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?"
❝ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 ❞ R.R ( guardians of the galaxy )
pairing rocket raccoon & fem! teen! reader 🪽.
synopsis 𖥧 rocket is a genius, a mastermind criminal, a hell of an inventor, he does not need to be the human kid's favourite... or so he tells himself.
content 𖥧 fem/afab reader, reader is a teen (15-18), reader is human like Peter.
💬 : i need to hold him in my arms and squish him like a plushie fr
🏷 : @mavixgirl
The air on the artificially-constructed world of Kalos-IV was a peculiar thing, a permanent, climate-controlled twilight that tasted faintly of copper and recycled ozone. It was the kind of place where legitimate business went to die a quiet death, and illegitimate business thrived in the cacophonous, neon-lit chaos that took its place. The market, known only to those who needed to know it as the “Bazaar of a Thousand Regrets,” was a sprawling, multi-leveled labyrinth of stalls, temporary structures, and repurposed cargo containers. It was the exact sort of place where a well-meaning Nova Corps officer would tell you to never, ever go, and the exact sort of place where the Milano’s crew found themselves at least once a quarter for supplies that couldn’t be found anywhere else.
You’d been walking for what felt like hours. The initial thrill of seeing the impossible array of alien species—hulking, four-armed Brinaris, hissing, translucent Yautja, and squat, fur-covered Vellusi—had long since given way to a bone-deep weariness. Your feet ached in your boots. The constant press of bodies, a tide of strange textures and smells, was exhausting. Peter was up ahead, his red leather jacket a familiar beacon in the crowd as he chatted with Drax about something you couldn’t quite hear over the din. Gamora walked beside you, her posture a study in coiled alertness, her eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced ease of a former assassin.
And then there was Rocket.
He was trying to navigate the forest of legs, his small, furry form a stark contrast to the towering aliens that surrounded him. He was grumbling, a constant, low-level stream of profanity directed at the shins of a group of oblivious, six-legged Lax’thorians who had just blocked his path for the third time. His ears were flat against his head, his tail twitching with irritation. He was a master engineer, a brilliant tactician, a being capable of building a bomb that could crack a small moon, but here, in the Bazaar of a Thousand Regrets, he was a creature of shin-height, constantly jostled and overlooked.
You watched him for a moment longer, a familiar, fond ache settling in your chest. It was the same feeling you got when you saw him doze off after a long job, his small body curled up on a pile of scrap metal in the Milano’s cargo bay, or when he’d get so caught up explaining the intricate workings of a new gun that his voice would lose its usual cynical edge and become animated, bright. He was, in your opinion, the most incredible person—raccoon, person—you’d ever met.
Another alien, a massive, lumbering creature with tusks the size of your forearm, jostled Rocket, nearly sending him sprawling. The sharp, angry yelp that escaped him was your final cue.
Without a second thought, you broke away from Gamora’s side. You moved through the crowd with a singular focus, bending at the waist as you reached him. Your arms slid around his small, tense body, and in one fluid motion, you scooped him up.
“Wha- HEY!” Rocket’s protest was immediate, a startled, indignant yelp. For a split second, he was a whirlwind of fur and panic, his claws twitching instinctively. “Put me down! What in the- I was FINE! I had it under control! I was about to bite that guy’s ankle clean off!”
But you were already settling him against your chest, cradling him like a very bristly, very argumentative baby. You held him securely, one arm beneath him, the other wrapped around his back, mindful, as you always were, to keep your hand away from the base of his tail and to not put any pressure on his ears. He was warm and surprisingly solid.
You looked down at him, a sleepy, utterly unbothered smile playing on your lips. The exhaustion of the long day had softened your features, and there was a gentle, dreamy look in your eyes. “Now you won’t get pushed around,” you said, your voice soft, meant only for him. “Or stepped over. I don’t mind carrying you.”
He froze, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come. This had happened before. Twice, actually. Once on a chaotic spaceport on Tivanus, and once during a particularly long trek through a muddy swamp planet. Both times, he had grumbled, he had protested, he had insisted he was perfectly capable of walking on his own four paws, thank you very much. And both times, he had ended up silent and still in your arms, lulled by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat and your warmth.
This time was no different. His ears, which had been flattened in annoyance, began to relax. His tail, which had been lashing, gave a final, half-hearted flick and then curled loosely around your wrist. He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the sleeve of your jacket, but the tension in his small frame was melting away by the second. It was impossible to stay angry while being held like this. You were so warm.
He’d never admit it, but it was a heat he craved. Humans, he’d discovered, ran warmer than most humanoid species. And sleepy humans? Sleepy humans were like portable space heaters. And you, a young human, were the warmest of all. Your body was smaller, he’d reasoned to himself the first time this happened, so the heat was just more concentrated. A perfect, fur-sink-into-it warmth. And the smell. He’d never mention that, either. It wasn’t perfume or cologne, none of that chemical garbage. It was just… you. The soft, sweet scent of vanilla from that stupidly expensive body soap you liked, mixed with the spicier, warmer scent of gingerbread from the shampoo Peter always made sure to stock for you.
He let out a long, slow breath, his body going limp against you. The cacophony of the market faded to a dull roar. The press of the crowd no longer mattered. Your arms were a safe harbor, your chest a soft, warm pillow. His eyes grew heavy. The rhythmic sway of your walk, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, it was all too much. He was tired. Tired from the job, tired from navigating a galaxy that wasn’t built for his size, tired from pretending he didn’t like this. His eyes closed. His little paws, which had been braced against your arm, relaxed and curled inward. Within minutes, he was asleep.
He drifted back to consciousness an hour later, slowly, like surfacing through warm water. The first thing he registered was the continued, gentle rocking motion of your walk. The second was the soft fabric of your jacket against his cheek. The third was the sound of voices. Gamora, to his left, and you, to his… everywhere. He was still cradled in your arms.
He kept his eyes firmly shut. Groot was back on the Milano, busy with growing in his new pot, which meant no one was going to tattle on him for being awake. He could just… stay here. Just for a little while longer. He burrowed his face a fraction of an inch deeper into the crook of your arm, feigning the deep, boneless sleep of the truly exhausted.
“…do find some similarities,” you were saying. Your voice was a low, sleepy murmur, and he felt the words vibrate through your chest, a soothing hum against his fur. “The sense of humor is… I mean, I think a lot of it is just human. It’s the same kind of stupid. And the music thing, obviously.”
“Yes,” Gamora’s voice was a smooth, thoughtful contralto. “I have noticed that Quill’s nostalgia is a powerful force. It is… endearing. At times.” There was a pause. “Do you find comfort in it? His familiarity? Being of the same race, in a place so far from your home world?”
You were quiet for a moment. Rocket felt your grip on him tighten almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, I do,” you said finally. “It’s nice to have someone who just… gets it. Without having to explain. The little things, you know? Like what a dog is, or why Christmas is a big deal. He makes it less… lonely.”
“Then he is your favorite,” Gamora stated, and there was a hint of a knowing smile in her voice. “Among us. It is only natural.”
Rocket felt a strange, cold knot tighten in his stomach. Favorite. Of course the kid’s favorite was Quill. Same planet, same stupid music, same stupid… everything. It was logical. It was fine. He didn’t care. He was a master criminal, a genius, he didn’t need to be some human kid’s favorite. The knot tightened further. It wasn’t a nice feeling.
And then your arms tightened around him. It was a subtle movement, but to Rocket, who had his eyes closed and his senses attuned to you in a way he refused to analyze, it was as clear as a shout. You had stopped walking.
“Peter?” you said, and there was a strange note in your voice. A note of… confusion? Disbelief? “No.”
Rocket’s ears, hidden against your chest, twitched.
“No?” Gamora echoed, her voice genuinely curious now.
“No,” you repeated, firmer this time. “My favorite is Rocket.”
The cold knot in Rocket’s stomach evaporated, replaced by a sudden, electric jolt. A surge of something hot and fierce and utterly wonderful shot through him. His heart, which he was sure had just stopped, started beating again, double-time. He was intensely grateful his face was hidden.
“Rocket?” Gamora’s voice was a mix of surprise and dawning amusement. “Not Quill?”
“Rocket,” you confirmed. Your voice was soft, but there was a bedrock of conviction in it. You looked down at the 'sleeping' bundle in your arms, and though Rocket kept his eyes closed, he could feel your gaze. It was like a physical warmth. “He’s my favourite. He’s the coolest person I know.”
Rocket’s tail, which had been lying limply around your wrist, gave an involuntary twitch and curled more around it. Coolest. She said coolest.
“I mean, he’s a raccoon, I know,” you continued, a small, fond smile in your voice, “but he’s like… the coolest friend I have. All of his inventions are incredible. Do you know he built a bomb once that could’ve blown up a mountain? And he made a toaster? Do you know how difficult is it to make a toaster? He’s a genius. A grumpy, sometimes bite-y genius, but a genius. And he’s loyal. He’d never, ever leave anyone behind. How could he not be my favorite?”
Rocket was beaming. It was a full-body experience. If anyone had been looking at the small, furry creature cradled in your arms, they would have seen a sleeping raccoon whose mouth had curved into a distinct, smug little smile. His mind was already racing ahead, cataloging the perfect moment to bring this up. Later. On the ship. When Quill was being particularly insufferable. He’d just saunter up, maybe clean his claws nonchalantly, and drop the bomb. "The kid says I’m her favourite, you know. Said I was the coolest. Which, by the transitive property of coolness, means I am objectively cooler than you. I don’t make the rules, Quill, I just get to rub your face in them." He was going to savor it.
Gamora laughed. It was a low, genuine sound. “I understand completely,” she said. “He is… formidable. In a very small, very angry package. I would pick him over Quill, as well. I would pick anyone over Quill, for that matter.”
“Hey!” Peter’s voice rang out from a few paces ahead. He had turned around, his hands on his hips, a look of mock outrage on his face. “I heard that! I heard both of you!”
“What is it you humans say? ‘No offense’?”
“Hell no!” Peter started walking backward, keeping his eyes on you. “I am taking offense! I am writing this down in my journal, and I am holding this grudge until the day I die! My own species, kid! My own flesh and blood! betrayed by my favorite saying her favorite is the furry gremlin who got me to steal my prosthetic leg that one time!”
Drax, who had been walking patiently beside Peter, looked between him and the group with a placid expression. “I, too, would choose the rabbit,” he stated, his voice a low rumble that carried through the crowd. “His methods, while unorthodox, demonstrate a tactical cunning that Quill sorely lacks. Quill relies on dance-offs and luck. Those are not reliable strategies.”
“His name is Rocket, he’s not a rabbit, and you are all dead to me!” Peter declared, spinning back around and stalking forward with exaggerated indignation.
In your arms, Rocket’s smile had grown so wide it was threatening to split his face. He listened to Peter’s sputtering protests, to Drax’s matter-of-fact insults, to Gamora’s quiet, amused chuckles. He was warm, he was comfortable, he was surrounded by the sounds of his dysfunctional, bickering family, and he was, unequivocally, undeniably, the favorite.
He let out a contented sigh, a tiny sound he was sure no one would hear over Peter’s continued grumbling about “loyalty” and “the sanctity of the human connection.” He shifted slightly in your arms, pretending to be readjusting in his sleep, and buried his face deeper into the soft, vanilla-and-gingerbread scent of your jacket.
He didn’t open his eyes. He wasn’t going to. Not until they were back on the Milano. Not until he’d had at least another hour of this. This, he decided, was his favorite thing. The kid—his kid—was his favorite. And that was a secret he was perfectly fine with everyone knowing, even if he’d never, ever say it out loud. For now, this was perfect. He was right where he belonged.
none, i actually rlly enjoyed writing for quill hello
┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° You were the team’s healer, which is without a doubt the backbone of a team. Always putting yourself at risk to keep everyone in fighting shape. Peter had seen you patch up the team dozens of times, but for some reason, watching you fuss over Strange—checking his wounds extra carefully, giving him a warm smile—rubbed him the wrong way.
“Oh wow, must be nice,” Peter muttered, watching you press a hand to Strange’s shoulder, your healing energy glowing softly. “Get saved once and suddenly you’re someone’s favorite patient.”
┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° He tried to play it off, acting like he didn’t care, but Rocket saw right through him. “You got somethin’ to say, Quill?” Rocket smirked. “Or you just gonna glare at the wizard all day?”
“I’m not glaring,” Peter scoffed, arms crossed. “I’m just… observing. Pretty closely. For tactical reasons!”
┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° You didn’t even notice Peter sulking at first. But when he started getting more reckless—jumping into fights he shouldn’t, taking unnecessary hits—you realized something was off.
“Quill, what the hell are you doing?!” you scolded, rushing to heal him after he took a particularly nasty hit.
┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “Oh, you’re worried about me now?” he shot back, wincing as you worked. “Thought I had to be a fancy magic man to get that kind of VIP treatment.” It took you a second to realize—he was jealous. Adorably, stupidly jealous.
┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “Peter,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I focus on healing people who need it the most. Strange almost got blasted saving me. I was just—”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he muttered. “Big damn hero, saved the pretty healer, got all the attention.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling a little. “You know, if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” That shut him up real quick.
additional note ! this request was meant to be platonic so i hope i kept it that way 😭
synopsis: a collection of moments where adam overhears things you say and takes them entirely the wrong way- because sarcasm, flirting, and dramatic one-liners just arent part of his programming. (he's learning... slowly... and falling for you way faster than he should)
w/c: 1k
1. "I'd let you ruin my life."
w/c: 670
You're sitting on your knees on the floor of the medbay, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across your cheek as you try to rewire one of the medbots Cosmo said went haywire after a power surge.
"Bet it's just a fried regulator," you mutter, wrist-deep in tangled wires. "Again."
Next to you, a stranger- tall, charming smile, definitely not from around here- is leaning against the wall, watching you work with an amused sort of interest.
"You always this good with your hands?" he asks.
You scoff without looking up. "Buy me dinner first."
He laughs, warm and easy, and it catches you off guard. "Sure thing."
You then glance up, and for a split second, he looks... intrigued. "You know, I might just let you ruin my life," you joke, teasingly. "Honestly, you've got the face for it."
It's stupid, lighthearted, the kind of thing people say when the work is boring and someone's flirting just enough to make the afternoon go by faster.
You don't mean it. Obviously.
But someone else hears it.
You don't notice Adam in the doorway until the other guy glances past you and stiffens slightly. You turn, wires still in hand, and see him standing there- quiet, golden, unreadable.
Your breath catches.
"Adam? You okay?"
He doesn't speak for a moment. But then he steps forward, a little too tense. "I was looking for you."
The stranger shifts, clearly picking up on the change in the air. "She's a bit busy, mate."
Adam's eyes flick to him briefly. "She's always busy... mate," he replies, too soft to be rude, but too pointed to be polite.
You hold back a laugh at his attempt of using the word 'mate'. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"
"I just needed to ask you someting," he says, but there's a strange undercurrent in his voice. "But I think I should wait. Since you're... making life decisions."
"Huh?"
He then looks at you, really looks. Like he's not just hearing the words you said but carrying them, weighing them, turning them over until they've become something way heavier than you had ever meant them to be.
"You said you'd let him ruin your life."
"Adam," you blink. "It was a joke."
"It didn't sound funny."
"People say stuff like that all the time," you say, setting the wires down and pushing yourself to your feet. "It's not serious. It doesn't mean anything."
He watches you carefully.
You sigh, brushing your hands on your pants. "It's just flirting."
"I see."
The stranger clearly feels the awkward tension and slips out with a quick "I'll come back later," leaving you and Adam alone in the medbay's quiet.
You look up at him. "You're not mad, are you?"
"No," he says. Then, after a moment, "I would never ruin your life... Just so you know."
You stare at him, your heart stalling a little.
"But if I did," he continues quietly, "it would be by accident. And I'd fix it."
You don't know what to say. The way he says it- it's not a pickup line. It's not a joke. It's not even flirtation.
It's a promise.
He stands there, golden and sincere, and you suddenly realize that the kind of love Adam offers isn't loud or messy or dramatic. It's quiet, carefully, steady. The kind of love that lingers in doorways and pays attention when no one else is looking.
You step closer.
"I wouldn't let anyone ruin my life," you say softly. "Unless it was you."
His brow creases. "But I just said-"
"I know," you interrupt gently. "And that's exactly why."
He exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing just a little.
You smile. "Hey, you wanna help me fix this bot?"
He blinks. "I might ruin it if I do."
You laugh, tugging him down to sit next to you.
"It'll be fine," you say. "But let's start with you just holding the flashlight."
He beams like it's the greatest honor in the galaxy.
And maybe, in some sort of way, it is.
2. "Buy me a drink and I'll love you forever."
w/c: 430
You say it so easily.
One hand on the bar, your chin resting in the other, grinning lazily at the guy beside you. Your voice lifts over the crowd and straight into Adam's ears like it belongs there.
"Buy me a drink and I'll love you forever."
Adam is startled.
He was walking by. That's all. Just passing through, minding his own business, and then bam- those words. That voice. You.
His chest goes tight.
You'll love him... forever? For buying you a drink?
He stops walking. Turns around. Eyes locked on you now. You're still talking to the guy, while the bartender laughs and says, "You always say that."
Adam's frown deepens. Always?
He walks over without thinking.
You see him out of the corner of your eye. "Oh, hey, Adam."
He's already reaching into his pocket.
"Do you want one?" you ask, gesturing to the bar. "I was just getting another-"
"I'll buy it," he says, placing a few Units on the counter. "What do you want?"
You blink. "You don't have to-"
You said if someone bought you a drink, you'll love them forever."
You choke on your own saliva.
"Wait, what?"
He looks down at the credits. "You said it. I heard you, that was the agreement."
"That wasn't an agreement, Adam. It was a joke."
He looks genuinely confused. "But... you said it out loud. In public. With conviction."
You try not to laugh because he's being so serious, and it's honestly kind of adorable.
"I was flirting," you admit softly. "Sort of. But it's just a thing people say when they want a free drink."
Adam tilts his head. "So you don't mean it?"
"Not literally, no."
He goes quiet for a second. "Would you... ever say it to me?"
You blink. "Would I try to get a free drink from you?"
He shrugs, suddenly shy. "Would you ever say that to me? Even if it is not true?"
Your heart stutters in your chest.
You glance at the glowing drink the bartender just set down in front of you. Then back up at Adam, golden and wide-eyed and way too genuine. You notice now that the guy you had been flirting with is long gone- moved on to someone else.
"Only if you let me buy you a drink back," you smile softly.
He immediately slides another handful of Units across the bar.
The bartender raises an eyebrow. "You already paid-"
Adam nods. "One for me as well," he says as he takes the seat beside you. You can't help but smile back.
3. "If I make out with you, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?"
w/c: 280
You're standing in line for boarding at a sketchy shuttle port on a backwater moon, dodging the attention of a very persistent ex who's just spotted you across the terminal.
"Crap. I told him I never wanted to see him again," you hiss under your breath as he waves from the other side of the checkpoint.
Adam looks between you and the guy. "Do you know him?"
"Ugh. Unfortunately." You glance around quickly, then turn to Adam. "Okay, I need a favor."
Adam perks up. "Of course."
"If I make out with you, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?"
He goes very still.
"You want to... create something with me?"
"What? No- make out. Like, kissing. A lot of it. Now."
He frowns. "I'm not quite sure I understand what's required of me, but- if it will help, yes."
You don't have time to explain. Your ex is coming closer. You grab Adam's face and press your mouth to his, and he makes the most surprised noise into your lips like you've just handed him a baby raccoon seeing his first spaceship.
But then-
He leans in, hands gently settling at your waist like he's afraid you might evaporate, and suddenly you're kissing Adam Warlock in a spaceport and he's very good at it for someone who doesn't even know what 'make out' means.
After a moment, he pulls back, blinking down at you. "So... this is pretending?"
"Yep," you say breathlessly, looking away to hide the flustered look on your face.
He pauses. "I don't think I liked that."
You stiffen. "Oh."
"I don't want it to be pretend," he clarifies, completely serious.
Oh.
And now you're the one who's afraid that you might evaporate.
3. "I was in love with you yesterday."
w/c: 320
You're brushing dust off your boots when Adam walks into the same room as you on the ship with his usual golden glow, fresh from some skirmish with the Guardians but not a scratch on him.
"Lookin' good, Warlock," you call, grinning.
He tilts his head. "I was wearing the same thing yesterday."
"Yeah, and I was in love with you yesterday, too. Consistency."
He stumbles over his next words. "You... were?"
You laugh, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. "Relax. I'm kidding. Kinda."
"Kinda?"
You shrug. "Look, I'd sell my soul to be like you."
Adam freezes. Like, full body stillness, eyes wide, soul leaving his own body kind of freeze.
"What?" he says, his voice in a whisper.
You pause, confused. "It's just a saying, Goldie."
"But why would you... give away something sacred? Something eternal? To be like me?"
You blink. "Because you're strong and nice and sweet and also ripped? I mean, come on."
He stares at you like you've just offered to hand him the sun.
"But your soul?" He says, completely shocked.
"Adam." You step closer. "It's not literal."
"Oh." He seems to process this for a moment, then. "Still. Don't say things like that. Not even as a joke."
You look at him softer. "Why not?"
"Because you don't have to give anything up. I'll always be with you. You don't have to trade your soul. I'd love you without you changing a thing. I already do."
Your heart skips like a scratched record. "You... do?"
He nods, eyes still wide and a little unsure. "I think so. And I don't want anything from you except you."
Your lips curve. "Well in that case, I'll keep my soul."
Adam smiles. "Good."
Then he adds, just a little shyly. "Though if you ever wanted to give me your heart, I would be honored."
You grin. "If that's allowed."
And just like that, you're ruined- in the best way.
Type: one-shot; Peter Quill x sister!reader, Avengers x teen!reader (platonic)
Warnings: mentions of loneliness, platonic sibling fluff, post-blip sadness, hurt/comfort/hurt
Spoilers: MAJOR INFINITY WAR/ENDGAME SPOILERS
Notes: just a short comfort thing. And although i love my matt murdock fics, it felt refreshing to write for a different fandom!
As always, love and/or constructive/friendly criticism is welcome and encouraged!
Disclaimers: i do not own GotG, Avengers, their plots, or characters
Word count: 678
“I know we’ve gained a lot, but days like today just remind me of everything and everyone we’ve lost. There are those holes that I feel like nothing can ever fully fill and I hate it, Pete.”
If only Y/n had known then just how much she would lose later…
Y/n lay on one of the beds in the Avengers compound. She heard a scratching sound outside her room before her door opened. The girl didn’t bother turning around to greet her visitor. She never did anymore.
The bedding underneath her pulled a bit before the mattress dipped next to her.
Rocket crossed his arms and looked down at the pathetic teenager below him. He loved the kid - don’t get him wrong, but he wasn’t great with the whole…feelings thing. And he was more the type to work through his pain than sit in it.
“Hey, kid,” he greeted. “‘Bout to head out again. You coming with?” He knew what the answer was going to be, but he was feeling nice enough to offer anyway.
Y/n silently shook her head, still not bothering to face her friend.
Rocket sighed and dropped his arms. He shook his head and turned to jump off her bed again, but he turned to look at Y/n again over his shoulder. “You know I’m not good with this crap…but you really should get out of this room, kid. I don’t know a lot about those guys out there but I can tell they already care about you…maybe try talking to someone…I’ll see you when I get back.” And with that, Rocket jumped off the teen’s bed and left her room, purposefully leaving the door open, hoping one of the others - the Avengers, would see Y/n moping and try to get through to her.
Y/n waited until Rocket’s paws were no longer heard and got up off the bed just long enough to shut her door then flopped onto her side again.
She picked at a loose string on her bed and thought back to things before the “blip.” She thought back to how her brother would usually comfort her in times like these.
Y/n sobbed as Peter held her in a tight but comforting hug. He shushed her quietly and gave her a squeeze before gently directing her until she was laying on her side, her head resting in his lap.
Peter put one hand on her shoulder, running his thumb back and forth over it and used the other to weave through her hair. He carded his fingers through the strands and pushed stray ones behind her ear. As Y/n’s sniffles and quiet sobs continued to fill the room, Peter started humming. His sister’s ears perked at the sound of a certain song from The Five Stairsteps. She couldn’t help the way the corner of her lips turned up ever so slightly despite her depressed state.
The teen closed her eyes and sighed, relishing in the feeling of her brother playing with her hair, and the sweet sound of his voice filling the room. Her sobs ended and only the occasional sniffle remained.
“Try and sleep, princess,” Peter whispered during a pause in the song, still running his fingers through her hair and rubbing her shoulder. “I’ll always be here.”
When he started to sing softly again, Y/n found her eyes sliding closed, her brother’s actions and love for her soothing her to sleep.
Y/n broke out of the flashback, tears painting silver trails down her cheeks, and clicked a button on the tech in her left hand. Soft blue light illuminated her face as a hologram played. She closed her eyes but listened as her brother’s voice sang.
It's been 5 months since you escaped the Kyln prison with Rocket, you two have been... On good terms. You remembered the first conversation you had with him when you managed to escape the Nova Corps.
"Now let's get one rule straight kid, we're not friends, not BFF's, just work partners. Got it ??"
But in hindsight, Rocket also helped you in some ways. Back when you were first taken from Earth, you basically retracted into a shell, not wanting to leave. You were all alone until you met him, it was like a spark reignited within you. It helped you come out of your shell, even if he didn't want to hear the "mushy scut" as he would say.
One evening, you returned to your joint ship after you snuck back to Earth to grab something and get some food, a little reminder of home.
"I'm back, I got you the parts you wanted" You placed a separate bag on the nearby countertop, the metal clanging inside.
Rocket hummed as he walked over, not looking from what he was doing before placing the device down and looking through the bag. "This'll work nicely" he nodded before getting back to it.
You sat by the cockpit and pulled out the old device that you managed to retrieve. Back on earth, you wouldn't go anywhere without it, it had a huge ton of songs on it. The last song you put in it was around January, the month you were kidnapped. You sighed softly as you placed an earbud in as you looked through the songs you've accumulated over the years. Before stumbling onto a song you saved but didn't have the chance to listen to. "Might as well" You pressed play.
Rocket was about to finish up the device he was working on, but brushed it off the first two times before he started getting annoyed. "Look kid, if ya trying to blow this ship up, I'd say pipe down the humming" He sighed.
"What was that ??" You pulled the earbud out and looked over at him, seeing the annoyed expression on his face.
"This stuff is a living hazard, one wrong move or distraction" He emphasised the last word" Then the whole ship is gone, the humming ain't doing us favours" He went back to work.
"Right, sorry" You got up and headed to your bunker, sitting by the window and pressing play as you looked into the cosmos.
You lost track of time as you listened to the song on repeat. You would vibe for a bit and then move on. But the lyrics seemed to resonate with you quite a bit, it was almost describing how... Rocket helped you.
You continued to stare out into the window before feeling a nudge on your knee, looking over to see Rocket.
"You still listening to the song ??" He crossed his arms. "It's been a while"
You looked at the clock and found you'd been sitting there for 2 and a half hours. "Hus, it has been"
You knew Rocket wasn't one to engage with others, even when you tried to tell him about your life on earth, he would either shrug it off or do something else. But you offered him an earbud, seeing if he'll take up the offer.
To your surprise, he sighed and sat up. Placing an earbud into his ear. "Just one song"
That made you smile a bit, so, turning the volume down to a good level, you rewound the song and pressed play. To your surprise, you found his foot tapping to the beat. He quickly stopped as soon as he felt your eyes on him.
"That ain't too bad" He was about to take the earbud out before he stopped himself, lowering his hand down hesitantly. "What else ya got ??"
One song turned into 5, then it turned into 30. Each one you helped break down the lyrics and their meaning. You would keep finding his foot tapping which made you smile mentally, he was enjoying this.
A yawn broke out from your mouth as you looked at the time. "I think we should get some sleep."
"That... first song you played, you never told me about it ??" Rocket handed the earbud back, but stayed close, awaiting your answer.
"It's... about emotional rebirth... How someone could help bring you back to life after you feel... lost... It's why I was listening to it a lot today... Rocket, you've helped me"
Rocket's ear twitched as you said that. "How did I help you ??" He was willing to bite.
"You saved me when I was at my lowest, when no one in the galaxy gave a damn about me, you did..."
He looked at the floor as he thought about what you said. He could've kicked you off the ship by now, and yet you were still with him. Maybe in a way... You're helping him.
"I... tolerate you" He smirked. You shrugged to yourself as he walked off. Maybe that's his way of saying he likes you.
"Night, Rocket" You got up and closed the door and climbed into bed. He really did help bring you back to life.
Romantic Gestures That Peter Quill/Star-Lord Would Do
Pairing: Peter Quill x reader
Fanfiction Masterlist
Marvel Characters & The Romantic Gestures That They Do
Multi Fandom: Romantic Gestures That They Do
Peter Quill, the legendary Star-Lord, is a romantic at heart whose gestures often blend 80's Earth nostalgia with genuine, sometimes clumsy, vulnerability.
Custom Mixtapes: Peter's primary love language is music. He would spend hours meticulously curating a "Zune" or "Awesome Mix" just for you, choosing songs that express the feelings he's too "cool" or nervous to say out loud.
The "Unspoken Thing" Dance: Peter often uses dancing as a way to connect. He’ll pull you into a slow dance in the Milano's galley to a 70's power ballad, even if there’s a mission briefing happening in ten minutes.
Earth Pop Culture Comparisons: Peter would constantly compare you to the heroes of his childhood. Being told you’re "cooler than Kevin Bacon" is the highest praise he can give.
Protective Affection: Peter likes to feel needed. His go-to sleeping position is snuggling you into his side so he can keep you safe, often tracing shapes on your arm or running his fingers through your hair to help you (and himself) relax.
Sharing His Scars: A deeply romantic gesture for Peter is sharing his past. Whether it's telling you stories about his mom, Meredith, or showing you his most prized Earth trinkets, letting you into his "pre-Ravager" life is a sign of ultimate trust.
Space Sightseeing: Peter will take you to the most beautiful, obscure corners of the galaxy—places with nebula clouds that "match your eyes"—just to see your reaction.
Cheesy "Legendary" Flirting: Expect plenty of winks, finger guns, and overly dramatic "Star-Lord" poses. While Peter loves to act like a suave outlaw, he melts the moment you actually reciprocate the affection.
Maybe it was the way you laughed or the way you scrunched your nose. Or could it be the way you looked over at him as he passed by. Could have been what he overheard you saying or just the way you said it. Either way, something had him stop dead in his tracks as he noticed you. It isn't how you look, it's how you feel. He felt like he knew you, but how?
You reminded him of her. Gamora. And without even realizing what he was doing, he took a few steps back and interrupted your conversation. "Hey, I'm sorry to bother you, I..." He didn't even know what to say. "I'm Peter."
"I'm gonna have to call you back." You hung up your phone and awkwardly smiled at him, looking him up and down to see if there was any clue as to why this man backtracked to talk to you. "Nice to meet you Peter? I'm y/n." You extended your hand hesitantly and he gently shook it. "What can I do for you?" Your tone was just the same, it sent shivers down his spine.
"Nothing, no. I'm sorry. I'm being weird, aren't I?" He paused and you nodded. "Right, thought so. You just...you remind me of someone I know and it just...shocked me, is all. I just can't walk away." He explained, ruffling the back of his hair. "I'm not really from here, I've just been wandering. Then I heard you talking and it just felt so familiar." Your brow peaked and he thought this was going badly, but instead you chose to listen.
"If you're new to the area, maybe we can go down the street and I can show you a nice coffee place. I'd be willing to sit with you a while." You offered and his eyes lit up. "You can tell me about whoever it is I remind you of."
