did that look cool?

god forbid a girl like her men pathetic eighteen ✶ for marvel

[quillism]

hi im back again i had a brainblast ok reader throws up after a jump which none of the guardians do anymore bcuz of how used to jumping/moving through the galaxy they are? turns out it bcuz she prego (we all know her n pete be fuckin ur call whether theyre fwb or dating) but lots of jokie jokes from the others ab how she dyin n silly things like that?? ur call again for how it ends just a random thought i had n had no motivation to write myself heh course this is only if u feel comfy writing ab that kind of thing/topic 🩷ya

YOURS ALONE. ft. peter quill.

note. ✶ i took forever sorry </3 enjoy tho !! interaction ib this fic by @/manicpixiedreamgirlkira it was the inspo i needed to finish this highkey

sum. ✶ a pregnancy scare with peter, but it's all very, very real. established relationship/dating. fluff, comfort.

"who's cleanin' that up? i'm not cleanin' that up. quill, go clean up your girl's upchuck."

it was supposed to be a routine jump, like any other shudder of the benatar. a quick flash of light, a soft thump, and you'd be in the next sector. you'd gotten used to the drop in your stomach, that brief, weightless freefall that came with every trip.

one moment, you were perfectly fine. the next? you were leaning against the nearest console, a wave of nausea hitting you hard enough to make your knees buckle.

the not-so-playful banter between quill and rocket ceased. groot stopped picking at a stray twig. drax was the first to speak. "her body has betrayed her. she is dying."

rocket snorted, his tail twitching in annoyance. "she's not dying, you idiot. she's space-sick!" he turned to you, a grin snagging on his lips. "what are you, a rookie? first time on a ship?" you might have smiled, appreciated the crude humor, in any other instance. but your head was spinning, and the world was tilting on its axis.

quill wasn't laughing, though. he was by your side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. his hand was warm on the small of your back, rubbing small circles. "woah, there. is everything okay? that doesn't usually happen."

"i am groot," groot said, handing you a cup of water he'd retrieved from the galley.

appreciative, you accepted it, taking a shaky sip. it washed away the remnants of bile, the bitter aftertaste in your mouth. "i… i don't know. it kind of came outta nowhere."

mantis gently touched your shoulder, before pausing. her antennae twitched, and she pulled away, her brows furrowed in a soft crease. "i felt queasiness. and… a little beat. are you hungry?" she asked, tilting her head.

before you could answer, your hand flew to your mouth, your stomach curling with nausea, and quill was ushering you out of the room.

over the next couple of days, the feeling didn't subside. you became a permanent fixture in the ship's med-bay, subsisting on bland crackers and even blander water.

"look, she's turning green!" rocket announced one morning. "maybe she is dyin'."

"she is the color of a leaf," drax observed, nodding gravely. "a dying leaf."

quill, meanwhile, had been a rock. he brought you snacks, told you stupid jokes to make you smile, and sat with you for hours, just being there. he was so gentle and patient, it almost made you feel guilty for being the cause of all this trouble.

one night, while you were huddled under the blankets with quill, watching a bad rom-com, it hit you. you felt like an idiot for not considering it earlier, but it really did make sense. the weird cravings, the sudden mood swings, and a feeling that had nothing to do with gravity. the symptoms were all pointing to one thing.

the emotions hit quickly, and they're everywhere. dread, at first. like your stomach drops, and your breath escapes you. there's something else, after. a quick jump of your heart, maybe excitement. anticipation. hope.

you could see it in your head, a little world with quill. a little family. a small child running around the house, laughing and playing with him, perfectly fitting between both your arms. it made you feel so full. and then, fear sets in.

your hand was in his, and you curled your fingers, watching as he paused the movie. he always noticed, always knew when something was on your mind.

"what's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and quiet.

"i think i know why i'm sick," you said, your voice barely a whisper. you could feel your heart hammering against your ribs.

you expected him to be confused. to ask what you meant. maybe even a joke. but quill's face didn't change, just a slow blink as he waited for you to continue.

"i… my period's been late," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "and i've been so tired, and emotional, and the nausea…" your voice trailed off, and you pulled your hand away. you were scared to look at his face. scared of what you might see.

you expected him to freeze. to leave. but he didn't. he just pulled you back, his thumb tracing a small circle against your skin. "do you want to get a test?" he asked, his voice still low and steady. "i- i mean, that's what people should do, right?"

"you aren't angry?" you asked, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

his brows pulled together in a soft confusion. "why would i be angry?"

"not freaking out, either?"

"no, i am," he admitted, a small, genuine smile on his face. "but i know us. we'll be okay. i'm just… didn't really see that one coming. and maybe a little scared. but i'm here."

you looked at him, truly looked at him, and you could see the truth in his eyes. there was no judgment there, just a deep, calming love. a silent promise that whatever came next, you wouldn't face it alone.

"also," he was quiet for a beat, vulnerability in his eyes. "i wouldn't mind. we could figure it out together. it's your choice, always." quill kisses the top of your forehead. "either way, 'm not goin' anywhere. you hear?"

"yeah. yeah, i do. i wouldn't mind either," you whisper, letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding. his gentle worry melts into the most beautiful, goofiest smile you've ever seen.

"we'd have the fuckin' coolest baby ever."

"a baby? oh, for crying out loud," rocket's voice echoes from the hallway. "well, at least you ain't dyin'."

[quillism]

hi darl ur blog is phenomenal !!! ive been in love with peter since forever n hardly anyone gets on board the hype train with me :(( so im beyond happy to see ur writing n how much u have been posting ur efforts are not going unnoticed n u are so appreciated !!! ok so i have a request bcuz i believe u are accepting them soo i love the idea of a domestic earth life with him post vol3 so kinda based off ur cutie recent post or like a following thing if u would like !!! cooking with peter.. but both are completely stumped by all the terran equipment so its fluffy domestic arguing n silliness? again i love ur blog with everything in me its clear how much u love him with how accurately u write him so thank u for ur service !!!

SWEETHEARTS. ft. peter quill.

note. ✶ omg ilysm you beautiful being i will happily board the hype train with you !! ahh i do love him so much, i'm so glad you like reading these as much as i like writing them + enjoy <3

sum. ✶ domestic life with your boyfriend, as you try to navigate modern technology with him. he's rage-bait final boss but i love him anyways. tell me he doesn't have the dirtiest mind ever

"i… don't know how this works."

"what do you mean? you build whole-ass spaceships, but you can't figure out how to pre-heat an oven?" you glance up from the bowl you're whisking, a look of pure disbelief on your face. you squint back at your batter-covered phone, a frown creasing your brow.

peter quill's arms are crossed as he snorts, a smug grin playing on his lips. "fine, then, you go ahead, sweets."

"i have to do everything myself, don't i?" you sigh, rolling your eyes. you step toward the oven, your eyes scanning the settings. for a solid two seconds, you feel a surge of confidence—until you realize you have absolutely no idea how to work it, either.

he looks even more pleased with himself now, but it's hard to take him seriously with a dusting of flour on his nose and cheeks. "see? it ain't me this time!"

"this time," you chide, pointing a finger at him. "remember ten minutes ago when you tried to crack that egg?" he winces at the memory of the two of you meticulously picking out shell fragments.

"hey, focus on the present, baby." he's got that boyish, mischievous grin, and you can't lie, it makes your heart melt a little. in true peter quill fashion, he ruins the moment by pinching your cheeks together and blowing a raspberry.

you smack his hands away and grab the phone from the counter. he laughs as you almost drop it, your face flushing as you mumble something about the butter making it slippery. moments later, he slips on a puddle of spilled egg yolk on the floor, and you decide to call it even.

"i can see you, babe," you say, trying your best to suppress a smile and failing miserably. you’ve finally managed to figure out the stupid piece of technology, and the oven is pre-heating to 350°f.

quill shakes his head, spooning another half-bite of brownie batter into his mouth. "you can't see nothing."

"you're going to get salmonella."

"i spent almost all of last year fighting crazy alien dudes," he says, waving you off dismissively. "pretty sure i can handle a stomach ache."

you hoist yourself onto the kitchen counter, swinging your legs. "fine, but don't come whining to me later."

"i got different plans, and they don't include me whining—"

"peter! can you keep it in your pants?" he laughs at the way your eyes widen, completely caught off guard. no matter how long you've been together, you doubt you'll ever get used to that.

he steps between your legs and presses a kiss to your cheek. "aw, but you make it so hard." in the name of peace, you ignore the innuendo, pulling him closer.

"you've got a little… well, you've got it all over you," you trail off, tilting your head to inspect the flour and batter on his face.

he beams, teasing, "lick it off."

you pull away, a look of mock horror on your face. "i'm not licking plain flour and raw eggs off of you." his expression turns to one of faux hurt.

"i would do it for you."

"jesus christ."

eventually, the two of you get the brownies in the oven, and they come out pretty okay. in one piece, at least, and quill is proud of them. even if he didn't really help, and only made the process a little longer. as always, he meant well. and it was hard to stay annoyed at him, especially for more than five minutes at a time. he'll talk to you all smooth, and you'll forget what you were even mad about.

"these ain't half bad," he says, curled up beside you on the couch. you press a chaste kiss to his lips, humming in agreement.

"mm-hmm, considering this is our first time. they're sweet."

"you're sweet," he murmurs, catching your lips again before you get too far.

[quillism]

LOVESICK. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ post-guardians!au, domestic life on earth with peter. it's implied that you're terran/younger than him. fluff, kissing, sex jokes. what i would give for him :(

"that's my shirt," peter quill says, squinting at you from the doorway. he leans against the frame, music playing from a radio in the background. you're sprawled on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through channels on the television, a grin threatening to break through your careful composure.

"i have no idea what you're talking about," you say, crossing your arms and refusing to meet his eyes.

"right," he says, a low drawl in his voice as he moves behind you, resting his chin on the top of your head. "your 'i ♡ milfs' shirt."

a giggle slips past your lips, and you lean into his touch. "it totally could be."

"'s fine. you look sexy in my clothes," he teases, ruffling your hair. you swat his hand away. "even more so when you're not in them."

he laughs as a blush creeps up your neck, pressing a kiss to your temple. "you should get a dilf one so i can steal it. i wanna represent."

"what? i literally don't even have kids—"

"yet. wait 'til i'm done with you."

quill grimaces, taking a half-step back. "i'm not liking the fact that there are two ways to take that. also, i ain't that old."

"is that a gray hair i see?" you gasp dramatically, your hands flying to your mouth.

his hands instantly shoot up to his head, his eyes wide with shock. "seriously? where?"

when he sees you wheezing for air, he tackles you down onto the cushions. you squeal as he tickles your sides, trying to kick him away. "p—peter! i'm sorry!" you yelp, and he finally lets go, dropping down beside you.

"that's what i thought," he says, a smug grin on his face. "besides, i doubt any old man can make those pretty little noises you do."

still catching your breath from his attack, you chuck a pillow at him. he catches it with ease, the smirk on his face growing wider. the radio buzzes with static before a new song kicks in, and his eyes light up with recognition. without warning, he pulls you up, and you stumble into his arms.

"you gonna dance with me?" he beams, giving you a cheesy smile.

"you gonna give me a choice?" you retort, but the smile on your own face gives you away.

"nah," he murmurs, his hands sliding around your waist and pulling you flush against him. your arms wrap around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and you rest your head against his chest.

with his nose buried in your hair, he can smell your strawberry shampoo and the candied scent of your perfume. his heart rate quickens, but if you notice, you don't say anything. in your arms, he's never felt so safe. you're not so much dancing as you are swaying to a slow, steady rhythm.

you lift your head, looking up at him through your lashes. "hi," you murmur.

he echoes, "hi." he kisses you softly, not holding you delicately because you're fragile, but because you're sacred. he's not sure how deserving of that he is. you're a warmth against him that knocks all coherent thoughts from his head. you whisper, "i love you," against his lips, and he drinks the words up like a man who's been starved.

it gets rocky sometimes, but it's real. it's not perfect, but then again, he's found that the most beautiful things rarely are. to quill, loving you is the easiest thing he's ever done, because it feels like he was meant to do it all along.

[quillism]

do u take reqs? 💓💓💞💞

sure ! feel free to send them in ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[quillism]

SINCE YOU'VE BEEN GONE. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ in which peter doesn't remember you anymore. angst, hurt/comfort, just bittersweet. was thinking about no way home and there's literally no context or background for this just brain-worms oops

the bar was a dive, and not something you'd ever call classy. the air hung with the faint hum of terrible pop music and the sharp, rhythmic clinking of cheap glass. there were maybe three other people scattered around the place, all of them lost in their own worlds.

you’d only been here twice before, and both times it had been with peter quill. for some reason, he had loved this place. and you, in turn, had always grown to love the things he did. now, without him, being here felt completely pointless.

your eyes swept over the dim space, taking in how small and empty it was. and then you saw him. you hadn't come here with the intention of seeing him. you had just let your feet lead you, and they had brought you to this place, to him.

it was quill, all right. your peter. he was sitting at the bar, taking a long sip of the lukewarm beer they always served here. he wasn’t facing you, but you could still see how his hair was slightly tousled at the back. all you wanted was to reach out and run your fingers through it.

before you could stop yourself, you were sliding onto the barstool next to him, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. "hi," you said, your voice barely a whisper.

he turned, pulling an earbud from his ear. quill gave you a smile, but it wasn't the one you knew—the one that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. this one was practiced, reserved for picking up girls. "hey there," he said smoothly.

"what are you listening to?" you asked, the words feeling a little breathless. he looked the same, with those soft green eyes. he sounded the same—charming, a little roguish. but it wasn't the same. not really.

"oh, uh, just… i mean, you probably won't know it, but it's 'since you've—'"

"'been gone'?" you finished for him, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. you weren't even supposed to be here, much less talking to him. he wasn't supposed to remember you again. "by rainbow?"

his eyes grew brighter, and he tilted his head, a genuine smile now playing on his lips. "yeah. you know 'em?"

"sure, yeah. i was… close," you paused, the word feeling all wrong on your tongue, "with someone who likes them."

quill nodded in approval, swirling the remaining beer in his cup. "damn, well, i bet they were fun."

"like you wouldn't believe," you said, a genuine smile spreading across your face. your chest felt lighter than it had in a long time. "missing anyone in particular?" you asked, your eyes trailing down to his worn zune.

"actually, yeah," he shrugged, pressing his lips together.

you weren't sure what answer you had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. "huh. who?"

he looked hesitant for a moment, unsure. "i don't know. i just… have that feeling." you tore your gaze away from him, from the raw honesty laced in his features.

"i've got that same feeling, too," you admitted, your voice soft and fragile. there was a sting in the back of your eyes, but you didn’t know if you had any tears left to cry.

quill was quiet for a moment before offering you an earbud. "wanna miss 'em together?"

slowly, you nodded and accepted the earbud. he rewound the song, and for a fleeting moment, it really did feel just like before. "i'm quill, by the way."

softly, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "it's nice to meet you, quill."

[quillism]

IT'S A GOOD THING I'M NOT A GOOD GIRL. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ peter discovers kinks he didn't know he had. gúnplay, rough + unprotected sex. kind of unhinged but the voices made me do it

"holy shit, you're fucking nasty."

peter quill grins, but there's no real disgust in his voice.

there can't be, not when he's getting off on this as much as you are. the cold shaft of his gun is stuffed up inside you, his fingers wrapped around the butt and his thumb brushing the trigger. of course, he's not that stupid; it's not loaded, but where's the fun in telling you that?

"peter," you whine, drawing out the syllables of his name. your nails dig into the muscles of his back, leaving behind red, crescent-shaped marks. the metal of the barrel is cool against your swollen clit, slick and shiny with your own wetness.

honestly, he's honored you trust him enough to do this. it makes his heart (and his dick) throb, leaving him a little dizzy in the head. a low, smug laugh rumbles in his chest. "who knew you were kinkier than me, doll? can't say i've done this before." he leans down, sinking his teeth into your lower lip, before his tongue slides over the spot.

"really not complaining, though," he clarifies, his jaw clenching as he looks at you—all laid out and pretty, just for him. god, the things you do to a man. he pulls the firearm out of you, and your breath hitches at the sudden, unwelcome emptiness.

you're hot all over, and all you can think about is how badly you want him. he adores when you get like this, desperate and glossy-eyed. when you can't even form words, and the only thing you can remember is his name.

quill brings the barrel to his lips, groaning at the saccharine taste of you. he moves it to the side of your head, pressing the muzzle into your hair. your pupils dilate, like this is any crazier than before, and he wants to memorize that look forever.

his free hand grips your waist, holding you in place. a little less than gently, he pushes into you, letting out a curse. he's going through his mental list of favorite music artists, in alphabetical order, just to keep from cumming instantly.

he loves the noise you make, too, when you can feel every slow drag of his tip. "you keep clenching around me like that, i'm not gonna last too long," he grunts, his voice hoarse.

you mumble something—maybe a half-assed apology—but it doesn't really matter. either way, he's keeping you here all night.

he's just as fucking nasty.

[quillism]

SUMMER'S MEMORIES SLIP BETWEEN FINGERS LIKE STAINED SILK. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ peter's tired of losing people, but it's like death follows him around. angst, death, mouring/grief. i'm sick oh my beautiful baby </3

as a kid, peter quill once heard that dead people looked like they were sleeping. he'd find out later that wasn’t true. at least, not in his experience.

his mom, who'd fallen to cancer, didn't look like she was sleeping in her white-walled hospital room smelling of disinfectant. neither did yondu, the man he'd come to accept as a father. though, the flowers and trinkets next to yondu's body did a pretty good job of bringing some color to his dulling blue face.

and you. his greatest, gentlest love. the girl of his dreams who poured sunshine into every dark corner of his life. you never took a thing from him, just gave, and gave, and gave. until you gave too much, taking a risk for him that wasn't really a risk, but a gunshot straight to the chest.

he can still remember the day you met. he doubts he'll ever forget, actually. it was a cheap, dimly lit bar, and you gave him the benefit of the doubt—something people rarely did for him. most people took one look at his cocky demeanor and decided he wasn't worth the trouble. but you did, and he fell in love at first sight, something he never thought was possible.

he remembers hitting you with a horrid pick-up line, and you just giggled. to this day, he's not sure if it was the alcohol that did it, but he's forever grateful for it. it was summer, he thinks, or something close to it. he remembers the smell of the breeze and the way the flowers bloomed. and the way you walked into his life, with no warning of how beautifully devastating it could be.

you waited for him, for a long time, too. waited as he got his shit together, waited for him to let you in, waited for him to love you the best he could. you were perfect. laughing at his terrible jokes, dancing with him to all his favorite songs, and thinking his off-key singing was endearing.

maybe you were too perfect for this world. too big, too bright. too beautiful that the universe grew envious and took you away. now, everything feels a little less lively. the stars don’t shine as much, and his mixtapes just don't sound the same. the memory of summer has dissolved in his mouth, and he can't remember what it tasted like anymore.

yeah, he's pretty sure, dead people just looked dead.

[quillism]

I FIND YOU AT THE END OF EVERY LOVE SONG. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ how peter quill meets you for the first time. non-guardians!au. fluff. shy petey agenda !!

peter quill who meets his soulmate at a bus stop. he’s got his headphones on, seated on a patterned, itchy seat inside, paying half-attention to new people spilling in and taking up the seats around him.

he turns his eyes to the window, looking at a brick house right outside. you’re looking through the glass of your living room, seated comfortably on your couch, your gaze locked with his. a small smile plays on your lips.

after a moment, you tilt your head and mouth, “what are you listening to?”

confused, quill holds up his phone, the screen displaying his favorite '70s pop song. your eyes get wide and bright, and you show him yours. his expression matches yours, and a grin stretches across his face as he realizes you're listening to the same song.

before he knows it, you're pulling your front door open and jogging down the driveway. you squeeze past people to fit into the bus, dropping into the seat next to him just as the doors slide shut, your shoulders bumping into his. “hi,” you breathe.

quill echoes the same, a soft dusting of pink settling on his cheeks. “hi.”

before he knows it, he's in love.

[quillism]

CAN'T KEEP MY HANDS OFF YOU. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ he loves touching you, in any way possible. smut, unprotected sex. cóck-warming. this was supposed to be fluff, but i got carried away. a little. #unapologetic.

something about peter quill and how he loves physical touch.

it doesn't matter how you're touching him, as long as you are. the simple placement of his hand on the small of your back or your fingers gently carding through his hair is enough to ground him, providing a sense of security he craves.

he was starved for it as a child, maybe, never receiving the affection he needed. now, he has you. and with you, he feels whole, making up for everything he never knew he lacked. he isn't good with words, and this is the best way he knows how to give you love, and he's determined to give you nothing less than his best.

it really does apply to everything. if you're in his room just talking with your head on his chest, it won't be enough. he'll want more. he'll give a soft pat to his lap, a silent invitation, before pulling down the zipper of his pants.

it doesn't take much to convince you—just a flash of his easy grin—and you're sinking down onto his length, a hitch in your breath. sometimes, it won't lead to anything too quickly. he'll just pull you close, lazily kissing down your neck, savoring every whimper you make.

other times, his resolve might not last long at all. he'll buck his hips a little, aching to fuck you. he can't help it. you're soft and warm, a perfect fit for him. you're his girl, and you're seated so pretty on his dick. it would be a crime not to.

"peter, you said you just wanted to cuddle," you might pout playfully, even as you rock against him, grinding slightly.

he'll give you a sheepish grin, reaching up to cup your face. "can't help it, doll. can't ever get enough of you."

and you'll love it just as much as he does.

[quillism]

THE BEST WAYS TO PASS TIME: A GUIDE. ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ getting stuck in a cell with peter, and he's bored. really bored; he wants something to do. friend-with-benefits!au. unprotected + rough sex. not the best place to get freaky. can be read as a part two to this.

being trapped in a holding cell with friends-with-benefits!peter quill is just about the most unbearable situation you can imagine.

"when are we getting the hell outta here?" quill's voice cuts through the silence, a low, bored drawl. he's sitting on the floor, back propped against the rough concrete wall, a few feet away from you.

you just roll your eyes, pulling your knees to your chest. "how am i supposed to know? i'm literally in here with you." you frown, crossing your arms. after a moment, you shake your head and mumble, "they've probably found us by now." it sounds less like a statement and more like you're trying to convince yourself.

"yeah. maybe." a half-beat of silence hangs in the air before he speaks again. "i'm bored."

"jesus, quill. did you expect our kidnappers to provide entertainment, too, along with their wonderful hospitality?" you have to admit, there isn't much to do. the walls are solid, windowless concrete, and the only other thing in the room is a small vent on the ceiling.

"what? i am bored. wanna fuck to pass the time?" he says it so bluntly that your mouth goes dry, a choked-off sound leaving your throat. a hot flush spreads across your skin, and your heart thumps too fast for your liking. no matter how many times you've slept with him, you feel like a nervous virgin all over again when he brings it up.

you duck your head, exclaiming, "quill! you can't just say that!"

he just grins, slow and smug. "relax, sweets. just joking, probably." you aren't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved. you look up, and your eyes meet his for a second before dropping down… to the obvious tent in his pants.

"are you—? seriously? here?"

"don't give me that look," he says, with an infuriatingly normal tone. "you're a pretty girl, and i'm just a simple man."

you make a face, as if his antics couldn't possibly interest you, but you can't stop your thighs from involuntarily squeezing together. and of course, he notices. "what is wrong with you?" you mumble.

but really, what's wrong with you? because not even five minutes later, he has you folded into a brutal mating-press against the hard floor, his fingers digging deep enough into your hips that you know they'll leave bruises.

the concrete is rough against your back, and you're pretty sure you'll have a kink in your neck later, but right now, with the way he's fucking you, you honestly don't care.

"q—quill," you whimper, your eyes glassy. with every hard thrust, the tip of his cock brushes your cervix, turning you into a moaning, breathless mess.

"nah, princess," he murmurs, dragging his tongue across your lower lip. "call me peter. feels right when i'm rearranging your guts."

[quillism]

ENEMIES-TO-LOVERS ARC? ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ peter almost gets everyone killed; what better way to work it out... than to fuck it out? friends-with-benefits!au. smut. rough/angry sex, banter (just him rage-baiting), no use of protection.

friend-with-benefits!peter quill, expect you're not friends. not even close. heavy on the love-hate relationship.

"fuck you," you hiss, teeth gritted. "you almost got us all killed. don't fly the ship if you're just going to crash it into everything."

he snickers, leaning in close. "first of all, i'm going to keep flying it. second, that was clearly rocket. third," he says, pressing a wet, hungry kiss to your lips, "shut up."

his hands are already moving, one a tight grip on your waist, the other fumbling with the zipper of his pants. "oh my god. it was you, too, asshole. get your testosterone in check."

a lazy, smug smile spreads across his face. "you love my testosterone." all you can manage is a slightly disgusted face, but you can't be blamed for being a little distracted right now.

quill's messy, he always has been. it's been like this for as long as you can remember. for as long as this tangled thing between you has been going on. he stumbles across the room with you, knocking over everything in his path—knick-knacks off the dresser, a fresh pile of laundry on the beat-up couch. he drops you onto the bed, shoving your panties aside with a single, rough movement.

he leaves marks everywhere, hickeys and soft red bruises blooming on your skin. it's a possessive kind of claim, like he knows you'll have no way of hiding them in the morning. he loves seeing them the next day, a shit-eating grin on his face every time he catches a glimpse.

he curses, a deep groan from his chest, as he pushes into you. the stretch is immediate, and a whine escapes your throat. "p—peter," you moan, your nails digging into his back, leaving crescent-shaped indents. he gives you no time to adjust, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in.

"shit, princess. always forget how tight you are." his brows are furrowed in concentration as he angles your thighs higher, hitting that perfect spot. "you're almost tolerable when you're all fucked out like this."

"f—fuck you," you repeat, but all he does is laugh.

"what do you think i'm doing?"

yeah, you really hate quill. you might love him a little, too.

[quillism]

...MASS-PRODUCE? ft. peter quill.

sum. ✶ poorly sneaking around the ship with peter quill. smut, unprotected sex. #need this man bad.

thinking about how hot it would be to sneak around with peter quill.

getting time alone with him is nearly impossible, especially aboard the milano. everyone is always in the way, doing one thing or another. rocket's constantly peeking in every nook and cranny, trying to find (steal) some spare parts, and drax can't mind his own business to save his life.

the ship is big, but it’s not that big. there's not enough room to be left alone for even a moment. but that’s okay, because quill has no problem making time.

"someone's gonna hear us, peter," you whisper, but it's less of a stern warning and more of a soft moan. "o—or see us."

he shrugs, that shit-eating grin plastered across his lips. "so let 'em." he has you pressed against a wall in a dusty storage room that doesn't even have a lock. "could be kinda hot, if you think about it."

"it could be mortifying, you asshole." he doesn't seem to care, though. he's pressing open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, his hands trailing lower and lower until he’s gently tugging down your pants, giddy that you're complying.

quill flips you around, your cheek pressed against the cool metal of the wall. "mortifying, huh? why're you so wet for it, then?" you want to curse him out, but you figure the longer this banter goes on, the longer it'll take for him to get on with it.

he bottoms out, and it takes a second for you to adjust to his size, a gentle whimper leaving your mouth. he kisses your shoulder, praising you, "oh, you're s'good for me. taking me so, so well, sweets."

"peter," you breathe, your breath hitching. you clench around him, and he groans into the crook of your neck.

"won't last long at all if you keep up like that," he mutters. his thrusts are rough, and if it weren't for him physically holding you up, you wouldn't be able to stay upright. the slams against your hips are brutal, almost cruel. quill's finger finds your clit, and he teases you with slow, deliberate circles.

you come twice before he does, filling you with a hot stickiness. haphazardly pulling on your clothes, you stumble out with him, hickey-covered and giggling.

you don't have time to shrink in embarrassment behind quill before you notice rocket standing there, his face pinched in disgust.

"how about this," he gags, "next time you wanna mass-produce somewhere, you don't do it in where we keep all the fuckin' equipment?"