#starmoraweek2017

[bevioletskies]

peter & gamora + parents | guardians of the galaxy vol. 2

You're still young, that's your fault, there's so much you have to know...

[enigma731]

it’s not time to make a change just sit down, take it slowly

[luthientinuviiels]

Starmora Week Day 2 - Hands

*finishes the prompt with 20 minutes left in the day* 

Nailed it.

Peter’s a tactile person - it’s not exactly a secret. He’s the kind of annoyingly touchy person who’ll poke people in the shoulder just because he can, who has to stop and pet whatever dog-like species he sees, who’ll inevitably curl all up on people if they sit next to him on the couch. It’s something Yondu and Kraglin and whoever else didn’t threaten-threaten to kill him on a daily basis on the Eclector learned the hard way, and it’s something his team learns even quicker.

The days spent recovering on Xandar were some long ones, okay?

But for all that Peter is a tactile person, hands, on the other hand (hah)-

The thing is, Peter has a bit of a bad track record with holding hands. Not taking his mother’s hand when it’s all she wanted to do before she died is right at number one on list of Top Ten Worst Things Peter’s Ever Done.

So yeah. Holding hands is a bit of a sore spot for Peter. For someone who’s as horribly clingy and touchy as he is (not his words, but accurate), he’s always been dodgy about taking someone else’s hand. It’s better to avoid the bad memories.

Gamora changes all of that. Drastically.

The first time Gamora and Peter hold hands, he’s fairly certain they’re both going to die. Peter hasn’t put much thought into it beyond the need to keep the stone away from Ronan, but writhing on the ground, his skin burning and charring and flaking away, blind from the all-consuming agony he’s in, it’s not really a question of whether or not he’ll survive, it’s how long it’ll take him to die. Whether he’ll go quickly in a burst of light like Carina did, or he’ll spend the last minutes of life screaming as his skin crumbles away into purple dust, slowly burning away to nothing.

Neither happens.

He’s made it to his feet, somehow, the world a swirling galaxy of nebulas and supernovas around him, and for a brief moment he thinks he’s somehow gotten lucky enough to get one last look at the stars before he goes, gets to spend the last seconds of his life among the glowing galaxies he’s come to call home.

He hears his mother’s voice, the same beloved tones that have haunted him for years, and god, it’s been so, so long since he’s heard her voice, and the thought of joining her takes the sting of dying away-

And then he hears Gamora, fire-forged and scarred but still strong enough to fight back against Thanos, to risk everything for a planet that’s done nothing for her but toss her in prison, Gamora, who makes him want to be different-

He hears his name on her voice, telling him to take her hand-

He does.

By some miracle, they all survive.

 “We’re alive,” Peter says, staring at his hand where he holds it in the air, the pristinely white ceiling of the Xandarian hospital they’ve all been herded into making his skin appear darker than it is.

“As we’ve established ten times now, yes, Peter, we are,” Gamora says, where she’s sitting cross-legged on another bed, examining her sword. Her hair is neatly braided to the side, her skin washed clean of the dirt and blood and practically glowing, her wounds having already healed neatly.

Peter glares at the ragged scrapes and burns covering his own arms, feels the twinge of bruises that litter the rest of his body. Unfair, that’s what this is. But still, for holding an infinity stone…it could be worse.

“Let me marvel at our victory in peace, Gamora,” he says, smiling. He feels Gamora watching him.

“What?” she finally says, after watching him smile like an idiot another minute.

“Nothing,” Peter says, smiling wider. “You just called me Peter.”

“Yes,” Gamora says, caught off guard. “I…did, I suppose. What of it?” she asks, defensively.

“Nothing,” Peter repeats. “It’s just nice.”

“Oh,” Gamora says, quietly. “Well, Quill is too short to adequately express my frustration, and Star-Lord is ridiculous,” she says, louder.

“Ouch,” Peter says, with a huff of laughter. “That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as space,” Gamora says. Peter only shudders at the mention, the memory of his skin turning to ice and lungs compressing an unpleasant one. “I never did thank you for that, did I,” Gamora says, softly.

“Well, I kind of ruined the moment by being a dick,” Peter says. “And you saved my life, so I’d say that covers it.”

“Hm,” Gamora says. She’s still looking at him, her eyes assessing, and Peter takes a moment to hold his hand up again, staring at the skin.

“Here,” Gamora finally says, sliding onto his bed next to him and taking his hand in hers. Peter only sputters, too caught off guard to react properly. “Look,” Gamora says, her fingers tracing lightly over his palm as she shows it too him. “No mark. No trace of purple in sight.”

“Oh,” Peter says, flushing. She’s more perceptive than he’s given her credit for. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks.”

Gamora shrugs, looking down at their hands. She suddenly pulls hers away, as if she’s just realized what she was doing. “We’re alive,” she finally says, looking a little lost.

“Yeah,” Peter says, sitting up next to her, bumping her shoulder lightly. She rolls her eyes at the action, but seems to relax. “We are.”

 Gamora’s not used to holding people’s hands. She’s much more familiar with using her hands to flip them backwards and pin them on the floor, to send her fist splintering into their nose, and other things of such violent nature. She doesn’t do soft.

Well, she didn’t used to. She has friends now, and while she lacks experience with such, she knows that reacting toward them with violence isn’t the way to keep them. So she adjusts, trains herself not to react immediately with violence, not to hold with deadly force. She’s prepared for carrying Groot, tiny and helpless, around the Milano. She’s prepared for friendly sparring with Drax, sending him sprawling on the mat but not following through for the kill. She’s prepared for holding spare parts while Rocket grumbles about the state of their ship, handing him the pieces carefully when he asks.

She’s not prepared for Peter.

She’s not prepared for the casual way he touches people, once he’s gotten their permission - the way he leans over her shoulder to survey the holoscreen with her, how he pokes her lightly in the shoulder to get her attention, how gently he takes her hands in his as he swabs disinfectant over her bloodied knuckles.

She’s not prepared for how reverently he touches her, like she’s the most important thing in his world, instead of the assassin that just cut down well over twenty people in front of him.

But she tries. She learns how to curl her fingers into a fist and bump it lightly against his, how to adjust the wires in the Milano just so that they send out a harmless shock at Rocket when he tries to alter the speed controls. She learns not to dislocate Peter’s shoulder in jerk reaction when he surprises her, how to slide Terran bones back into place without shattering them.

Bit by bit, she re-learns how to trust. For people with a long list of criminal records, it’s not hard. They were all willing to die for each other, after all. So that helps.

The next time Peter and Gamora hold hands is, again, a situation of life or death – though this time it’s just Gamora’s, as opposed to the entire galaxy’s. It’s one of those horribly cliché things, where one person gets knocked off an unreasonably high structure, and the other person just barely manages to grab their hand last-second and stops them from an abrupt death.

Peter has the added bonus of rocket boots, so it’s a little easier.

He catches her ten feet down, grabbing her hand and pulling her up sharply, reaching desperately for her other arm. She doesn’t give it to him, and she looks up at him with a gleam in her eyes.

“Loop around at them!” she yells, pulling her sword out.

Realization dawning, Peter grins sharply, angling his feet so they’re flying straight back at the people that threw her off the cliff. Peter twists his body sharply, using the momentum to swing Gamora out, and she goes flying at them, sword flashing as she stomps one mercilessly into the ground. She backflips off him, almost floating over another’s head, before landing squarely on her feet, slashing him down.

Peter contributes very little, because he’s too busy gaping at her in awe.

He does, however, manage to catch her when she jumps off another’s head calling for him, his hand coming down again to catch hers and pull her up.

“That was awesome, you know that, right?” Peter says, a bit breathlessly.

Gamora smiles. “We make a good team,” she says.

“Hell yeah, we do,” Peter grins.

Gamora’s scared of her hands, sometimes. Her hands have done too much, wrought too much pain and destruction. She’s seen them bloodied, taking lives without flinching. They may not appear so, small and elegant as they are, but her hands are cold and cruel and dangerous. They don’t belong in other people’s hands, fingers soft and gentle.

Peter’s hand are so different than hers. Peter’s hands belong around a blaster, but they also belong on the Milano’s controls, pulling them higher and faster.

Peter’s hands dance on tabletops, tapping out the beat to music. They’re gentle around Groot and quick as they snatch at Rocket. They’re confident as they tinker with the Milano, well-practiced as they find songs on his mixtape. Peter’s hands are fast and dancing, well-practiced at snatching things that don’t belong to him.

Peter’s hands are scarred and littered with callouses, but they’re warm and firm and gentle around Gamora’s, soft against her own modified ones. They’re different in so many ways, the two of them, and that’s not even starting on the color of their skin.

They’re nice differences, though. Gamora likes how warm Peter’s hand are, how he’ll tap out a beat on the back of her hand with his fingers, how he’ll swing their arms when he’s happy. It makes her hands feel a little less dangerous, and a little more like hers.

The next time Peter and Gamora hold hands, it’s far more intimate.

 “It’s called the waltz,” Peter says. “It’s super easy, all you really have to do is count the beat. You can add fancy stuff in if you want, but we don’t have to right now.”

“This looks nothing like the dancing you do,” Gamora says, staring down at their feet, her fingers shifting in his.

“Well, yeah, that’s because this is a dance for two people,” Peter says. “It’s much more…refined, too, I guess. I though you would like that.”

“Maybe I like your ridiculous jumping,” Gamora says, squeezing his hand briefly and smirking.

“My pelvic sorcery?” Peter says, grinning at her.

Gamora rolls her eyes. “That is far too generous a term, in hindsight,” she mutters. Peter just laughs.

They’re in the ship’s small common area, safe from view as the others are asleep. Which is a good thing, because Peter’s attempts to teach Gamora dances he only half-remembers are…off to a rough start, at best. His mixtapes don’t necessarily include dances that are suited for the classic high ballroom dances his mother tried to show him once.

He gets why she preferred the slow, swaying dances to Sam Cooke now.

“I feel foolish,” Gamora finally says, looking mildly frustrated.

“Well, you don’t look foolish,” Peter says, spinning her out. She moves easily under his arm, pulling herself back in neatly. “See, you did that perfectly!”

“That was easy,” Gamora says. “Do you know any other dances?”

“Well,” Peter says, thoughtfully.  “This is the tango.” He abruptly pulls their arms out and shoves forward, changing their pace to a much quicker one. Gamora makes a noise of surprised amusement.

“A tango?” Gamora says, clearly at a loss.

“Uh, yeah, I actually have no idea how to dance that,” Peter says, laughing sheepishly as he pulls them around to a slower rhythm. “I just saw that move on TV once. It looked cool.”

“I’m not sure we achieved that,” Gamora says.

Peter snorts. “Yeah, that probably looked more stupid than anything,” he says. “But hey, those dancers couldn’t do backflips over the heads of their enemies.”

“What, kicking people in the heads is not a practiced dancing custom?” Gamora says, smiling.

“Only for people with sticks up their butts,” Peter replies.

Gamora sighs, her hand smoothing across Peter’s shoulder. “You and your terrible earth sayings,” she mutters.

Peter’s scared of his hands. It’s such a stupid thing, but after seeing the light of a celestial burning bright around his fingertips, feeling the earth itself shift with his hands, the universe at his fingertips, it’s terrifying. Peter can’t handle that kind of power. He can barely lead of team of five people, much less handle the powers of a god.

Hell, it’s risky to even let him hold Gamora’s sword. (Thought that’s more the lack of swordsmanship than it is him drunk with power, but the point still stands).

He’d never thought of his hands as particularly powerful. Good at patching things up, yes, fixing the Milano and placing bandages, fixing mixtapes and stuff like that. Never as powerful, though. So much of his life he’s been too weak, if anything. Unable to fight off the crueler Ravagers, unable to match pretty much every other race in combat if he’s not cheating, unable to protect the people he loves from people like Ronan-

It turns out being powerful isn’t much help on that last one, anyways. He still lost Yondu. Lot of help being half-god did him then.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It did save the rest of his family. It saved Gamora. After he got them in that mess, it’s the least he could do.

So it’s a double-edged sword, really. Because on the one hand, he could keep a lot of people safe with that power. But he could also destroy hundreds of lives in half a minute, and that’s…horrifying. And horrifying is an understatement.

It’s gone now, of course, but the reminder’s still there, that underlying fear that he’s going to wake up one day and all he’ll be able to see are galaxies.

Gamora doesn’t even flinch, though, when he tells her. Not at his powers, not at the destruction on other planets, not at the way he let his father crumble through his fingers. There’s a tight look on her face, an expression of mixed anger and sadness, but she still looks at him like he’s Peter, like he’s important to her, and that-

Is almost enough to make him cry, to be honest. He might get a little bit teary, at minimum, but he just – he loves her so much it’s actually baffling.

She’s angry at his father, heartbroken over Nebula, but Gamora doesn’t have a care to give that he’s half Celestial. She takes his hand and it’s normal, and Peter promises, swears, that he’ll never let anything as stupid as his parentage come between them again.

He’s an idiot, but Gamora’s still holding his hand, so that’s alright. He’s learning.

At this point, they’ve stopped counting.

“You hold hands like this, okay? So your thumbs are facing each other,” Peter says, arranging her hand around his. “Then you battle to the death. With thumbs.”

“Is this another joke?” Gamora says, staring at him, unimpressed.

“No, no, this is a real thing on earth, I promise,” Peter says, grinning. “It’s called a thumb war.”

“That is foolish,” Gamora says. “This is no war. What is the purpose? You only look like an idiot.”

“Yeah, okay, well, it’s not supposed to look dignified,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. Not as impressively as Gamora, but he’s getting better. “It’s just for fun. That’s the purpose.”

“It’s still ridiculous,” Gamora says, but she’s smiling. “Pinning thumbs for enjoyment.” She punctuates this by snapping his thumb beneath hers, holding firmly. “Ha. I win your foolish earth game.”

“That’s a surprise there,” Peter mutters. “Best two out of three, then – hey, let go!”

“No,” Gamora says, grinning, as she holds his thumb in place. “I won your war. What do I get?”

“The satisfaction of seeing me look like an idiot?” Peter says, struggling to yank his thumb free. He quickly gives up with a sigh of defeat. “Ugh. Fine. You win…” he spins side to side in the chair, sending them both sliding side to side as he glances round the ship. “Uh, you win – that.”

Gamora stares at Rocket’s latest half-finished gun, raising an eyebrow. “That is not yours to give,” she says, flatly. “How about…you let me have all your leftovers from the diner last night.”

“Hey, no!” Peter protests. “That stuff is to die for- mmph!”

Gamora silences him by leaning over and capturing his lips briefly, grinning as she pulls away, leaving him sputtering.

“We can share,” he manages weakly.

[phoenixwwitch]

The moment that Gamora realized she could be *human* with Peter because he’s lost family too and he’s a softie who was already starting to fall deeply in love with her

Starmora week✨ Day 1: Favorite moment

[gamoraspeter]

23. things you said [make your own] -- ON A DATE (YOU'RE WELCOME)

And for Starmora week day 2 - Hands

—–

He tells her that he loves her hands and she accuses him ofbeing drunk. And, to be fair, he’s a littledrunk. They’re at a bar, after all. But he’d only had a couple drinks, wanting to stay mostly sober because, despite the fact that they’re in a prettysleazy, unromantic place, he thinks of this as a date.

Gamora laughs when he tells her as much. “The whole team is here.Isn’t a date supposed to be just the two of us?”

Again, technically true; their friends are all sitting atthe table with them. But seeing as they’re all passed out, he doesn’t think itcounts.

“Psh.” He waves his free hand dismissively. “We’re sittingon the same side of a booth, basically by ourselves. We had drinks, we’reholding hands – this is totally a date.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Those are thequalifications for a date?”

“Some of ‘em.”

“What are some of the other qualifications, then?” she asks,and there’s a hint of flirtation in her tone that makes his heart flutter. It’snot the first time he’s heard it – she’s flirted with him before, even priorto acknowledging their unspoken thing, and she’s done it more often since – butit sends a thrill through him every time.

“Well,” he says, looking at their entwined hands. “Peopleusually talk on dates. Tell each other stuff.”

“Like what?”

He plays with her hand, just enough alcohol in his system tomake him bolder than he might normally be. He twists one of her rings around,strokes his thumb over her knuckles, flips her hand over so he can trace thelines of her palm with one finger. She’s patient through it all, letting himtouch her in a way she would probably stab anyone else for, and his heartflutters again.

“Like how much I love your hands.”

She sighs, though there’s a smile tugging on her lips, soshe’s probably only pretending to be exasperated that he’s told her this forthe second time in under a minute. “Why’s that?”

“Cause they’re beautiful. And strong,” he says sincerely. “Strongenough to break a Badoon’s arm with just two fingers.” They both grin at thememory. Then he thinks about her grasping his hands on Xandar, and in the woodson Berhert. “But they’re soft and kind, too.”

“You’re a bit of a sap,” she says, but he can see that she’spleased. Her lips have quirked up even more, and there’s an extra light in hereyes, and the faintest flush on her cheeks, slightly darker green than the restof her skin. He could go on and on about these features of hers, too, butthat’s sappiness for another time.

“Only where you’re concerned,” he says instead, leaning abit closer to her and smiling, a little crooked and a lot sincere.

Gamora leans closer too, even scoots a bit so their thighstouch. “So, what else do people do on dates?” she asks in a low voice, and hepractically squeaks at the hint in her tone, the way her eyes dart down to hislips before meeting his again, suddenly darker.  

He doesn’t say a word, isn’t sure he could manage wordsanyway. He just leans in, heart pounding. He’s about to close his eyes andgo for it when a loud snore startles them and makes them jump apart.

Peter turns to glare at the culprit: an unconscious Drax,who’s slumped over right next to him. “Great timing, buddy,” he grumbles. Helooks hopefully back at Gamora, but the moment is ruined; she’s already turnedher attention to the others. Mantis is passed out against the wall on theother side of the booth. Rocket iscurled up on top of the table, Groot asleep on top of him because it’s way pasthis bedtime and Peter thinks they really need to stop keeping him out thislate.

“I guess we better clean these a-holes up and get back,” hesays, sighing heavily.

He’s about to extract his hand from hers when she suddenlytugs on it. He looks at her just in time to watch her raise his hand to herlips and press a light kiss to the back of it. “I love your hands, too,” shesays with a gentle smile. She drops it to stand up and start picking up theothers, leaving him stunned and blushing and grinning like a maniac for therest of the night, even while dragging his drunk friends out of a bar.  

[starmora]

Our small ship has grown so much in the few short months since Vol. 2’s release, and when @thegreenwomanswalkman and @starbusters approached me with the idea for a starmora week, it only made sense that we organize one to celebrate our beautiful ship!

Starmora Week will begin on Tuesday, August 1st, and every day will have a brand new prompt.

Prompts

Tues, Aug 1 - Favorite moment Wed, Aug 2 - Hands Thurs, Aug 3 - Song Fri, Aug 4 - Parents Sat, Aug 5 - Hurt/Comfort Sun, Aug 6 - Holiday Mon, Aug 7 - Unspoken

Rules

-No nsfw. -No AU’s (high school, genderbent, etc.). Try to stick to canon, but don’t let that hinder your creativity! -Your work MUST be primarily about starmora -All types of fanworks are allowed and appreciated. Fics, art, fanmixes, edits/gifs, whatever makes you happy to create! -Dont worry about posting a day or two after a prompt has passed–this is for fun and you shouldn’t be stressed! -Make sure to tag all your works with #starmoraweek2017

If it’s successful, we could look into making this an annual event! So make sure you reblog this post to spread the word, and participate if you are able! Be creative and have fun!

[starmoraquills]

school

a #starmora week fic. since i was unable to participate pretty much all week, i kinda incorporated hands and hurt/comfort!! :p (maybe holidays, if you consider summer one lmao...) also, i’m WEAK for gamora giving peter nicknames. i need more of it!!!

summary: peter takes gamora to his old childhood school to share some memories and get a bit of closure. post vol 2, probably before infinity war?

**********

The long, winding Missouri roads are the Guardians new way of travel. Having acquired an earth license after painstaking practice, Peter spent time showing them his hometown. Today, however, it's just him and Gamora in the car.

Windows partially rolled down allows the warm summer breeze to fill the small rental car. Gamora gazes out the one in the passenger seat, oddly at peace with the wind caressing her cheeks and tousling her long hair. It's soothing, a literal breath of fresh air after being cramped in a stagnant spacecraft all these years. She overlooks the mighty cornfields in awe, amazed by how much greenery Terra has.

Peter’s mostly quiet for this trip, merely holding her hand with his free one as he sings along to the radio. His eyes focus intensely on the road in front of him, even though there's not a single car in sight. He's been extra cautious with his driving skills -- something Gamora wishes would've also played into his reckless space travel. She's grateful, nonetheless; it's been a peaceful experience riding with him.

Eventually, their travels bring them to his quaint old hometown. All the buildings seemed old, history ridden, the bricks in them a beautiful contrast to the wide, open skies. His hometown is almost exactly how she pictured it.

Peter pulls into a rather large parking lot, a sign greets them to an elementary school. She looks over at him inquisitively, thinking it's an odd date to go to a children’s school. But the nostalgia sparkling in his eyes keeps her mouth shut. She half smiles at him as the car goes still.

“What're we doing here, Peter?”

“C’mon, I'll explain in a minute.”

The two of them exit the vehicle, Gamora seems leery, but definitely curious. The building is covered in russet red colored bricks, similar to the ones in town. The windows are dark, vacant, summer vacation in full swing. Their stop isn't there, however, Peter grabs her by the hand and tugs her around the enormous structure. In the back is a small playground, with swings and slides, wood chips littering the ground underneath them. He pauses briefly as they take in the area. Peter takes in a deep breath.

“It's still like it was thirty years ago -- except for the paint job -- that's new.”

Gamora looks up at him, but his gaze is no longer in the present. She's still unsure why he wanted to come here of all places. Perhaps he just needed some closure? She understands that much. Still, she's more than grateful he's sharing a slice of his past with her.

Once he seems to pull out of his reverie, he tugs them towards the swings. The seats seem small, but they're comfortable when sat in. This swing is obviously built strong enough for full grown adults, thankfully. Peter doesn't let go of her as they sit there in silence.

Finally, Peter speaks up, “back when I was a kid, I was a troublemaker.”

“Oh, as if you aren't one now?”

He chuckles softly. “Yeah, well, it's more serious when you're a kid and your mom disapproves of it. She hated the mischief I'd get into.”

“What sort of things would little Star Lord do?”

“Fight,” he admits, guilty. “It wasn't necessarily my idea, though. These kids were ruthless, man. Once you're considered an oddball, they treat you different…”

“How so?”

“For some reason, even at a young age, humans can be so inhumane to those who don't fit in. I was the perfect example of not fitting in. I didn't have a father, and of course, I dreamed of outer space a lot. Kids didn't take to it well when I told them my dad was an alien who traveled the universe.”

His eyes grow dark, recalling their experience with Ego. Gamora settles on soothingly running a thumb over his knuckles. After a moment, he recollects himself to finish his story.

“I've never told anyone this, but I'd always be called many variations of Star Lord. In a hostile way. ‘Star Butt,’ like come on, how creative can kids be? It sure affected me then, anyways. I was often shoved around and mocked.”

“I'm so sorry, Peter. Kids can be cruel.”

Gamora squeezes his hand when she notices him sigh.

“One day, I decided to take a stand. My mother shared some of my father’s ‘heroic’ stories. ‘Heroic,’ my ass,” he adds under his breath. “But it was enough to inspire me to not deal with their crap anymore.”

His eyes, again, go haunted with the past. Memories flooding in his head of all the times he'd come home with a different injury from standing up to his bullies. Each time his mother would scold him for being so reckless.

“Mom disapproved. I understand now that she just hated seeing me covered in black eyes and bruises. But, still… at times it felt like she wasn't on my side.”

“I understand. That must've hurt that misunderstood kid.”

“Yeah -- Yeah, it did. Most definitely. That night I left Earth…”

He casts his gaze down, and she sees the tears swelling in his eyes. Peter bites his bottom lip, visibly choking down the tears threatening him. He exhales deeply, shakily, before turning his eyes up towards the sky. Longing crosses his face as he watches the puffy white clouds meagerly move in the light blue. It's almost kind of peaceful, knowing his mother watches over him.

“I had gotten in a fight earlier that day. The last conversation I had with her was over that stupid black eye. It's so stupid… but I hope she forgives me.”

He smiles sadly, returning his gaze to her. Gamora can almost see that little bitty Peter Quill reflect in his eyes. A lot of his hurt and pain comes from this very place. It breaks her heart. She wonders what would've happened if she was there to stand up for him. Would she have? She already knows that answer, though, for kid Peter reminds her of kid Gamora.

“I'm sure she does. If it's one thing I know, it'd be that she's proud of who you are now. Not everyone can say they've saved the galaxy twice.”

His smile smooths slightly at that, worry quickly replaced with tenderness and pride. Yeah, he's kind of a badass like that.

“Thank you,” he tells her sincerely.

“I'm glad you brought me here. Thank you for sharing this with me. I feel like I know more about you, sweetie.”

With cheeks flushing a deep red at the nickname, he pulls her in for a kiss, swing following suit with the tugging. It's probably the softest kiss ever exchanged between them, their lips warm and enveloping. Peter feels the pain melt away against her. As they pull away, Gamora allows her free hand to run through his little curls, bringing it down to gently stroke his cheek before giving him another little peck on the lips.

“When it comes down to it, I guess I'm glad I got abducted.” He chuckles half-heartedly. “It's lead me up to this point. And man, if those kids could see me now.”

“Think they'd be in awe of how awesome you are?”

“Well -- yeah!”

It's Gamora’s turn to laugh. “I was just kidding, Peter.”

“Sure, sure. It's not like I've held an infinity stone -- and lived! -- and battled a planet or anything.”

She continues to smile at him; she loves pulling his leg sometimes.

“Okay, I'll give you that, Star Lord.”

“Not to mention, my pretty and kickass girlfriend fighting by my side. Not everyone's that lucky!”

“Don't push it, Quill.”

However, a smile is still present on her face.

[starments]

thunder only happens when it’s raining.

a prompt fill for @kitandkanoodle — starmora - “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

this can also sort of double for starmora week, day 5 (hurt/comfort – just without the comfort). :))))

This is bad.

No, that's an understatement, because this is a fucking disaster.

When things go to shit for the Guardians, they really go to shit, and a simple job suddenly turns into an ambush. The ambush turns into a retreat. The retreat turns into a damned scramble for a place to hide and regroup.

They make it to a cave carved into the slick, rainy rockface of the cliff they'd been chased across, and Gamora ushers Peter inside to get them out of the line of sight of their enemies. The blaster fire died off minutes ago, but she already assured Peter she can still hear them in pursuit, and that means they aren't safe.

"Move, move," she hisses as they rush deeper into the cave. Now, Peter can hear the Kree overhead, pounding footfalls through the layers of rock. He can't help the way he holds his breath, like that might divert them, and Gamora only stops when the Kree do. One of her hands curls around Peter’s upper arm, the other holding the hilt of Godslayer tight. Peter has his blasters at the ready, repeatedly glancing over his shoulder towards the darkened speck of an entrance.

And then the plasma shots start all over again – but instead of coming from the cave’s entrance, the blasts hammer the ceiling above them. Peter and Gamora both nearly jump out of their skins with the sudden thunderous sound filling the cave, and Peter grits his teeth, ready to bolt or—

Fuck, can they get through? Shit, no, the rock’s too thick – Peter knows that much.

But it quickly becomes clear that getting through isn’t going to matter when the stone overhead starts to shake.

And rumble.

And fall.

A rock breaks off above their heads, dropping heavily directly to their left.

“Fuck!” Peter holsters his blasters, and immediately, he and Gamora are tearing towards the entrance. They both seemed to recognize at the same instant that they either had to get out or find themselves buried in that goddamn cave, and when the plasma shots keep coming, the rocks just keep falling.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Another heavy boulder smashes to pieces directly in front of them, a second following, and then—

Before Peter even realizes what’s happening, Gamora is slamming her palms into his chest and half-shoving, half-tossing him clear as a third boulder falls—

—and lands right on Gamora’s head.

Peter hits his back gracelessly, most of the impact saved by his mask protecting the curve of his skull. Dazed as he is, he lifts his head for a desperate scan of the cave, picking out what he can with the infrared filters, trying to figure out where he ended up.

“Gamora!”

His voice comes out on a hoarse croak, terror making his chest tighten as he tries to scramble to his feet, to stumble towards where she’d just been standing.

In a heap on the ground, Gamora lies crumpled, a hand cradling the back of her head. The boulder that hit her apparently broke on impact, smashed off to the side, and finally (fucking finally), the blasts above them have completely stopped.

Where the entrance used to be, Peter can only see a pile of stone.

But, fuck, that doesn’t matter, and he drops immediately to his knees beside Gamora. In the stillness of the cave, he can hear and see the shuddering rise and fall of her shoulders, and— okay, okay, that means she’s alive. Good, because that would have killed any other fucking person, but Gamora is built to hold up to a hell of a lot – apparently including a giant concussion.

“Hey.” Peter’s voice still breaks as he reaches out to carefully pull Gamora’s hand from her head, and with the filters on his mask, he can see the dark smear on her fingers. Fuck, that’s a lot of blood. “Hey, Gamora, let’s sit up, huh?”

Gamora makes a nondescript noise, but he sees movement as she tries to get her other arm underneath her, to push herself up. Her elbows wobble, and then give out, but Peter’s arms are under her before she can completely collapse again.

“Whoa, I got you, it’s— hey, you’re good, c’mon.” He struggles to find a lightness in his voice that he doesn’t feel, but he helps Gamora sit up onto her knees, supporting her upper body almost entirely as he steadies her. “There, see— c’mon, open your eyes for me, okay?”

“Peter…?”

She winces as she tries to speak. Her eyes are heavily-lidded, barely fluttering open as she tries to focus on the glowing red of his mask.

“Yeah, I’m right here. See? I’m here, you’re okay.” Peter reaches out to cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. He helps her keep her head up, even as her chin tries to dip towards her chest. “No, no, no, I need you to look right at me, okay?”

But her eyes are sliding closed.

“Gamora. Gamora.”

Whatever strength she managed to keep herself semi-upright seems to fail her, because Peter is suddenly left with the weight of Gamora fully in his arms. He swears under his breath, and fuck, he feels like he can barely breathe, can barely hear over the rush of his own frantic heart hammering in his ears, and no, no, she’s going to be fine. She just needs to hold out for her mods, just has to make it until her body can do something about the fucking head trauma, and— she can fix this. She’ll be fine. She can make it, but—

“Gamora.” The sound of her name is roughened by panic trying to claw into his chest, but he’s trying to be steady for her. He reaches up to quickly hit the trigger for his mask behind his ear, and with a flash of blue light, the metal recedes, taking the unearthly red glow with it. “Gamora, come on. You need—“

Deep breath. God, Quill, fucking pull it together.

“You need to wake up, okay? I— Gamora, you need to wake up, because I can’t do this without you.”