he broke away, his nose bumping against yours.

“Y/N, I—”

Just as before, the sound of your name was like ice down your back, and you jerked away from him. His chest was still heavy in slow, steady breaths, and you braced a hand against it to push yourself unsteadily to your feet.

“What… what the fuck am I doing?” you berated yourself, pushing your hair out of your eyes. Your other hand passed the sensor by the controls, and the water shut off, leaving the two of you in sudden, encompassing silence. “What the fuck are we doing, Quill?”

He shook his head, water dripping from his curls. He sighed, his head dropping forward like it was suddenly too heavy to hold it up any longer. “I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” you repeated, scrambling to pick up your clothes. A shiver wracked through you as the water still clinging to you rapidly cooled against your flesh. “I don’t… goddamn it!”

You’d tried to pull on your jeans, the fabric sticking stubbornly to your wet legs and refusing to move past your knees. You sighed in irritation, dropping them defeatedly.

“Do you have a towel?”

Quill nodded towards the cupboard built into the wall, a furrow between his brows. “You said you’d stay.”

You froze at the almost helpless note to his voice as he spoke behind you, and you closed your eyes. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I still…” you heard him stand, stiffening as you felt him step up behind you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the warmth of his presence. “I need you here. With me.”

You shook your head helplessly. “I can’t… I can’t be what you need, Peter. I’m not what you need.”

She is.

.

.

.

tags:@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78 @queenoftheunderdark @bombardia​ @bellarkeselection​ @nix-rose-q​ @blue-chup

and those who interacted with the last chapter: @stardustdayas @mccinnamon-bun @qichonen @s1xthirty @id-rather-be-a-druid @marvellllllllllll

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hello lovely! Idk if you do platonic relationships or not but if you do can I request being starlords younger sister would include headcanons

hii lovie!! yes ofc! as the eldest sister and sibling, ive always wanted an older brother like quill😔!!! thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

BEING QUILL’S YOUNGER SISTER HC’s

peter quill x sister reader

word count. 442

— I think quill would be the best big brother ever ! ! he has all the traits like that of a stereotypical older brother: great taste in music, cool graphic tees that you wanna 'borrow', the humour and jokes, the protective bodyguardness

— it doesn't matter what kind of sister you are - full-blood sister (with meredith as mum and ego as dad) or as another kid that yondu took (quill would still treat you as his flesh and blood sister) he'd do a great job of being big bro !!

— how much younger you are than peter depends how he'd treat you. if you're a lot younger, he'd kind of have a fatherly aspect to him, but not so much that it oversteps or creates a weird divide in your relationship. but if you're slightly closer in age, he'd def have that annoying older brother vibe. hitting you, bumping into you, calling you names, bickering with you, messing up your hair 

— BUT !! only he can be like that with you. no one else is allowed to !! only he can 'bully' you

— but that doesn't mean he's an ass to you all the time !! he can be very sweet in ways that are often surprising. but if you thank him for it or bring it up, he gets all bashful and tells you to shut up

— he's still very young at heart, so I like to think you both match each other in that arena. both have playful aspects, but you can both turn it off if need be

— he gets real protective

— he hates to admit it, but he values your input on other women. likes to know what you think of them and all that stuff. your fave gf of his was DEF gamora !! (obviously)

— king of "I told you so"

— would drive (I say that loosely) miles to pick you up in the middle of the night but won't answer your texts in the middle of the day

— likes to bring up your embarrassing stories or moments

— you'd probs be friends as well as siblings. you both like to hangout together- watch crap on tv, eat shitty food, piss yourselves laughing at jokes

— he def has these older brother lore moments, and they're often told late at night, probs by the fridge when you accidentally bump into each other when getting a drink or snack

— he backs your corner if you vent about school/work/friends, nods along, saying the occasional "what a bitch," or "yeah, you're right," but he does tell you when you're wrong, "yea, but you were doing ..."

— doesn’t tell if you have a secret party

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[josiewinters1999]

What It Feels Like 6

Rocket Raccoon x OFC (Willie)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: Willie awakes to find herself in The Collector’s gallery. She knows she has to escape... for Rocket.

Contains: Angst, fluff, feels, cursing, violence, really gross stuff for a hot minute

A/N: It has been forever and a day since I’ve uploaded and to my [5] fans, I’m so sorry. If you are reading this, thank you for coming back after my long absence and I hope this part is worth the wait. I’m actually pretty proud of it tbh. If you guys like this enough and I keep getting the time/motivation to work on it, I hope to extend it and add the other Guardians. Also, I’m thinking about starting up and writing about Willie and other characters, in her “canon” timeline (aka, the one I have meticulously planned out in my head). Drop a comment and tell me what you think of the story or anything I’ve proposed. And as always... enjoy!

The morning was just like any other; the alarm clock went off, he got up, dressed himself, and went into the control room of his ship. However, when Rocket realized upon entering that it was missing a certain person and all the comforting ambiance they produced, he felt his heart sink in his chest. Today was going to be a long lonely day.

He makes his way to the coffee machine, ready to brew himself a cup since Willie wasn’t there to do it like she typically did. With a drowsy paw, Rocket grabs the coffee and begins making the pot.

As the water brews, the raccoon’s distorted reflection grimaces back at him from the coffee pot. He crosses his arms and looks away, not wanting to be reminded how miserable he actually is. Brown eyes gaze across the common room of his modestly sized ship. On the table where he and Willie would normally be sharing breakfast, he spots his holocommunicator.

All the muscles in his body tense the second his eyes lock on it. He slowly makes his way to it, afraid he might startle it somehow if he’s too quick. It looks back up at him, almost begging him to make the call he so desperately wants to make.

Furry paws grasp the tablet and hold it feebly. It’s only been one damn day, his mind tells him. What could possibly have happened in one day? The voice of his conscious didn’t stop Rocket from wanting to make the call.

If I could just hear her voice one more time... his small fingers punch in her name and got to hit the ‘call’ button but stop in an instant, mere millimeters above the surface of the device.

She left you his darker side scolds him. She doesn’t need you and you don’t need her. Face scrunching up in anger, the raccoon throws the communicator back onto the table and returns to his coffee.

***

The space is still and stagnant, air not moving in any direction. It smells of plastic, harsh cleaning chemicals, and something foreign. Behind her eyelids, Willie can sense there was a light on.

Voices in the distance are muffled by a what sounds like a wall. They’re deep, masculine, and many. Mind not yet a full functioning, Willie is unable to translate and blows off the noise as the radio or television.

In her space, the Gallifreyan stirs, finding her position uncomfortable. The pain in her head suddenly catches her attention and her whole body winces. The sound outside her space changes from voices to loud thumps, each one increasing in volume before stopping.

Bang bang bang.

The sound of a fist on flat glass is enough to jolt the woman awake. She springs into a sitting position and makes the horrible choice of opening her eyes.

Flickering and humming fluorescent lights above her magnify the pain throbbing in her skull to levels unbearable. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Willie squints, hoping it will help her focus.

The blurry room slowly starts to become comprehensible. There is a man standing above her with a wide, wicked smile on his face. He waves sarcastically as he bends his knees. His blue skin, black eye, and bloody lip make the Kree man instantly recognizable.

Too weak to make a rebuttal, Willie just snarls and the man laughs, his voice now being clear and understandable, “Not so tough now, are you, you stupid bitch?”

Willie’s memory suddenly comes crashing into her like a runaway train.Landing in Knowhere, going to her ship, having a smoke at her table in the bounty hunter’s bar, the fight in the bar, the fight in the alleyway, all while she was trying to get back to Rocket.

Rocket. Oh God…

One of the men from the alleyway steps up and pulls back his friend taunting Willie, “Come on Agron, let’s just let the man pay us and get out of here,” he leans into the blue skinned Agron, “this place gives me the creeps.”

Agron looks between his friend and his catch in the glass cage before walking away. This gives Willie a second to fully survey her surroundings.

Feeling a stiff, scratchy feeling on her skin, she glances down. She was now clad in a crisp, clean, white jumpsuit and matching socks. She feels a pain in her neck. Reaching up,she feels a small metal disk under her skin. Having used them on others before Willie knows exactly what its purpose is; electric shocks. Shifting to be on her knees, she crawls to the edge of the square enclosure. Peering out into the area outside it, she looks up and out at the vast storage area.

The ceiling seems to stretch on almost forever, receding into blackness as the items hanging in it begin to disappear. Hundreds of glass cases similar to Willie’s reach into the space above, each one filled with a different, rare creature.

Willie had heard many things about this man and had evaded his grasp many times by the hairs on her neck. Finally being in his care, in his glass case looking out, was something Willie had prayed she’d never see. Suddenly feeling light headed, she falls back onto the seat of her jumpsuit, the world before her becoming blurry.

In the distance, she sees three indistinct figures. The smallest of them hands something to the other two before they walk away. On the brink of fainting, Willie doesn’t notice the figure’s movement until he begins to finally come into focus at the edge of her tank.

He is slightly taller than Willie and wears a luxurious white fur coat draped over his shoulders, it’s hair matching that on his head perfectly. His tailored purple suit underneath oozed elegance and wealth. Wealth, Willie is now starting to realize, built on blood… blood like hers.

With straight perfect teeth, he grins at Willie like a passerby would grin at a cute dog. He bends his knees, purple fabric around them straining slightly. “Look… at … you,” his words were slow and full of pride, “After all this time I never thought I’d have one. A Time Lord. The last Time Lord,” he trembles slightly with giddiness, “And she’s all mine.”

“Jokes on you dumbass,” Willie grins back, “I’m not actually a Time Lord. I’m a Woodlander. We’re a different breed.”

The Collector stands, fixing his now lightly wrinkled clothes, “Makes no difference. You’re the last one left.” He looks back at her with a devilish grin, “You’re one of a kind.”

***

“I wish we could stay like this forever…” Willie sighs, rubbing the fur between Rocket’s ears gently with her long pale fingers. He grips her shirt tighter and smiles, inhaling her scent deeply. She smelled of cigarette smoke, tangy soap, and something distinctly Willie.

Curling into her side, Rocket can feel her warmth radiate onto him, the clear blue sky above him and the crisp wind completing the scene. “We can stay like this as long as you want baby,” He mumbles happily.

Willie furrows her brow, “We can?” The worry in her voice drains Rocket’s joy as he sits up to look at her. Her skin was perfect without a single blemish on it, like it had been airbrushed. “Why couldn’t we?” he asks, concern evident.

She brushes her vibrantly colored yellow hair back, looking up at the raccoon, “I don’t know.” Her hands find a blade of grass beneath her and twirl it in her fingertips as she continues, “Maybe because we shouldn’t be together.”

Rocket grabs her hand and holds it in both his paws, “Baby, we can do whatever we want. Who was it that made the rules of who can and can’t be together?” Her blue eyes glance at his hands and then back into his eyes.

“Don’t you love me?” the raccoon asks, deep brown full of worry. She only smiles, gracing his cheek with her free hand, “Of course I do. I always have.”

For a moment, time stops, the birds stop chirping, the clouds stop floating, and the wind comes to a halt. Willie’s warm smile is enough to last Rocket a lifetime. Her plump red lips turn upwards as she speaks in a low voice, “Rocket, I lo-”

The moistness under his chin wakes Rocket from his dream. Groggy and half out of it, he sits up, looking at the puddle of drool in his lap. Wiping the now cold liquid from his cheek, he looks at the clock on the ship’s console.

2pm. It’s barely past noon and he’s already bored himself to sleep. Living without Willie is harder than he thought it would be.

His hands tingle as if they really had just been touching Willie. He sighs, heart heavy and the images flashing through his mind. Rocket realizes he feels empty without her.

But again, her face, her real face, not the one in Rocket’s dream comes to mind; sunken in, covered in scars, nose crooked, and eyes permanently full of disdain and disappointment. The sight hurts just to think about. Hurt soon turns to anger and he clenches his fists around the armrests of his captain’s chair.

“Fuck her. Never needed that junkie slut crowding me anyways.”

***

Whenever Willie got any reprieve from being watched, by either The Collector himself or by one of his pink skinned minions, she searched her cell fervently. Top to bottom she looked for something that could get her out.

Fingers tapped, poked, and pried at every corner and seem of the glass. It was sealed tight, the only opening was the air vent above and Willie had already rubbed her fingertips raw trying to feel for a weak spot or anything she could wrap around her fingers to help in her escape.

Willie was beginning to learn the hard way how things work as a toy in The Collector’s box. Twice a day, every day, you were delivered food. The food was bland but kept you alive and healthy, just the way he wanted you.

When it was feeding time, you were told to get into position at the opposite end of your tank. This position consisted of you kneeling, ankles crossed and hands interlocked behind your head. Something you can’t get out of very easily.

The pink skinned girl would then open the door and carefully set the food down before shutting it and leaving. If you moved, she hit a button on the device strapped to her wrist and an electric shock powerful enough to make even Willie seize up would flow through your body, leaving you a sloppy mess on the floor.

Days passed, and many times Taneleer himself would come to just stare at the blond Gallifreyan in her case. Petting his fur coat like it was a living animal, he stared her down, grinning wildly and almost fondly at her. Every time, Willie would curse him, promptly earning her a shock slightly more potent than the ones delivered by the assistants.

Getting out of this place is going to be tough, that much was clear.

***

Willie lay in the dark on her back. The Collector knew better than to give her anything in her case so she lay on the bar hard floor, staring at the grey ceiling, its only features being the light, now dimmed, and the air vent.

Nine days. It had been nine days. Why hadn’t anyone come for her? Where was Rocket? Hadn’t he seen her getting pulled away? Willie thought, hands folded on her stomach. Then it hits her. Rocket doesn’t care. He’s pissed I left. No one is coming…

Her thoughts and potential tears are interrupted by footsteps in the distance. She sits up, crawling to the nearest glass wall. She sees one the cleaning ladies scurrying in, a bucket in one hand and a wad of rags in the other.

“Hurry!” The Collector’s voice is distant, quiet, but unmistakable. “He isn’t going to clean himself now is he?” he shouts and the girl only runs faster.

After watching the pink girl disappear in the sea of dimly lit glass cases, Willie watches Taneleer emerge, steps angry and swift with his less formal, more comfortable night coat flowing behind him.

With the excitement seeming to be over, Willie sits back, listening intently. She could barely make out the sounds of cleaning. The slosh of water, the squeak of clean glass, and the occasional sob from the woman doing the dirty work.

Some time later, the assistant comes back, wet rags inside the bucket of now dirty water. Head to the ground, tears trail down her cheeks and she briskly speed walks out of the gallery hall.

Eyes trained on her like a hawk, the wheels in Willie’s head turn. She feels the blood rush through her body and a hunger form in her stomach; a hunger she hasn’t felt in a long time.

If she wanted to get out of this place, she was going to have to do it the dirty way.

***

Hours passed and her instinct was telling Willie it was turning from night to dawn. The creatures around he were beginning to stir and the hall seemed more alive than it is at night. The Collector comes out to gaze upon his prizes while his entourage of assistants come around with carts full of food trays.

The one that typically fed Willie approaches her tank, tray in hand and cart at her side. She gives a look to Willie and the blond glares at her, asking her to assume the proper position for feeding.

As she kneels, interlocking her ankles and hands, the woman slides the glass door open and sets the tray down before swiftly exiting and going on with her route.

Willie gets up and stares at the food as it practically stares back at her. The tray was like everything else in her tank, white and clean. Perfect, just the way he liked things. It disgusts her and makes her yearn for freedom even more.

Angrily grabbing the food and sitting it on her lap, she begins shoveling it into her mouth, waiting for the perfect opportunity to carry out her plan. She watches the people bustle about, going from tank to tank until their carts are empty. They then roll out in an almost single file line, ready to return in an hour to collect the empty trays.

Finally alone, Willie checks one more time to see if the collector is near. Without the man or any of his minions in sight, Willie sits back hearts racing. If she was going to do this, she’d better hurry.

With no more food left on her tray, she leans forward, looking down at the floor. She gets on her knees, pulling her hair over her shoulders and opening her mouth wide. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes shut tight, and reaches her long fingers down her throat.

There was only a couple other times she’s ever had to do this, and being nervous always made it harder. She forces them deeper and harder down her throat, feeling around to find that sweet spot that will give her the results she needs.

Feeling herself gag, she knows she’s found it. Pressing harder still, she gags more and more. Sweat seeps from her pores, worry that she’ll be caught tickling her stomach. Soon enough she gags one last time and a waterfall of sloppy puke gushes from her mouth and onto the floor by her knees.

Coughing while the last bit comes out, she pulls her fingers out, licking them clean first and then wiping the excess saliva on her leg.

Surely when the lady came to take her tray, she’d see the mess and have to spend a good amount of time to clean it.

Willie’s prediction comes true sooner than she had hoped when Taneleer steps out from behind the row of tanks next to her and see her sitting in her own filth. Glaring at the Gallifreyan, she fakes stomach pains and curls into a corner, trying her best to further the illusion.

The Collector’s face heats up and turns a deep shade of read, “Carina!” he shouts, almost loud enough to make the glass shatter. Quick yet light footsteps rush to his side, “Yes, master?”

He forcefully grabs her arm and jerks her, making her look at the state of his prized piece, “What is this? Are you trying to kill her?” Stuttering but not actually responding, Carina’s mouth opens and closes nervously. “Clean it up...” Taneleer barks into her ear. She nods and rushes off to get her supplies.

The Collector looks Willie up and down one last time before storming off in a rage. If he were to stand and watch any longer, he knows he would most likely scream at Carina the entire time.

Unable to hold it in, Willie grins. Perfect ,she thinks. Within a few more moments, Carina comes back with the buckets, chemical solutions, rags, and sponges needed to clean Willie’s vomit.

Willie begins to tingle with anticipation. Carina doesn’t even bother to say anything to Willie before sliding the door open. The Gallifreyan’s eyes go wide in excitement as she stares at the woman’s wrist and the device strapped to it.

Carina wets a rag and kneels, beginning to wipe the floor. Every second seemed to drag on for years and Willie felt like she did in the forests of her home; nervously excited with a certain insatiable bloodlust as she waits in the bushes to kill her next meal.

Soon the weak prey turns her back to re-wet her rag. The predator lunges forward silently and swiftly, grabbing her by her throat to silence any screams. Prey’s eyes go wide and fingers claw desperately at the suffocating firmness around her.

Willie drags Carina into her tank, through the mess on the floor and up to her chest. The blood pumps through her veins, adrenaline making her stronger and eventually she can feel Carina’s spine in her palm, so close she can feel the bumps in her vertebrae.

The woman’s pawing becomes softer and softer, her pleaing grunts becoming quieter and quieter. Eyes roll up into her skull and she goes limp and heavy in Willie’s hands. Willie reaches down to her wrist and unstraps the device that controls the disc in her neck.

Strapping it on her own wrist, Willie begins punching every button she can find. How the hell do I turn this thing off? Her mind panics. Suddenly there is a beep and Willie quickly prays to every God she knows that that has done it.

Her head darts from side to side as she emerges from her tank for the first time in over a week. Not a soul is in sight and the coast is clear.

She steps swiftly and quietly through the gallery, keeping herself as concealed as possible. She weaves between the rows of glass cases, the creatures and plants inside watching her in awe as she does the thing they all wish they could do; escape.

The door has to be here somewhere. Her mind races and her pores leak profusely as she frantically searches for the exit. Each row only leads to nothingness and Willie starts walking faster and faster through them.

Finally, a grand archway presents itself at the far end of the gallery, barely within view. Face lighting up with relief, Willie makes her way to it, confident and giddy.

“You!” a deep male voice grunts behind her. Her body tenses up again and she whips her head around to see the voice’s owner. The Collector stands down the row from her, Willie equidistant between him and freedom.

She sprints as fast as she can for the door. Taneleer reaches his wrist up to push the button on his device to slow her down. Nothing happens. He presses it again and looks up. She is still running, and alarmingly fast.

His heart tenses and he shouts, “Get her!” No one rushes to his aid and he runs after her himself. Willie reaches the archway and dashes out into the familiar streets of Knowhere.

Luckily there was a crowd and she soon absorbs herself into it, hiding herself in the swarm of bodies lining the strip. By the time Taneleer emerges from his gallery, she is gone. He looks down at his wrist computer again and see a red dot on a radar. “You’ll be mine again...”

***

Weaving quickly through the crowd, stealing the paranoid look over her shoulder, Willie looks everywhere for The Collector or his goons. She’s certain they are right behind her.

After walking the streets and not seeing any sight of them for an hour, she relaxes. She’s outrun them… for now. Willie looks down at her vomit and sweat stained jumpsuit. If she wants to blend in and get off this planet, she’s going to have to change clothes.

She desperately searches the streets for where her ship was parked prior to her kidnapping. That comforting and familiar empty space between two buildings was a sight for sore eyes. A bright smile spreads across Willie’s lips and she runs to her ship. She can’t wait to throw open the doors of that fantastic invisible box and-

Reaching the space, she runs right through it. Where her ship should have been is empty. Her ship is gone.

Willie begins to panic, “No…” she whispers. She frantically feels the air for it. Spinning in circles like a mad man she searches for something that isn’t there. “No,” she repeats. “No no no.” She stomps the ground in anger. “He took it. Taneleer Tivan took my fucking ship.”

She gazes back out into the alleyway, “I need a phone…”

***

Hanging his ammo belt up on the rack at the entrance of his ship, Rocket sighs. Jobs just don’t satisfy him like they used to. The rush of blowing something up and taking someone down just doesn’t get his goat anymore.

They used to give him a sense of fulfillment that satiated his core like a desert flower getting its yearly rain. Things are… well… different now. He knew deep down why, but would never admit it to anyone, especially himself.

With heavy limbs, he trudges to the kitchen. Bounty hunting can sure work up the appetite. Rocket steps on his small ladder to reach the top cabinet. Before he can even fully grasp the handle of the door, the holocommunicator on the dining table rings.

His movements stop. He debates whether he should let it ring out or if he should walk over and reject the call. Either way, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. The raccoon returns to the task at hand and opens the cabinet.

In the background, the ringing stops. “Guess they didn’t want to talk either.”

Reaching into the cabinet he pulls out a box of food and begins preparing it. He pours the contents of the plastic container into a plastic bowl, sighing with tired eyes and feeble fingers.

The ringing begins again and Rocket growls to no one in particular. Teeth bared, he angrily looks over his shoulder at the table muttering to himself, “Can I not sit down for five goddamn minutes?” Eventually, the ringing stops once more.

Tension releasing, the raccoon takes his food and walks to the captain’s chair to eat it. As he passes the table and holocommunicator sitting on it. It begins yelling at him again, almost as if it knew he was walking by.

Angry beyond comprehension, he slams his food on the table, a few bits of it falling out onto the surface of the tabletop. “Who could it possibly be?” he shouts at the top of his lungs. He picks of the glowing translucent blue tablet and reads the message:

Voice Communication. A3-Sector B09

The code at the end was instantly recognizable to Rocket. It told the raccoon that this call was coming from Knowhere. But why? At this point, Rocket’s anger has subsided and curiosity is slowly taking its place.

Slowly, he takes his paw and taps the accept button. Immediately he hears a hustle and bustle in the background of the call, confirming this call was where the communicator said.

“Hello?” the raccoon’s voice is unsure.

“Rocket!? Oh thank God I was starting to think you wouldn’t pick up,”  distinctive voice worries to him. It was shaky and scared.

Rocket’s heart drops at the sound of it and he nearly faints, “Willie?”

She smiles on her end, “Yeah it’s me.” There is a pause as she swallows nervously, “Rocket, I’m in trouble. I need you.”

Rocket opens his mouth to offer his assistance but is suddenly reminded of the full situation. She left him. She left him after he poured his heart out to her. She doesn’t deserve his help. “Why should I help you?” he grunts.

Willie almost chokes at those words, “What the hell do you mean? Rocket, please. I need your help. I’m stuck here.”

He only shrugs, “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”

The Gallifreyan bites a lip and lowers her voice, “Rocket, listen. I’m sorry for how stupid I was being. This whole thing with our feelings just is kinda hard for me…” she sighs, “I… I shouldn’t have left. I really had no reason to except that I was scared. But trust me when I say I tried to get back to you. I really did.”

Tears welling in his eyes, Rocket tries his best to make it sound like he isn’t crying, “Then what the hell stopped you?” he spits.

“I was kidnapped!” Willie shouts, her voice going through the communicator and filling Rocket’s ship.

He is taken aback by this, “Y-you were what?”

The woman lets out a deep breath, “The Collector got me. He’s been after me for years and he finally got me. It’s a wonder I was able to get out.” She anxiously scans the crowd as she speaks into the communicator on the Knowhere streets, “I think he still might be on my tail though. Can never be too sure. I need to get this stupid thing out of my neck. How soon can you be here? Because I am dying to kill this piece of shit.”

“Willie…” he trails off, unable to think of what else to say.

“Please Rocket, I need my big man to come rescue me.”

His heart flutters and he smiles, “I love you,” he blurts out.

Willie sighs, grinning like mad, “I think I might feel the same.”

The smile on Rocket’s face couldn’t be wider, “Lay low for a while doll. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

***TAG LIST***

@animeaniseed @youralienfriend @fandoms-4-life0000 @groovy-bouquet-starlight @okie--loki @tara-jadet1ffen @rosaufyuniverse 

[welshsidekick]

To The Stars - The First Half of a Draft of Chapter 1

Pairing: Gamora/Peter Quill/OC (this is gonna be super slow burn though I’m so sorry I just want to emulate the actual Peter/Gamora romance in the films)

AU: Soulmate AU (name tattoos, although that doesn’t really come up in this part)

Word Count: 2456

Notes: Catch me posting this first half of a draft of the first chapter in the hopes that it’ll push me to actually get this damn thing done and published, because I’ve been working on it for months.

“So, what do you say? We have a deal?”

“A deal? Ha!” The large, fleshy man spat in her face, causing her to recoil slightly. “You expect us to believe that you have the pass codes to the largest bank in the galaxy?”

“And I’m willing to hand them over for just 20% of what I’m sure you’ll ‘rightfully liberate’.” ‘And trying incredibly hard to not stare at that nutsack you call a head.’ She thought, although she wouldn’t dare say it aloud. Not until they were at a fairly safe distance, anyway.

The man scoffed. “No deal, Chip.”

“Oh come on!” She exclaimed. “When have I ever lied to you?” There was a brief silence from the thugs that surrounded the dealing table as they shared looks, before the murmuring began.

“Well, there was that time with the nuclear launch codes from Terra-“

“The Sovereigns’ Anulax batteries-“

“The Kyln blueprints-“

“Okay, okay! I get it, I’ve screwed you guys over.” A pointed look from a purple, but equally phallic looking man caused her to continue. “A lot. But I promise that it’s the real deal this time.”

“Promise?” Sack-head inquired, leaning over the table and extending his pinky. She sighed and rolled her eyes, but locked her own with his.

“Pinky promise.” That seemed to satisfy him, if the smirk on his face was any indication, as if the self-serving grunt wasn’t a big enough sign already. Only seconds after handing over the chip he shot his fist victoriously into the air, standing up so quickly that his chair clattered to the ground as his men yelled in celebration.

Shaking her head, Chip carefully got up from her own seat and tucked it back beneath the table, before making her leave from the dingy base, weaving between the sweaty men who’s now raised arms allowed a wave of BO to assault her nostrils, resulting in her nose wrinkling as she sped up her pace.

“Suckers.” She grinned to herself, flipping the actual memory chip from one hand to the other before placing it back into the appropriate pouch on one of her many belts. You’d think that they’d stop trusting her after a while, but they were far too naive. It’s a miracle that they got out of trouble as much as they did, but she supposed that someone had to take pity on them. If not for their gullible incompetence, then for their unfortunately shaped heads.

The streets of Xandar were far cleaner up top than down in the underground where she had been. Of course, that was likely due to the fact that the underground was the home to the dumber criminals, while the ones up here were smarter to disguise themselves and their transactions with the assistance of their vast wealth. But she always had had a soft spot for the stupid ones – they were much easier to mess with.

Speaking of the Intergalactic Bank, she should probably utilize those codes to draw out some money herself. She doubted that they’d notice if about 2% went missing from some of their wealthiest accounts, and that would be more than enough to keep her going for the rest of the year.

She was ripped from her thoughts when a green woman suddenly shoved her out of the way. Despite her slight disorientation as she stumbled to the railing, it would have been difficult to miss the red wire flying past and wrapping around the woman’s legs, causing her to fall and trip. It didn’t help her confusion when a man wearing red suddenly jumped on the woman, only to be easily kicked away and – hey, when did she get that wire from around her legs?

“This wasn’t the plan.” She heard the green lady say as she finally got the upper hand, pulling out a knife. It seemed that the universe didn’t want her to wrap her head around this situation because, out of fucking nowhere, a raccoon of all things tackled the green lady to the side.

“Put him in the bag, put him in the bag!” The raccoon repeated as a humanoid tree, as if this couldn’t get any stranger, approached the scuffle with a large sack, his branches seemingly extending to wrap around the woman. “No! Not her, him! Learn genders man!”

Chip’s attention was quickly drawn away from whatever the hell was going on over there when she noticed the small metal orb rolling around the ground, only for it to quickly be snatched up by the man in red who began running. This was the kind of thing that was probably best to not get involved in, especially as she swore that she knew some of these people’s faces from somewhere, which was hardly ever a good sign in her line of work. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. But, satisfaction did bring it back…

A quick glance to make sure that the other three were still preoccupied was all she needed before she took off after the man with the orb.

“Hey! That’s our bounty, back off!” She heard a yell from behind her, which merely caused her to smirk. A bounty, huh? Not her usual game, sure, but she did need  the money, so she’d bite.

“Finders keepers, losers weepers!”

It didn’t take long for her to close the distance between them and seal the deal by sliding along the ground with one leg extended to sweep his out from underneath him.  As he fell, she stood and twisted her torso so she could grab his arm and flip him onto his stomach, turning his arm to an uncomfortable angle and placing a foot on his back to keep him down. She grabbed the orb as he whined underneath her, turning it over in her hand to inspect it.

“Oh, quit being such a- Ow!” She was cut off when a dagger hit her hand, causing her to drop the orb and turn to look at the perpetrator.

So, apparently the green woman had gotten free. Somehow.

The man below her used her distraction to flip the tables, literally. He rolled over, causing her to fall onto her back as he leaped off the side of the bridge. “Oh, come on.” She groaned, turning herself over to her stomach. She caught the cut on her hand quickly healing up and brought it to her mouth to lick the blood away before pushing herself up and running over to the railing where he had jumped, only to see him roughing it up with the green woman again. Deciding to jump down after them was apparently a mistake, as the woman somehow slammed into her, causing Chip to fly over a fountain while the she landed in the water.

Pulling herself up using the wall allowed her to see that the raccoon and tree were back, and trapping the man in the bag this time. “Wait, are we after him or the orb?” She asked, leaning against the wall with one arm resting on top of it as she blew a stray hair out of her face. The green woman merely shook her head before planting a palm straight into Chip’s face, shoving her back down to the ground and using the force as leverage to begin storming back to the scene. “Not much of a talker. Gotcha.” She clicked her finger, pointing it over the wall towards the woman, although she doubted that she would turn back and notice.

Getting back on her feet a little slower this time allowed her to get back just as the man in red fell flat on his face in front of her, being shot down by a shock that apparently came from the raccoon. The gun looked bigger than the creature, but she decided not to question it.

“Taken down by a raccoon, huh?” She chuckled, crouching down to search through his pockets. “I’d say we’ve all been there, but we really haven’t. It’s pretty embarrassing, really-” Of course, her train of thought was cut off when a pair of hands grabbed at her upper arms to haul her up.

“Alright, let’s take this nice and-” This time, Chip didn’t let them finish as she threw her head back, hearing a satisfying crack and an even more satisfying “Ow!” as she was let go. In hindsight, she really should have paid attention to where she was running, but the truth of matters was that she didn’t. Instead, she simply sprinted forward, running over the man in red as she kept her head down, only to quickly be stopped as she found herself caught in a Star Blaster tractor beam, alongside the raccoon and humanoid tree.

“Good going, Einstein.” The raccoon huffed, seemingly amused. Chip only rolled her eyes as she held up her hands in a mock surrender to appease the Corps.

“Junth Lagrinne, by the authority of the Nova Corps you are under arrest for endangerment to life, the destruction of public property, and assaulting an officer.

Chip merely smiled sweetly as she turned to look over at the now disgruntled officer holding his bloody, and likely broken, nose as he helped another corp arrest the man in red. A mischievous glint appeared in her eye as she turned back, the grin morphing into a smirk as she shrugged.

“Well, I wasn’t about to make it ‘nice and easy’,  was I?”

The silence that fell over them while they were being shipped out in handcuffs was to be expected, but that didn’t make it any less awkward. There was a lot of unwarranted - and warranted - glaring. Most of their backs were hunched to some extent, like bristling cats, yet the green woman was sat ramrod straight, and successfully ignoring the rest of them. Something Chip wasn’t wholly succeeding at.

“- yeah? Well at least I didn’t run into the tractor beam!” The man in red was only getting more and more aggravated by the raccoon, who seemed to be enjoying said aggravation far too much, if his hysterical laughter was any indication.

“Well at least I didn’t get shot down by a rodent.” Chip shot back, eyebrow arched like a taut bow. The man looked like he was preparing to fire back, but the raccoon’s laughter suddenly ceased.

“Hey!” He exclaimed. “I’m not a rodent!”

“Fine, Raccoon.”

“No!”

“Rabbit?”

“Wha- No!”

“Meerkat?”

“N-”

“Chihuahua?”

“No!” His final retort was the loudest, and it needed to be, to be heard over the terran’s laughter. But as amusing as it was, it also drew the ire of the Corps, who were quick to try and calm the situation.

“Hey! Quiet back there!” The words themselves weren’t threatening, but the way the ones who were watching them adjusted their positions on their guns were, which quickly caused the group to shut up.

“At least I don’t have a butt for a chin…” The raccoon muttered grumpily under his breath.

“Hey!” Chip turned suddenly, her expression stormy, only to once again draw the ire of their captors.

“I said quiet!” The voice yelled out once more, allowing the raccoon to huff in self-satisfaction as Chip grumpily returned her attention to the metal beneath her feet, but not before catching a glance of the green womens seemingly eternal sour expression.

Chip only squinted slightly at the bright lights that reflected from the screen in front of her, but quickly composed herself. She knew the deal; they were going to rattle on and on about her and her crimes from the safety at the other side of the screen while she was expected to stand there like a mannequin as if she couldn’t hear every single word.

“Junth Lagrinne, although most folks just know her as ‘Chip’. She’s Terran, but was raised on an unregistered spacecraft where they conducted illegal experiments into cybernetics, particularly in connection to the brain. Seems like they were trying to make some kind of living AI, but all that seems to start and end with her.” While he was rattling off what he’d likely read on some report, Chip read the information they were showing on the screen. It had been a while since she’d been here, so it must have updated. She would be severely disappointed if it hadn’t. Her fingerprints showed up on the left side of the screen from her perspective and were noted as a ‘system match’. On the right side there was some more personal information about herself,

JUNTH LAGRINNE

ALIAS: “CHIP”

ORIGIN: RS DLDC*

LENGTH: 224 MICROBULES

WEIGHT: 831 GRETS

LEGS: 2

ARMS: 2

ENHANCEMENTS: CYBERNETIC BRAIN & OCULAR IMPLANTS, ENHANCED REGENERATION & MUSCULATURE, INCREASED METABOLISM, TRANSLATOR IMPLANT IN NECK

The images on-screen soon faded and changed, with the fingerprints on the left being replaced by a strand of her DNA and, if the notes surrounding it were any indication, the typical confusion as to the aspects weren’t quite Terran but not quite any other species either. The right side now sported an interesting x-ray view of her skeleton, with her the image of her brain lighting up and the orange of the cybernetics in her brain and eye-sockets showing up as orange, with the image soon filling that section of the screen. Some new information appeared beneath her name, causing her to look up from underneath her hair and wink at her captors while wetting her chapped lips.

ASSOCIATES: DEFENSE LAB OF THE DIAGNOSIS OF CRYPTOLOGY

CRIMINAL RECORD: 75 COUNTS COMPUTER FRAUD AND ABUSE, 81 COUNTS ILLEGAL MANIPULATION, 63 COUNTS FRAUD, 1 COUNT OF ASSISTING ESCAPE FROM INCARCERATION

“She’s a well-known intergalactic hacker. Word has it that she downloads anything and everything on those little memory chips of hers, from top government secrets to your grandma��s secret cookie recipe.” The skinnier Corp gave her an almost offended look after that.

“If it makes you feel any better, they were delicious.” She winked, which only seemed to upset him further, as she was soon shoved out of the way for the next person. The raccoon, seemingly.

The green woman was already waiting on the other side, and despite Chip’s attempt at an acknowledgatory nod she continued to ignore the rest of them, purposefully looking the opposite direction. Soon enough the disgruntled nuisance followed, followed suit by the overgrown houseplant. The man in red was the last behind the screen, and decided to hold up procedures by flipping off the Corps.

“What a bunch of a-holes.” The Corp’s irritatingly posh voice didn’t go unnoticed, but it definitely went unappreciated.

“Says you.” She muttered under her breath, which seemed to draw the attention of some of her fellow prisoners, but any conversation that may have developed was quickly cut short.

“Transport all five to the Kyln.”

Extra Notes: Once I get this chapter done it’ll extend to the beginning of the scene in the Kyln too, but I’d just like to thank @quinnhayden for both her help with writing this, agreeing to beta read it, and her writing being the inspiration! While it’s not super clear here without the prologue, and won’t become incredibly important until later on in the story, this is technically an AU based on the Fenrir AU for her own series Not the Standard Unit, which is an amazing Stucky/OC Soulmate AU story that I’d recommend to all of you! The Fenrir AU itself is only a single chapter (+ a teaser chapter if you want to read both, which I’d also recommend), so that’s all you’d really need to read to fully understand what’s going on when the relevant stuff comes up later in the story, but like I said for the most part it won’t be necessary to understand it.

[kijiboop]

Thanos x OFC: Unbowed - Chapter Sixteen

A/N: Warnings for graphic sex, D/s, A/B/O dynamics, sexual slavery, oral sex. And Thanos went non-con on me in this chapter. You have been warned.

Find it on AO3

Kris slapped the dash when the communicator blinked. “Captain Krised Furlan of the Paiksykine. Talk quick, Ravager.”

“Listen to the mouth on you.”

Around him, the bridge erupted into wild cheers and Kris stopped to put his forehead down on his wrist with a low groan of relief. The video engaged and Esi grinned back at her crew, a Krylorian woman half-wrapped around her waist. “I’m sacrificing a fucking herbivore to every god in the galaxy,” he said when he looked up at her. “It’s so damn good to see you, Esi.”

“It’ll be a massacre,” Esi smiled and her crest rose and shook with emotional overload that her face couldn’t quite contain. “We’re two jumps out, Kris. We needed to stop for a break but we’ll be at the rendezvous soon.”

“I could kiss you.”

“We could all kiss you!” shouted Gorjin and Esi grinned.

“Take turns, at least,” she replied and her face sobered quickly. “I missed you all, but we’re not out of the woods yet. It’s really important and I’ll tell you everything when we’re all standing on the same deck. But I can’t walk away from this. Not yet.”

“Whatever you need, Esi,” Kris said. “Just come home.”

“I’m trying, Captain,” she smiled brilliantly. “See you in a few.”

A few hours later, the big Ravager ship popped into space and rotated for docking. Gorjin maneuvered the Paiksykine into position and the ships joined up. Both were too large to dock with the other, but the coupling ducts worked just fine. On the Ravager end, Kraglin smiled and opened the door for Esi. “See you soon.”

“Thank you,” she whispered and hugged him quickly, then she and Peya darted into the duct and sailed out of the Eclector’s artificial gravity. Esi’s crest flared in joy and excitement when she saw the other end of the duct opening and felt the atmosphere pressurize. Kris propelled himself down the duct toward her and they met in the middle in a tight hug that had them both crying.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Kris whispered as he hugged her tight. “You were wrong, you know. I do love you.”

“That’s nice,” Esi giggled softly and kissed his cheek. “I’ll always love you as my captain, Kris, but I’m… kind of taken now.” She looked over her shoulder at Peya, who had turned a rather fascinating shade of magenta.

Kris blinked and tilted his head to see the Krylorian hovering there and then smiled quietly. “I think I understand.” He cupped his hand to Esi’s cheek. “Welcome home, Lieutenant. You going to introduce me to your partner or do I have to wait for the wedding ceremony?”

“Let’s get back under gravity first,” giggled Esi. When Kris turned back to return to his ship, Esi reached and laced her fingers through Peya’s. “Sha beh,” she whispered and Peya beamed at her.

When they hit the airlocks, the sound was deafening. The entire crew was packed into a tiny space, all clamoring for her attention and generally welcoming her home. She found herself passed from hand to familiar hand, kissed and embraced and passed on to the next person. She managed to keep her fingers locked on Peya’s and the crew seemed just as excited to see her, hugging the Krylorian and cheering. When Kris’s hands found the sides of her face again and he kissed her, Esi let her crest flare up in joy, arched to shade his face. “Welcome home,” he whispered against her mouth.

“It’s good to be here,” she whispered back. As things settled down, she reached for Peya and added, “Peya, this is my captain, Kris Furlan. Captain, my partner, Peya.”

“It's my pleasure,” Kris smiled and offered his hand to Peya, who took it between her own and bowed over it slightly.

“And mine,” she said softly. “Made much of my shebebe’s captain.” Her eyes lifted and Kris grinned at the slightly coy expression he read there. “You tried to..." she trailed off and made a gesture with her hands, indicating pregnancy and then nodded to Esi. "Her gratitude for that extends.” She pulled her hands toward Esi, then in a circle toward herself. “My gratitude.”

“I would be honored to try again,” Kris said and held out his hand to Peya, palm up. “For you both.”

“I cannot,” Peya smiled quietly. “Esi may. I cannot.”

“As much as this conversation is wonderful and important,” Esi cut in gently, “as I mentioned, we’re not out of this yet. Thanos has Yondu Udonta and Peter Quill. I’m honor-bound to help the Ravagers rescue them.”

“Honor-bound?” Kris asked in surprise and let Esi and Peya pull him to the side of the room while the rest of the crew continued to revel. “What am I missing? I know Udonta is Centurian, but…”

“Yondu is the patriarch,” Esi explained. “He’s adoptive father to Quill and both of the other adult Centaurians on his crew, Amadi and Luway. His first mate is also his son-in-law. The Ravagers on that ship are more than just a crew of mercenaries, Captain. They’re a family and more than that. They’re a Centaurian clan.” She put her hands on Kris’s chest and leaned in to peg him with a firm look. “They opened their own Way. They’re all connected. That is sacred in ways I’m not sure I can ever explain to someone outside of my own race, Kris. We have to help them.”

Kris paused to meet her eyes, then cupped her face in his palms and kissed her. “My ship is yours.”

***

Thanos paced his rooms. It had been too long. He thought of Petra and discarded the thought; she was too fragile for his current mood. Terraxia would have been ideal, but she was still en route to retrieving his requested cargo from Xandar. What he wanted was Esi. He wanted Esi naked, bound, her head pulled back so he could stroke her throat as he fucked her from behind. Frustrated, he growled and paced another length of the room.

Two more circuits of the room and still unable to banish the hunger, Thanos turned sharply away and stalked down the hallway. He opened the door of Petra’s chambers without knocking and watched as she floundered into a sitting position in her bed. Her eyes were round as he approached, slammed the door behind him. “On your knees, child,” he growled. “Now.”

Petra waited a moment, then flowed out of the bed and onto her knees at his feet. “My lord,” she gasped, “I am yours.”

Thanos struggled to keep the sneer from his lip. He wanted her to fight him. He wanted Esi’s fire, even Terraxia’s arrogance. This subservience was gratifying but it did nothing to soothe his hunger. As he stared down at Petra, he realized with a pang of disappointment that she was no longer interesting to him. Steady, unwaveringly loyal, yes. But uninteresting.

He unfastened the waistband of his pants, shed them in a heap. “Your mouth,” he growled. Petra looked up at him, her eyes wide. He waited and then reached down to present his cock to her, insistent and hard. “Your mouth, my pet. Now.”

Petra paused for only a second before her hands came up to his hips and she took him into her mouth. Thanos grunted once, low in his throat before he put his hand on the back of her head and held her there, moderating her movements until he found the pressure and depth his aching cock needed. He felt her struggle, her hands pushing on his skin but only enough to give herself room to breathe. He growled and pulled her head down again. "No," he said and Petra's eyes flashed up to meet his. "You will do this as I wish." He watched the realization and the fear in her face and smiled, his erection throbbing as satisfaction at that fear flushed his skin. Roughly, he held her head and snapped his hips forward to push himself deeper into her mouth. She made a small, terrified sound and Thanos closed his eyes, his head back. He felt her struggle again, instinctive and panic-filled before her mouth convulsed around him and he felt her gag. He growled out a few half-words in Titan before he spilled himself into her mouth, holding her in position until he was finished.

When he let her go, Petra doubled over herself and choked, coughing and hugging her stomach. Thanos watched her as she spat his cum onto the floor, then vomited once and curled her arms over her face as she sobbed. Loyalty deserved better than what he had just done and the Mad Titan felt a pang of regret. Petra was not to blame for not being Esi, for not being Terraxia, for not being a woman with fire in her blood and defiance in her soul. After a moment, he sighed and dropped down to his knees beside her, reached to pull her hair away from her face and held it back over her shoulders. "I'm sorry, my pet," he whispered. "I have misused you and that was unconscionable." She shied from his touch and Thanos winced.

"I am yours, my lord," she rasped. Thanos could hear the pain in her voice, the raw edges of her emotion and the equally raw sounds of her abused throat. "Forever, I am yours."

Guilt throbbed in his chest and Thanos sighed, rubbing absently at his breastbone before he stood and said, "If you require anything, I will see it done. Rest now. Call for me if you have need." When Petra didn't look up at him, he exhaled sharply through his nose and turned away.

He tried very hard not to hear her quiet sobbing as the door to her quarters clicked shut behind him.

***

Yondu leaned against the wall beside the door of his cell. He could hear Quill humming to himself in one of the other cells, one of those songs he loved so well. He had heard them so many times now that he thought he might actually recognize this one in spite of Quill's mildly tone-deaf rendition. How any species could produce pieces with the complexity of harmonics he had heard in the Earth music and still give birth to children without a natural ear for tonality would always be a puzzle to him. When Peter reached the chorus, Yondu sighed and let his head drop back against the wall as he started to whistle along.

Peter stopped humming and said, "Yondu?"

"Yeah," Yondu answered.

"You've got a plan, right?"

Yondu smiled to himself and shook his head slowly. "Sure, kid. I've got a plan."

"One that doesn't involve us dying, right?"

"I dunno. Dying works sometimes." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Where there's a will, there's Luway."

Peter was quiet for a long time before asking, "Yondu?"

"Yeah."

"Is she really my sister?"

"She ever lie to you, boy?"

"I guess not."

Yondu smiled. "There's yer answer." They sat in silence, then Yondu said, "Quill."

"Yeah?"

"What song was that?"

"Help Is on Its Way," Peter said and Yondu could hear the slight smile. "Little River Band. 1977."

Yondu chuckled and nodded. "Hang on, kid," he murmured. "She'll be here as fast as she can."

***

Drani Obfonteri hustled her grandchildren down a narrow back alley, her head high and her eyes wide. Ayodele was right behind her while the twins shuffled between their sister and their uncle. Amadi had his pistol out and held low, guarding the back of their little procession. They could hear the sounds of the attack happening across the city. They had all agreed that they were better off not being where Thanos expected to find them. Ayo and Amadi both had their crests clamped tightly to their scalps. Drani knew enough about Centaurian body language by now to recognize their fear. She ducked out to check a crossroads, then beckoned the kids across. When they were huddled on the other side, she grabbed Amadi's shoulder. The stocky man stopped, his crest popping up a quarter inch before clamping back down again. "What?"

"What are we going to do?" she whispered, trying to keep the panic from her own voice. "We're not safe out here and it's too obvious to go back to the embassy. Do we just run around randomly all night and hope he gives up?"

Amadi's dark eyes closed for a moment and he sighed. "Thanos ain't gonna give up. If he wants us, he'll keep lookin'. I just wish I knew why he wanted us." Thulani made a soft, whimpering sound in his throat and Amadi reached to hug the younger boy. "Don' really matter," he sighed and ran one hand over Thulani's crest. "Let's go."

Before they could take more than a few steps, Ayodele whistled a sharp warning and her crest popped tall in alarm. She was carrying one of Amadi's pistols and fired it ahead of her as she backed quickly toward her family. The adults crowded close to the younger ones and Amadi looked behind him in despair when he realized they were surrounded: there were Kree soldiers in every available exit from their alley. He could hear Ayo cussing in Centaurian and she shot at one of them again. Amadi aimed at one of the other soldiers on his end of the alley before flaring his crest with bravado he really wasn't feeling and yelling, "Clear off! We're not goin' anywhere with you!"

The Kree studied them for a moment and then one of them grunted an order and another's muzzle flashed. Drani screamed and went down, clutching her shoulder. "Our orders are for the Centaurians," the first said in heavily accented Common. "Come quietly if you care about her at all."

Shayna and Thulani were hugging their grandmother while Ayo maintained her aim on the far end of the alley. "Amadi?" she whistled and he winced at the fear there. "What do we do?"

"Run," Drani hissed at them. "I'll be okay. Just get them out of here. I'm tougher than I look." Amadi looked down at her in surprise and she gave him a fierce grin that reminded him of Kraglin. "Go."

"I don'--"

He never got to finish his protest when the Xandarian woman lurched up from her crouch with a wild cry and started firing a pistol none of them had realized she had. "Go!" she screamed at them and Amadi bolted, grabbed Shayna around the waist when she protested and sprinted through the opening Drani had blasted with her gun. A burst of light ahead of him briefly blinded him as something exploded in the street and he heard Ayo scream, more a sound of defiance and surprise than pain. They scrambled out into the wider street, shooting as Kree soldiers tried to swarm them. Amadi got one in the face while Ayo shot another in the shoulder.

"Ayo!" Thulani's voice reached them and Amadi and Ayodele both stopped in their tracks to look back, crests flared high. A tall woman with violet skin and long, shaggy black hair was grinning at them, holding Shayna's twin brother against her chest with a knife to his throat. "I'm sorry," Thulani gasped.

"Well, well, well," Terraxia chuckled. "Isn't this just a pretty sight. Drop your weapons."

Amadi closed his eyes on a white flash in his mind and then dropped to his knees, hands to his head. Ayo dropped beside him, her hands on his shoulders and her voice worried in his ears.

And then it wasn't her voice that told him she was worried. It was her mind.

The Way opened and Amadi choked on it, his eyes wide and his mind raw as he toppled down to the pavement, unconscious.

@genevievedarcygranger @vizhi0n @lucifers-trash-stash @lissachan504

[tinylilacbun]

hii if you’re still doing requests for the guardians could you do something with rocket and peter getting jealous when the other is getting attention from reader. they’ve argued in the past about who’s captain so i definitely think they’d argue over who the reader’s favourite is (ofc they love them both equally) and get jealous. also maybe reader gets overwhelmed with the bickering so drax, groot or gamora have to step in get them to stop and to calm reader down. <3

The Favorite

Pairing: cg!guardians x little!reader

Warnings: Age Regression, jealousy, reader gets overwhelmed, protective!gamora, fluff

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒

"Come to me baby!" Quill opened his arms wide for you.

"No, come to me little one" Rocket waved and you thought for a second.

Peter was smiling when it seemed you were walking towards him but it dropped when you rushed over to Rocket with a giggle.

"See, I told you! I'm her favorite." Rocket smirked, ruffling your hair a little and Peter was about to argue when he saw you nibbling on some candy.

"You cheated! We said no bribing!" he pointed out while you just made your way over to Drax.

"Not my fault you believed I was going to listen," Rocket said bluntly.

Drax shook his head at the two and advert his gaze down to you, seeing you enjoy your treat.

"What did he gave you?" he asked with a little smile and you smiled back.

"A lollipop!" you said and raised your arms.

"Up?" you asked and he nod, sitting down before helping you sit on his lap, your back to his chest and listening to Peter and Rocket's bickering.

"I am Groot."

"On which side are you?!" Peter crossed his arms frustrated.

"I am Groot."

"Unbelievable."

"Quill, just accept that I'm her first choice." Rocket threw his head back laughing.

You sighed and got startled by Mantis grabbing your hand gently, her antennas glowing a little, they amazed you every time.

"She's overwhelmed." She frowned and Drax tensed a little.

"What causes it?"

Mantis pointed at Peter and the others who were still arguing. "It's them."

Gamora, who heard everything Mantis said had finally enough, walking over to you and picking you up, marching towards the two idiots.

She puts a hand over your ear and gently places your head on her shoulder before snapping. "Hey! Look at what you morons did. You're acting here like children even though she told us that she loves everyone equally," she turns to Peter. "multiple times."

Peter got a look of your face and he felt guilty. Then Gamora turned to Rocket so he could also see what he did.

"I don't wanna hear any of that again. Are-" she stopped mid-sentence when you pulled your head up.

"Please, no fighting" you pout. You hated it when they were arguing, sometimes it was all fun and games but it would escalate quickly and you can't stand it when people were shouting around you.

"I'm scolding them, love. What they did wasn't good, you understand?" she explained and you nod.

"Is okay now! I better." you wriggled out of Gamora's arms and danced your way to your room, already forgotten what just happened and wanting to play.

Gamora waited until you were out of earshot and smacked Rocket and Peter on the back of their heads.

"Knock it off you both." She said and walked away.

Peter rubbed his head and gave Rocket one last glare and whispered. "At least she will cuddle with me later." he was about to round the corner to your room and flipped Rocket off.

"You little-" Rocket stopped himself taking a breath. "It's not worth it. It's not just worth it."

"I am Groot."

"Sure buddy, you're above Quill."

Peter peaked inside your room and smiled when he saw you cuddling with gamora. She's by the end of a story she was telling you.

"And then your daddy came and saved me," she said and smiled a little, knowing that Peter is watching them. "But he's not very sneaky is he?"

You pulled your head up to look at Peter giggling. "No, he not."

"Yeah, I get it." he sighed and walked over to slip right next to your other side.

You snuggled more to him saying in a more serious tone. "Daddy."

"Yes?"

"I love you all," you told him and placed your head on his shoulder, wrapping yourself a little more around him.

"We love you too, little star."

Little Bonus

Later that day you were sitting beside Rocket, watching him repair something shiny.

"You good? You have been really quiet," he states, not looking away from what he was doing.

"Mhm!" you nodded. "Rocket, you know I wuv you too right?"

Rocket stopped his movements, before smiling your way. "I love ya too kid," he said and leaned over to ruffle your hair.

                                   ⭒𖥸⭒

Taglist

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!

[your-highnessmarvel]

Your Highness’s Masterlist - updated 15/11/2023

BANNER MADE BY @emegeek​ 

💚WELCOME TO THE MADNESS 💚

Multi-part fanfictions:

METICULOUS MASTERLIST (Bucky Barnes x OFC) soft!dark!bucky, NSFW ~ in progress

LEMONADE MASTERLIST (Chris Evans x OFC) NSFW ~ incomplete

GATE KEEPER MASTERLIST (Tom Hiddleston x reader) NSFW ~ COMPLETE

CALIFORNIA MASTERLIST (Loki x oc) NSFW ~ incomplete

FROM BLEAK TO BRIGHT MASTERLIST (Loki x reader) ~ COMPLETE

COTTON CANDY (CALL OF DUTY) (Simon Riley x ofc) NSFW ~ in progress

Imagines/Oneshots: Click on the links to open individual masterlists 

Steve Rogers/Captain America   

Chris Evans 

 Loki 

 Tom Hiddleston

Wanda Maximoff

Peter Quill

Amaze me (Peter Quill x reader) just some fluffy star lord

James “Bucky” Barnes 

Thor Odinson

Lady Thor (Thor x reader) Fluff where you pick up a pretty famous hammer with as much ease as your boyfriend.

            ** Robert Downey Jr **

Mundane (Robert Downey Jr. x reader) RDJ meets a non-Hollywood woman for whom he feels a strange attraction to.

LET ME KNOW IF LINKS DON’T WORK PLEASE!

[star-trekkin-across-theuniverse]

Escape: Not in Love

Word Count: 5622 Tags: @shewhorunswithfandoms @distinguishedqueenofbooks @anyakinamidala @anotherotter @little-study-bug  @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife @wanderingkat77 @bluebird214 @superwholockedbeauty @eyeofdionysus @all-time-foes @girl-next-door-writes @feelmyroarrrr @castiels-ass-butt-1967 @haven-in-writing @sistasarah-sallysaidso @dolamrothianlady @from-kitten-to-kitsune @geeksareunique

Author’s Note: Roxanne finds herself talked into touring with the cover band. Peter finds himself pining after a Terran. But he's not in love. Continuation of Escape

Roxanne sat at the light table in the back of the tour bus, carefully hand lettering the posters for the next four concerts. Across the table from her, the bass guitar player, Alex, was colouring her doodles in with copic markers before dropping the finished posters into the box that was being sent to the printer as soon as they made it into New York City. They worked in companionable silence. From the front of the bus, Roxanne could hear Jinx tapping on the wall while Ken, the guitarist, noodled on his acoustic.

“I know you didn’t want to do the big venue concerts in this tour, Rox, but I think kicking off your tour big like this is going to be really awesome for the foundation,” Alex suddenly spoke.

“Yeah?” Roxanne wasn’t really paying attention.

“There are a lot of kids who are going to benefit from the proceeds of this tour. I’m glad you decided to start it out with a huge Pixie Stix concert,” Alex clarified.

“I’m not the only one who made the decision, Alex.”

“No, but you are the person who was adamant it all be small venues. I think the exposure is going to help the foundation get a really solid start.” Alex went back to colouring.

“It wasn’t until I read about how poorly Americans are showing in the sciences that I realized we needed to throw as much money at the problem as we could. It changed my focus. I’m glad you threw the research my way, Al,” Roxanne shrugged.

“So my kid sister was telling me about how Stark Industries is sponsoring a women in sciences program now. They’ve got buy in from a pile of other STEM companies as well. She applied for one of their summer camps. It sounds pretty rad,” Alex segued. Roxanne’s eyebrow quirked.

“Oh?”

“Maybe you should get Jerry to contact Stark Industries and see if we can’t work together. Stark is a billionaire, right? If we could get him to throw a few zeroes on the back of the foundation’s bank account it could do some real good,” Alex suggested. Roxanne shrugged.

“I don’t know. Stark’s kind of a dick, don’t you think?”

“TV always makes famous people look like dicks. Remember when you and Jinx split?” Alex reminded her. Roxanne made a sound of disgust. Every TV tabloid show had speculated on what and why they were divorcing, going as far as to make up details when they refused to release a statement. When Roxanne finally lost her temper at a paparazzi reporter who’d been stalking her, even people in the know started freaking out that the band was going to split. She rolled her eyes.

“I guess. I’d rather see what we can do on our own, you know? Star-Lady and the astronauts was a pet project. If we can start a grassroots campaign to improve educational opportunities for all kids, on our own, we’ll have started a dialogue within the music fan base. Maybe that seems narrow-minded, I don’t know,” Roxanne sighed. “I just like the idea of us starting something without corporate sponsorship.”

“Stark has been a questionable company in the past. We don’t want to alienate potential supporters,” Alex agreed.

“Besides, that dude is always looking for a sound bite. He’d probably show up at all our press and divert attention,” Roxanne pointed out.

“Solid.” Alex slid the last poster into the box and capped his markers, carefully returning them to the wooden box he stored all his art supplies in. Roxanne stretched and folded the table away, pulling the mattress across it.

“Here’s the part where I kick you out of my bunk so I can get some sleep. I’ve been crazy tired the past few weeks,” she yawned. Alex tilted his head in concern.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just feeling run down. There was a lot more braining that went into this tour. I had to micromanage Jerry to get him to back down from insisting on the huge stadium tour idea, and he refused to try to source more affordable and ethical vendors for memorabilia and and and.” Her complaint was stifled by another yawn.

“Take your vitamins, Rox. This is going to be a busy four months.” Alex teased.

“Get out of my bunk. We have a week off at the midpoint. I’ll rest up then,” Roxanne shouldered him toward the door of the tiny room. Alex raised his hands in surrender and backed away.

“You won’t be resting then. That’s birthday week!” He protested.

“Out!” Roxanne exclaimed, pushing him past the door, and pulling it shut.

“Roxy Rain! Tell us about the line-up for tonight’s concert!” Carmen, the radio DJ, was too bubbly, too excited. Roxanne smiled and adjusted the headset on her ears.

“We’ve got representation in Star-Lady and the astronauts from Pixie Stix, Dr. Schrödinger’s Kitty, Chainlink Fence and Spleen, so we decided for the kick-off concert, we’d each do a 30 minute set. Then Star-Lady and the astronauts will wrap up the concert with two half hour sets. So it’s a good long concert, well worth the price of the ticket. And you’ll be supporting the newly founded Star-Lady foundation for Science education.” Roxanne took a long swig from the coffee in front of her when she finished speaking.

“That’s ninety minutes of front-of-the-stage rocking for you, Roxy. Sounds exhausting!”

“It’ll be worth it. We’re doing 4 big city concerts on the tour; each one will feature one of the bands from tonight, plus Star-Lady and the astronauts. But for the most part, the Star-Lady concerts are going to be in smaller venues across America, and the profit from those concerts will be put back into science education in those communities. It’s going to be a busy four months.”

“Sounds like it’ll be worth it. What makes musicians want to give to science education?” Carmen asked.

“We’re all scientists first. Music was a passion that paid off in a big way for each member of Star-Lady and the astronauts, but the sciences are where we cut our teeth, and where we’d all planned to have careers,” Roxanne explained. She knew she would be explaining the same thing in every city they visited for the next four months. And she was already exhausted. She plastered a smile on her face.

“Any chance you’ll drop us a hint on what you’ll be playing tonight?” Carmen pressed. Roxanne laughed and picked up her acoustic guitar.

“Most of what Star-Lady does is cover music, but this is an original tune. It’s being released next week and as with everything from the tour, the profits are going to support science education and programs in communities across the country,” Roxanne explained. “You’ll have to forgive my playing, I don’t often pick up a guitar anymore, so I’m a little rusty.” She picked at the strings to make sure the guitar was tuned, and strummed a couple of practice chords. Carmen cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

“Wait, before you start,” she interrupted. “This is an song that hasn’t been released? So you’re giving us a world premiere?” Roxanne pulled a face and giggled.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she nodded.

“Okay, folks, you’re hearing it here first, Roxy Rain from Pixie Stix and Star-Lady and the astronauts with the world premiere of the first single from the Star-Lady and the astronauts album!”

Roxanne could feel herself flushing and started playing the guitar again. She cleared her throat and winked at the DJ, who was nearly vibrating with excitement.

“I haven’t played guitar for anyone in ages. So everyone listening needs to remember, I’m the singer, okay?” She laughed self-consciously, and took a deep breath. “Hey spaceman, won’t you take me for a ride?” The words slipped out and the gentle musicality of Roxanne’s acoustic voice silenced the room. She was used to that. Any time she did acoustic work, and didn’t have what she called her ‘rock star voice’ amped to eleven, people fell silent. It was like they forget that she was actually a musician, if that made any sense. It didn’t to her, but she still noticed it. Her fingers stumbled on the guitar, but her voice was carrying the song anyhow. The guys had all said it was a strong melody when she’d written it, and there was very minimal accompaniment on the release or in practice.

“That’s a love song, Roxy,” Carmen commented, her eyebrow raised. Roxanne laughed.

“Sure. Here’s the thing. My background in the sciences has been esoteric Pixie Stix trivia for years, but I am a scientist at heart. And my specialty is space. Of course I’m in love with the notion of space travel, and seeing past our atmosphere. There is so much more than this little earth out there for us, and we have no idea what it all holds,” Roxanne shrugged.

“So if a spaceman offered, you’d tag along on an intergalactic adventure?” Carmen smirked, pressing for an answer.

“In a heartbeat,” Roxanne laughed. “That’s not realistic though is it? I’d have to wrap the tour, and plan to be off the grid for a while, get my affairs in order. There’d be too many questions otherwise, right?”

“Well, we know there is other life out there now,” Carmen led.

“Sure, we know there’s life out there, but is it life that is compatible with ours? So far, the aliens that have visited earth have been largely out to destroy it,” Roxanne stated. “Not exactly compatible with my romantic notions about travelling the universe.”

“They say that Thor is an alien,” Carmen waggled her eyebrows. “I’ve got some romantic notions about him.”

Roxanne couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough. But the aliens that invaded New York? Or the ones that hit London? They don’t really strike me as the kind that would like a human tag-along. In the end, it’s a song, and sure, it’s romantic. Because music is supposed to make us dream about the extraordinary.”

“Like aliens who are hot like Thor coming to sweep you off your feet,” Carmen determined.

“Exactly,” Roxanne laughed.

“I love the song, Roxy, I love the album. I love the motivation for the tour and I just love everything about you. I can’t wait for the concert tonight. I’m looking forward to following the tour and seeing all the awesome science stuff you guys are able to purchase to support education. I wish you all the best,” Carmen started to wrap up the interview. “We just released some tickets for the sold-out opening night of the Star-Lady and the astronauts tour tonight, and if you don’t have any luck at the box office, stay tuned because we are giving away three more pairs of tickets with backstage meet and greet coming up on the half hours. Thanks again for coming in, Roxy Rain!”

“Well thanks for having me. It’s been fun. See you tonight!” Roxanne waited until her mic had been turned off before she rose and packed up her guitar. “How’s the ticket give away been going?”

Carmen finished flicking some switches on the console to run the next music set. “It’s been cool. People are really excited. Last week, everyone who was entered to win tickets had to donate to an education program for underprivileged kids. We wound up raising over $3500 for a science program in the Bronx. Then Stark Industries matched it. Which was cool.”

“That’s very cool. I heard something about a women in STEM initiative that Stark Industries started,” Roxanne nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve got the info on it in my email. Want me to forward it to you? We’ve been giving it a lot of airtime. It sounds solid awesome.”

“Yeah, that would be cool,” Roxanne yawned. “Man, I’m sorry. I am already so bagged and the tour hasn’t even started. I’m going to need lots of B12 over the next few weeks.”

“I hope your bunk is comfy,” Carmen teased.

“That is where I am headed right now. I’ve got time for a catnap before I need to carb up for the show,” Roxanne laughed. “I’ll see you at the meet and greet. It was nice to meet you, Carmen.” She made her way out of the studio and down to the waiting driver, who returned her to the stadium. While set up continued, she pushed to the back of the tour bus and crashed in her bunk, becoming dead to the world.

“Rox, come eat, love,” Jinx shook her shoulder. Roxanne rolled over in the dim light of the bus and rubbed her eyes.

“It’s dark,” Roxanne mumbled.

“Yeah, dinner’s ready, you have thirty minutes before you need to be in hair and make-up. Meet and greet in 2 hours, concert in three.” Jinx ran through the itinerary quickly.

“Why did you let me sleep so long?” She stretched and yawned.

“This is the third time I’ve been in to wake you, love. I told you that you needed more sleep. You can’t start this tour run down, Rox.” Jinx was scolding, but his tone was gentle. It reminded her why she’d married him. She scrubbed her hand down her face and nodded.

“Straight to bed after the concert tonight, I promise.” She held her hand across her heart.

“Come eat then.” Jinx pulled her to her feet.

“In a heartbeat. That’s not realistic though is it?” The voice crackled across the radio and Rocket rolled his eyes.

“How did you manage to find a smart one, Quill?” He asked, fiddling around with some strange components.

“I didn’t find – you know, forget it, you wouldn’t understand.” Peter pushed out of his seat and stepped over to the radio, switching it back over to the iPod.

“Understand what exactly? That a month after leaving Terra we’re back in orbit over it, despite having nothing of value for us?”

“There’s value in Terra!” Peter exclaimed.

“There’s a girl on Terra, Quill, that’s not exactly our line of work, unless you want to add sex-trafficking to our list of potential jobs?” Rocket snapped.

“What?” Peter was confused.

“The way I see it, Quill, we’re back here because of that woman. And you said she was nothing special when we left Terra last month, so what gives?” Rocket demanded.

“Maybe she is something special,” Gamora suggested. “We haven’t been further than a quadrant away from Terra since we left.”

“Or maybe I’m homesick!” Peter protested.

“Explain why we’ve been listening to her radio interview for the past fifteen minutes?” Gamora demanded. Peter huffed out a sigh of defeat.

“You know what? Screw you guys. Maybe I would like to see her again!” Peter threw up his arms. “What does it matter?”

“She wrote a song about you, Quill. She wants to see you again too,” Gamora pointed out.

“That song was not about Quill. That song was about metaphors,” Drax protested. Gamora rolled her eyes. Peter threw his hands up in defeat and stalked toward the galley.

“It’s a good thing Rocket knows how to use the google,” Gamora sighed. “He managed to win you tickets to the concert tonight.” Peter froze between rooms, and turned slowly back to face the rest of the crew.

“What?”

“You can pick it up at the stadium box office,” Rocket confirmed. Peter’s eyes narrowed, disbelieving what he was hearing. “What? It’s why we’re here. It’s why you’ve been irritable. Go see the girl, get her out of your system, and then we can get back to loot. And credits.” Rocket watered Groot’s pot as he spoke.

After a huge coffee and a refill, Roxanne was feeling slightly more human. She devoured the steak and pasta that Jinx dropped in front of her, and made her way to hair and make up. She flopped down in the chair, nursing a third enormous coffee, feeling the caffeine work its way through her system.

“Roxy, meet and greet in ten,” Jerry leaned in through the door. Roxanne nodded and waved him off. She just needed to get dressed, and she had plenty of time to do that between the meet and greet and the stage call. She made her way out to the backstage fan area, still holding her coffee cup. She had on a pair of patterned leggings and a long t-shirt. It wasn’t a look she ever wore on stage, but she suspected she’d be seeing more of it in her fan base after the concert. The DJ from earlier was wrangling fans, and waved at her. She waved back, and then realized that Carmen was actually waving her over.

“Heya?” Roxanne met her halfway between the fan line and where she’d been standing.

“There’s a dude here to pick up tickets he won but he’s got no ID. Claims he knows you and you could ID him,” Carmen looked awkward.

“Oh yeah? What’s he say his name is?” Roxanne walked with Carmen back to the pick up area.

“Roxanne!” She heard a familiar male voice call. Her eyes narrowed and her head snapped around to where the voice had come from. It was Peter. She smiled broadly.

“This the guy?” She asked Carmen. Carmen nodded.

“Peter Quill?” Carmen looked down at her clipboard.

“Yeah, I know him,” Roxanne lengthened her stride and headed toward Peter. She threw her arms around him across the metal barricade separating the unsecured area from where she was standing. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Pete.”

“You look amazing, Rox.”

“Professional hair and make-up.” She waved it off, pulling away. She nodded at the security guard, who allowed Peter to pass through the gate into the secured area. Roxanne slipped her arm into the crook of Peter’s elbow and led him back to where the fans were. Roxanne tugged Peter’s shoulder down to whisper in his ear. “I’m not gonna have much time to catch up, Pete, but I’ll let security know you can stick around after the show.”

“I’d enjoy catching up,” Peter smiled. Roxanne winked and let go of his arm, to walk over to the fans waiting to meet her. Carmen was talking to them as she approached, and Roxanne glanced over her shoulder, looking for the ‘astronauts’. She saw them over near a table of food, looking uncomfortable. She reeled around and headed over to her bandmates.

“Guys, you need to relax. These people are here for you. And they’re science geeks. Check out the t-shirts,” Roxanne pointed out the front row of fans. There was a Carl Sagan t-shirt, a periodic table t-shirt and one that made a pun about covalent bonds that sent the drummer into fits of giggles. “Let’s go meet some people, shall we?”

Roxanne led the group over to the fans and waited for Carmen to bring everyone in. They cycled through the group, chatting with everyone, and eventually the rest of the band got more relaxed. Just as they were wrapping up, Carmen approached them again.

“Your friend is hot.” She gave Peter a once over. Roxanne smirked.

“Is he?” Roxanne was purposely vague.

“He is. I bet you’d run away in a heartbeat if he was your spaceman,” Carmen teased, winking. Roxanne let out a loud, surprised laugh.

“You have no idea,” she muttered as she walked toward Peter. She very carefully didn’t touch him on approach. “You look good enough to eat, Mr. Quill.”

Peter arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think we have time for that right now, Roxanne.”

“True story. Let me grab you an access pass, and show you the dressing room. You can come and go from the show back then.” Roxanne led him over to Jerry. “My friend needs a pass, Jer.”

“Roxy, really?” Jerry gave Peter a once over. “You’ve never been one for groupies.”

“He’s not a groupie,” Roxanne argued. Peter shook his head from behind Roxanne.

“Totally a groupie. Nice to meet you.” He offered his hand to Jerry. Jerry shook it, raising an eyebrow at Roxanne.

“Not a groupie. I’ll grab you that pass.” Jerry flipped through his clipboard and pulled a pass out for Peter, handing it over and then hustling off to do something.

“What did he mean?”

“If you were a groupie, you wouldn’t have shook his hand,” Roxanne informed him. She glanced around and saw that no one was watching and pressed a kiss to Peter’s lips quickly. “See you later.”

The concert went better than Roxanne had anticipated. They were called for three encores and the preliminary tally on the fundraising from merchandise was twice what had been anticipate, Jerry had announced as they came off-stage. The caffeine had finally worn off, and coupled with the intense concert, Roxanne was bagged. She stumbled into the dressing room, forgetting that Peter was waiting for her, and flopped on the couch.

“You look exhausted, Roxanne.” Peter stepped over to the couch, sat her up and began rubbing her back. Roxanne groaned in release.

“33 more dates, Pete. I won’t let you leave if you keep that backrub up,” Roxanne threatened. Peter climbed onto the couch behind her and kept massaging.

“You know the team wouldn’t allow that,” Peter murmured, dropping a kiss on the nape of her neck. “They say I’ve missed you.”

“Have you?”

“Probably,” he admitted. Roxanne laughed.

“And when are you expected back?”

“Eventually.” Peter’s hands stilled on her shoulders and slid forward, wrapping around her. He sighed and leaned against her.

“That’s vague. Tonight? Tomorrow?” Roxanne pushed up and turned in his arms, kneeling into the plush couch cushions. “Next Tuesday?”

Peter answered her with a kiss. He drew her up against his chest and slipped his hands under the spangly silver sequined top Roxanne had worn during her last set. “Long enough, Rox.”

“Then maybe we should move this to the bus, where we have half a chance of some privacy.” Roxanne stepped off the couch and took Peter’s hand, leading him down the hallway toward the loading bay. Roxanne pulled a magnetic flag off the inside of the bus door and put it on the outside before pulling the door shut. Peter peered around at it and started laughing.

“Sleeping? Not really.” He winked and followed her down to her bunk. “Where were we?” He pulled her back into his arms and tilted his head down to kiss her. Roxanne wrapped her arms around his neck and groaned.

“You were giving me an amazing massage,” she reminded him. “Here, I’ll get my show stuff off and you can continue. My back has been killing me the last few days.” She turned away to the drawers beside her bed and pulled out a pair of pajamas. Peter snorted.

“Don’t worry about those. They won’t be on long anyhow,” he teased. Roxanne smirked and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

“I don’t wear anything under my stage clothes, Pete,” she taunted from the bathroom. Peter pulled off his jacket and boots and dropped them in a pile on the floor. Roxanne reappeared and assessed him. “You could lose the shirt and pants too.” He stripped down to his boxers and hopped on the bed beside her, bouncing her slightly. She rolled onto her stomach and cleared her throat.

“Let’s have some more of those magic fingers, Star-Lord,” Roxanne demanded. Peter knelt beside her and dug into the tense muscles of her back and was gratified to hear Roxanne’s moan of pleasure at the massage. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, watching goosebumps dance across the bare flesh at her neck. Roxanne sighed and settled under his skillful ministrations.

“I liked the song, Rox,” he offered.

“Yeah?”

“The Milano is remarkably warm inside. Just thought I’d confirm that for you,” he teased. Roxanne let out a low chuckle.

“Good to know.” Her voice had grown husky.

“I liked the acoustic version from the radio best,” he continued. “But I need to know, do I count as hot like Thor?”

There was no response from Roxanne, and Peter was ready to be offended when he caught the gentle snore and realized she’d fallen asleep. He pulled up the blankets and curled up next to her to go to sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Roxanne whispered, kissing Peter awake in the low light of pre-dawn.

“You were tired,” Peter grumbled, scrubbing his hand across his face. Roxanne slid closer on the bed and nodded.

“I was. I’m not now.” She dipped her head and nipped at his collarbone. Peter made a noise that Roxanne could only define as a purr and rolled on top of her, capturing her mouth with his own. He slid his hand down to her pajama bottoms and tugged at them. Roxanne shifted her hips, pulling free of the stretchy jersey shorts and wriggling them down her hips. She tugged at Peter’s briefs, struggling to shimmy the elastic down his hips. He broke free from the kiss to take over, kicking them off the foot of the bed. He dropped back between Roxanne’s legs and let out a sigh of contentment. Roxanne bit his lip, crooking her heel around the back of his thigh and tugging him closer.

The sharp staccato of purposeful knocking started at the front of the bus. Peter stilled, like he was a kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. “Who –“

“I don’t care, we’re busy, and I have my sleeping flag up. Everyone on the crew knows you do not disturb me when I’m sleeping,” she grumbled.

“We’re not sleeping,” Peter pointed out.

“I’m not answering the door,” Roxanne shrugged, and pulled his mouth back to hers. She tugged him against her and used his movement to shift her weight and roll on top of him. She sat back, and stared at him. His hair was tousled from sleep, and he had a few days growth of stubble. He looked good in the morning. She leaned back down and kissed him, rocking her hips until he slipped inside her. He groaned into her mouth, and settled his hands at her hips, following along as she rocked her pelvis back and forth.

The banging at the door intensified. He broke the kiss to stare over her shoulder, as if they were going to be interrupted.

“Pete, relax. The door is locked,” Roxanne reassured him. He sat up and rolled her onto her back, pistoning his hips against hers. Roxanne rocked in rhythm with him, letting out a whimper of pleasure as he ground against her roughly.

“Goddamnit, Roxy, I know you’re in there!” It sounded like Jerry. The banging became a cacophony of noise, and Peter slowed down just long enough to lean back and swing the door to the bunk shut and flip the lock. Roxanne pulled him back to her, taking his mouth aggressively with her own.

“Stop getting distracted, Pete,” she growled, tilting her hips and wrapping her legs tightly around his thighs. Peter closed his eyes and sighed, his thrusts getting rougher and quicker. The banging at the door echoed through the room, in syncope to the movements of their bodies. Peter grunted and tightened his grip on her hips, collapsing against her.

“I’m sorry, Rox. I couldn’t concentrate. And you felt really good,” he murmured into her ear, smoothing her hair away from her face as he shifted his weight and rolled to the side. He pressed his lips gently against hers.

“Been at sea too long, sailor?” Roxanne teased.

“Seems like a month is too long where you are concerned. I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

“Yes, you will.” Roxanne climbed across him and picked his t-shirt off the floor, pulling it over her head. She grabbed a pair of panties out of the drawer and slipped them up over her hips. She moved to smooth her hair, and decided against it, unlatching the door and walking toward the front of the bus. The banging was enough that Peter pulled a pillow over his head. He heard Roxanne unlock the door of the bus and swing it open, and heard her pad back up the steps into the kitchenette. He peered at her from under the pillow, watching her pull a k-cup pod out of the box, and set a cup of coffee brewing.

“Christ Almighty, Roxy, I was banging on that door for ten minutes!” Jerry complained as he climbed the stairs into the bus. “Did you not get my text last night, you’re late for a meeting.”

“You’d better have another one of those nice white cups for me if you’re going to talk to me like that this early in the morning, Jer,” Roxanne snatched the Starbucks cup out of his hand, and took the coffee cup from the k-cup machine. She turned her back on the manager and brought the coffee down to Peter. “Here, you can have my coffee, since Jerry brought me whatever this is.” She put it on the bedside table and headed back down the narrow hall to the kitchenette. About halfway down the short hall, the bus rocked with the footfalls of another person climbing up the short stack of stairs. Roxanne opened the mini-fridge, and bent over, looking for something to eat. Peter watched Jerry look away uncomfortably as his t-shirt slipped up Roxanne’s hips exposing her hot pink panties. The guy at the top of the stairs had no such qualms about Roxanne’s state of undress.

“It’s been a while since I’ve spent quality time with a musician. But this looks promising.” The stranger pulled off his sunglasses and smiled wolfishly at Roxanne’s ass. Roxanne shot up, and turned to face him. The look he gave Roxanne made Peter want to run down the hall and punch him. Roxanne obviously felt the same way, and the crack of her hand connecting with the guy’s face reverberated through the confined space of the bus.

“Who the fuck is this, Jer?” She demanded.

“Roxanne Raintree, meet Tony Stark. Mr. Stark was interested in supporting the foundation.” Jerry dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temple, masking a cringe. “I don’t suppose he still will be.”

“She’s not the first woman to slap me. Won’t be the last,” Stark shrugged. Roxanne tensed.

“No thanks. We’ve already discussed this, Jerry. We want to foundation to stand on its own, without corporate sponsorship.” Roxanne dismissed Stark and Jerry and went back to the fridge. She didn’t bend as far over as she looked inside it for something to eat. She pulled out a yogurt and slowly pulled the foil off, raising an eyebrow at Jerry. “You can go now.”

“Roxy, I can call you that, right? Roxy, Stark Industries wants to support any initiative that makes the sciences attainable,” Stark started. “And your particular foundation has huge potential to bring in kids that might not otherwise get those opportunities.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why we founded it.” Roxanne rummaged in the kitchenette for a spoon, and leaned against the short counter to eat. She crossed her ankles and pursed her lips as she watched Stark take in the pale length of her legs.

“Stark Industries wants to throw money at you. I’m having a hard time understanding –“

“Stark Industries might have successfully rebranded, but the bands involved in the foundation are really not interested in taking donations from a company that used to make military weapons,” Roxanne interrupted.

“So this granola and flaxseed reputation is legitimate?” Stark scoffed.

“My life isn’t about sound bites, Mr. Stark. I practice what I preach.”

“And you have the freedom to practice that because of sacrifices –“

“Don’t. Don’t go there, Mr. Stark,” Roxanne cut him off. “You don’t get to talk about the sacrifices of the military just because you provided them with weapons.”

“It must be nice to be wealthy enough to refuse donations on principle, but consider who is losing out while you ride your high horse into the sunset, princess.” Stark raised an eyebrow and then looked past her, settling his gaze on Peter, who was laying in the bed, pillow still over his head, blanket barely covering his ass. “I can see you’re busy. Another time.” Stark turned on his heel and walked out. Roxanne took a sip from the coffee she’d stolen from Jerry.

“Well done, Roxy. He was set to donate half a million.” Jerry shook his head and rose to leave.

“We don’t need his money.” Roxanne was adamant.

“Get that groupie out of here, we pull out in thirty minutes.” Jerry stomped down the stairs and slammed the bus door shut. Roxanne walked back to the bed and climbed in beside Peter. Peter groaned and pulled her close for a kiss before sitting up.

“You coming back any time soon?” She asked as he pulled his clothes on. He shrugged.

“I don’t know.” Peter pulled a concert t-shirt out of his pocket and pulled it over his head. He sat down on the edge of the bed and laced up his boots. Roxanne bit the inside of her cheek, trying to be cool with the answer.

“Well, you seem to be able to track down the concert schedule easily enough. And you’ve figured out radio contests,” she paused. Peter laughed.

“Actually, that was Rocket,” he admitted. Roxanne laughed.

“That is awesome. How? You know what, I don’t want to know,” she smiled. “Next time, I’ll make sure we can’t be disturbed.” Peter pushed her back onto the bed and kissed her again.

“I swear, I owe you one.” He murmured. Roxanne bit his lip and smiled.

“We already established that. A big one,” She teased and let go of him.