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theycallmequeenie · 2 years

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Yondu x Reader Part 4

Master List

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

A/N: Here it is Part Four!Hope you all enjoy it. It’s sorta some fluffy angst. I don’t think there is anything that needs a warning label if there is please let me know and I will happily make the necessary edits to include the warnings. Happy Reading! ~Queenie

Part Four:

As Yondu’s skilled, blue hands worked in attempts to free Y/N from the rest of her clothes he murmured sweet nothings to her, from telling her how beautiful she was to how lucky she made him feel. He was planting a string of kisses along her collarbone when he was stopped in his tracks.

Hearing the door to his quarters open he instinctively used his body to cover Y/N from potential prying eyes as Y/N sort of drew her limbs up to hide herself under Yondu in the event that it was a member of the crew. It wasn’t. It was little Peter Quill crying and looking for the mother figure in his life to sooth him, again.

Yondu let out a string of expletives most of which Peter probably shouldn’t have heard at hid young age and told him to wait outside the door that Y/N would be right out to him.

After the boy left Yondu released Y/N from underneath him clearly annoyed that he was once again interrupted while trying to ‘love on’ his woman. After adjusting his pants which obviously told on his intentions for the time, he and Y/N were spending together. Y/N noticed this and blushed top to toe once again which made Yondu chuckle at the situation.

“Darlin’, yer eventually goin to stay that shade of pink, especially with that kid around…” He laughed as he handed Y/N her top and helped her get redressed. Kissing her temple once she was clothed in an effort to offer some affection.

Y/N gave a soft smile and shook her head, “You should probably stay here into umm, that,” She gestured to his tented pants, “subsides. So not ready for that conversation with him yet…”

Y/N righted herself smoothing out her hair and exited Yondu’s quarters to go take care of little Pete. After the door closed behind Y/N Yondu let out a yell of frustration because this wasn’t the first time that the boy had hindered Yondu’s attempts with Y/N. It seems every time over the last week that boy had come running in looking for Y/N for some reason or another. Yondu mulled over his frustrations at the situation and decided that a cold shower would be what’s best for him for now.

Y/N had Pete in his room and was sitting with him talking and sooth the young boy who she knew was still trying to process everything even if it had been a year since he was taken from earth. Losing your mom that young took a long time to process through. Y/N knew that firsthand though she was a bit older that what Peter had been when he lost his mom.

As she spoke with him about randoms things the boy asked innocently enough, “Y/N, are you and Yondu in love?” His green eyes sparkled with curiosity as he anxiously waited for an answer.

Y/N took a deep breath and tried to come up with the best way to answer him. “Well Pete, I think so, but you can’t tell anyone I answered that question. The rest of the crew isn’t in the know yet and we don’t what them to know yet, Okay?”

As Y/N answered him as vaguely as she could the little boy got excited and responded with, “I hope you are, Poppa Yondu needs you. You make him less grumpy, and I want you to stay with us forever…” He hugged Y/N’s neck and whispered in her ear as if it was a secret, “I’m glad you are here to take care of me like my mom would have. I don’t know what I’d do without you Y/N.”

Y/N smiled and hugged him back. It filled her heart to hear this boy tell her these things and wondered what Yondu would think knowing that this was how the little fellow felt. She held Pete as long as he let her, cherishing this moment as long as she could she knew these moments were going to become sparse in the not-too-distant future because he was going to be growing up.

When he was finally ready to let go, he started to rub his eyes as sleep was closing in fast for the boy and she knew it. As Y/N went through his bedtime routine with him finishing with tucking him in and telling him good night. Y/N left the room quietly letting Pete fall swiftly into dreamland only noticing that Yondu had been just outside the door after it closed.

Jumping after noticing him she offered a soft smile asking him how long he had been standing there and hiding her face when he informed her that he had been there long enough to hear Pete’s feelings on them as a couple. He couldn’t help but smile.

“That boy is tryin ta play matchmaker from the sounds a thangs, Darlin.” Yondu seemed thrilled with that. “Now if only we could get him to improve his timing…” Yondu gave Y/N a mischievous grin and put his arms around her.

Y/N gave him a small fake smile which raised alarm with Yondu prompting him to pull back from her and offered a questioning look trying to hide his concern but failing.

Y/N sighed and motioned for Yondu to walk with her, “Cap, that’s a lot of expectations on us. You know if, for whatever reason, we don’t work out its not only going to hurt us, it’s going to break his heart too.”

The realization hit Y/N hard in that moment and she started to pull away from Yondu and into herself. She hadn’t thought how it would affect Peter if the worst happened and now that she was it was frightening to her. It wouldn’t be just her and Yondu that would be hurt in this situation. The weight of it made her so anxious Yondu could feel it rolling off her.

Pushing his own feelings out of the way and reached to calm her out of instinct. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine, Darlin’. What we got goin on, ain’t gonna go bad. You an me are the stuff o’ legend. They’ll be writin stories bout us one day.” He realized in that moment she wasn’t second guessing them as a couple, she was questioning the possible aftermath if things didn’t end in their favor. He knew this had to be a Terran thing and did his best to shut down his negative feelings as he did not want to compound her already anxious feelings. “Come on Darlin’, let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed too…”

To Be Continued…

@capitanostella

Part Five

#queenie writes #queenies fanfiction #queeniesmusings #yondu imagines #Yondu Udonta #yondu udonta x reader #yondu x reader #yondu fanfic #yondu fanfiction #yondu fic #yondu imagine #Guardians of the Galaxy #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy fandom #gotg fanfiction #gotg reader insert #gotg fandom #happy reading

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juniemunie · 5 months

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i love you in every universe

Edit:// anomaly character by @htsan

#sansnomaly #smth smth #listen that scene played in gotg and i was just “wowie thats sansnomaly right there”#it can go angsty if you wanna since anyone who saw that scene knows they didnt get together #BUT LISTEN WHAT IF-#sans x reader #sans x self insert #this ship is rotting my brain pls help #junie art post #I FORGOT TO TAG HTSAN HOW THE FU-

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angelofthenight · 1 year

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Adam: I didn’t do it for them. I did it for you, (y/n). I’d kill for you.

Adam, slowly smiling: Please ask me to kill for you.

You, sweating: ...First of all, calm down-

#source: the simpsons #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock #will poulter #incorrect quotes #reader insert #mcu #incorrect mcu quotes #mcu incorrect quotes #marvel incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #marvel #guardians of the galaxy volume 3 #guardians of the galaxy 3 #guardians of the galaxy #gotg #gotg incorrect quotes #incorrect gotg quotes

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itsscromp · 6 months

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I was thinking about post gotg 3, Rocket and a reader who helps him taking care of the little raccoons they rescued, it would be adorable 🥹

They can be a handful

YES !!!!!!!, So much flarking yes. I absolutely love this idea anon, which was easily the movie's best moment. Word count:512

You were peacefully sleeping in your room on the ship when you felt a patter of very small paws on your cheek, grumbling a little, you woke up to find it was one of the raccoons that Rocket had saved.

"Hey little guy" You said, smiling tiredly as you gently scratched its head, making it chitter happily.

"Got lost huh, I'll get you back to rocket" You sat up, gently holding the raccoon as you got out of bed and went to his room, To which looked like a mess.

"What's wrong bud ??"

"They escaped and I can't flarking find them !!!"

"First of all, language in front of the child. Secondly, just relax, we'll find them ok ??" You reassured.

Ever since he rescued the small creatures, you were by his side helping him through it all of taking care of them, from feeding them to cleaning them. You helped him every step of it all.

"Right... sorry" He took a deep breath and then regained his composure. "Ok let's go look for them"

So you two began to look high and low of the bowie, finding one or two in the cockpit, but where were the rest of them ?? You could see Rocket getting more and more worried by the minute, Have they run away... Or... what if something worse to them happened ??

"Rocket... stay with me Ok?? We found a few of them, I'm sure they're just somewhere in the ship, maybe internally"

"But that's where the combusters are !!, Oh god, they're going to get bur... I'm horrible... I can't even take care of them..."

"Hey, Don't say that. Rocket, you took care of Groot when he was just a bare twig, And look at him now, he's thriving more than ever thanks to you. Because you took care of him, and if you can take care of him, you can take care of these raccoons ok ??" You reassured him softly, to which the raccoons chittered, somewhat agreeing with you.

"Your... Your right. I got this... Thanks y/n" He smiled up at you and went back to looking.

Going further through the ship, he looked inside the ship's internal compartments, but sadly no raccoons, then his ears picked up soft chirping.

"What is it..."

"Shhh" He listened closely to find where the chirping was coming from and followed it.

You two walked to near the ship's heater and found them... all snuggled up soaking in the warmth of the heater.

"Guess they must've gotten cold last night" You said as you gently placed down the found raccoons so they can join for a nap.

"I guess so, maybe I should buy one of those portable heaters" He chuckled as he then laid down alongside them, curling up against them protectively and napping himself.

Smiling, you gently walked away leaving them all be, by god that was the most adorable sight in the whole galaxy. But regardless, like you promised you would help rocket with taking care of them, no matter what the situation ensues.

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board

#platonic #reader insert #rocket raccoon #rocket x reader #rocket raccoon x reader #rocket gotg #gotg rocket #gotg vol 3 #rocket imagine #guardians of the galaxy imagine

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raccoonfallsharder · 3 months

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rocket raccoon prompt week ✷ day six bite ✷.⁺⋆˚₊

low-grade spice & fluff | no use of yn | gn reader | minific | word count: 2,266.

“That’s — a big frickin’ scar you got there.”

Your eyes flare wide and you twist in your seat so fast you nearly spin off it, staring at the stranger who has just hoisted himself onto the barstool next to you. Not because you recognize the voice — you don’t yet, though you will — but just because it’s such a personal remark.

And you’re a little bit sensitive about the scar, if you’re being honest. It’s something of a souvenir.

Then recognition clicks in. Because there he is: short. Covered in fur. Velveteen ears and a dark mask, and a plush ringtail that sweeps behind him. Eyes like red stars.

Cutie.

You stare at him, breath sucked right out of your lungs. He’s got hesitation scrawled and sprawled all over his face: ears flicking down and tail lashing once, nervously. His claws clink against his massive, nearly-empty stein of Xitarish whiskey.

You tear your eyes away and stare down at the ring of pearly ridges stitched into your arm — like maybe there were answers carved into your flesh there all along, and you’d just never noticed. Or like each toothmark is a lodestar, and together the circle of them can help get you home.

“Isn’t it rude? To comment on a stranger’s scars?” you breathe out, trying to buy yourself time as all the pieces begin falling together.

He blinks at you, and shifts uncomfortably. “Uh, Jemiah.” He gestures at the owner of The Boot, who just so happens to be your boss. “Next drink’s on me.”

“Sure thing, Rocket,” Jemiah says warmly — far more warmly than you’ve ever heard from him before.

You feel your eyes flare wide. “You’re Rocket?” you manage to utter, eyes scrolling up and down him again. “One of the people who bought this damn skull? The pilot — the Guardian of the Galaxy or whatever?”

Somehow he looks even more uncomfortable. “Guardians of the Galaxy. Plural. We’re — a team.”

You exhale slowly — measuredly — and try to loosen all the small feathers of confusion crowding up your head, downy-soft. And as you let go of all those wisps, adrenaline rushes in to take their place: the intoxication of suddenly seeing him. Meeting him — for real this time. Having a name to put with the memory.

Your smile blows wide. You can’t help yourself.

“The cutie has a team,” you murmur under your breath, and you feel the blood rush to your cheeks when his eyes sharpen on you. He shifts on his stool, but his shoulders relax a little, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“Don’t listen to him, Jemiah,” you call out. “His drink’s on me.”

Your boss ducks to hide his grin even as the cutie in question — Rocket, you think, with a pleased little grin — grimaces. “Wait—“ he starts.

You click your tongue and shake your head, cutting him off and grinning. “Not a chance. You bought this stupid skull out from under the Collector and made it a tolerable place to live? There’s no way you’re buying the drinks. I have to show my gratitude somehow.”

You drop your lids to half-mast and raise a brow, hoping he knows that you’re happy to show your gratitude in a few other ways as well. The risk of offering brings a nervous little buzz to your belly.

As for him — well, you get the sense that he’s a guy who doesn’t let himself flounder very often, but right now his face is flickering between so many emotions that you can’t possibly catch them all. Shock, and then a brief flash of something like smugness, followed immediately by a flash of narrow-eyed skepticism — then a sort of uncertain hesitance, a brief twinge of humor, and finally, a cynical half-sneer. Then he starts right back at the beginning and does it all over again.

It’s fascinating.

“Did you know,” you say slowly when Jemiah sets down the fresh drinks, “that I work here at The Boot?”

The stranger — no longer a stranger, you suppose; no longer just the cutie — no, Rocket pauses in his cycle of expressions, takes a slug of his new stein of whiskey, and shakes himself out.

Where the hell does he put it? you wonder. The stein is as big as his whole torso, you think.

But he doesn’t seem buzzed at all. Instead, he casts you a measuring, sideways glance, entirely too alert for your tastes.

“You don’t say,” he drawls at last, one brow raised as his spine eases a little more.

“Mmhmm,” you say mildly. “It’s my day off.” You pause meaningfully and take another sip of your own drink. “Didn’t used to get days off in Exitar. Or anywhere else on Knowhere, as a matter of fact.”

His eyes track your hands, and flick to your face.

“Guess the difference is all thanks to you,” you tell him lightly, and tilt your glass toward him. “Here’s to the happy change in leadership.”

He studies you, and waits till you set your drink down again.

“So. Uh. How long you worked here?” he asks — as if he didn’t already have at least some idea.

You grin into your glass. “Long enough to have developed a very strict set of rules for my survival.”

His ears flick. You’re glad he’s indulging you — playing along for now. “What’re the rules?”

You lean back. “I’m glad you asked,” you tease, and splay out one hand so you can count them on your fingers. “Number one. Avoid the Collector at all costs.”

He snorts. “Well, guess you’re not a complete idiot,” he mutters, and then slashes his red-amber eyes at you and flinches, like he thinks maybe you’re going to be offended.

But you only wink at him. Not a chance, cutie. “Number two. Never hide all your units in one place — or on one datacard.”

A smirk curls the corner of his mouth and his nose twitches.

“Three. Always lock your doors behind you. And four, Don’t walk home alone from the Boot.” The smirk slides off his face at that and his eyes flash, so you rush along to the next rule, hoping to lighten the mood again. “Five. Always get customers’ money before you hand them their booze.”

There you go. The little curve is back at the corner of his mouth, even if his brow is still furrowed — almost like he’s distressed.

You lean sideways and nudge him with your elbow. “And finally, number six.” He looks up at you and his ears tilt, eyes locked on yours like glimmering red stones. You lean so close you know your breath will flutter in the curve of his ear, and you drop your voice to a whisper. “Don’t try to break up fights.”

The pilot rears back, nearly tumbling backward off his stool, and you reach for him before you both catch yourselves. Reeling your outstretched hand back into yourself, you instead gift him a reckless grin and turn to your drink once more.

“It’s not a comprehensive list,” you tell him pragmatically, “and it isn’t in any particular order, but it’s kept me alive this long.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rocket says, and his voice is suddenly raspy and low. “Even that last one?”

The laughter surprises you, fluttering up behind your ribs and escaping between your lips, soft and velvety and hushed.

“I only broke that one once,” you tell him, lifting your glass to your mouth and half-hiding your grin behind it. You can tell your eyes are sparkling, though. “And it’s not like I ever regretted it.”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat. “Sounds like you got a story.”

“Mmm,” you acknowledge, and you keep your voice playful. “It was years ago, now. I knew all the regulars back then — well, I still do, but more of them were jackasses back in the day. And this guy comes in — someone I’d never seen before. Swaggering, carrying a cannon twice as big as himself. Maybe — three feet tall? A true Short King.”

He’s got his stein to his lips and he chokes on a mouthful of whiskey, sputtering. “A what?”

You ignore him, still casting him that teasing half-smile and raising an eyebrow. “He had pretty eyes, and I remember him being more foulmouthed than a landlocked Ravager.”

“Pretty — what?”

“Keep up, Rocket,” you taunt lightly, tapping a finger to the air just an inch away from the top of his nose, and his eyes go narrow. Everything on his face is suddenly promising retribution, but you’re reckless with glee now.

And you’ll be happy to pay up if he actually comes to collect.

“I told him that I needed payment up front when he ordered—“

“Get the money before you hand them their booze,” he echoes Rule Five, eyes still hunting you, and you nod with mock-approval.

“You get it,” you say with a chuckle. “Anyway, his response was just to swipe another patron’s datacard right in front of me and hand it over.” You can still fucking see it: his challenging half-grin, one brow raised. “I think I stared at him for a full thirty seconds, but this cutie just smirked up at me. Brazen as fuck.”

You laugh softly at the memory, and Rocket — who might as well be your new landlord, you’ve realized — grumbles something under his breath.

“Anyway, I was kinda smitten,” you admit with a little curve in your mouth, still buzzing the inside of your belly.

It’s the truth, too. You’d never thought that raccoon can get it before, but there you were.

And here you are.

To your surprise, Rocket goes quiet at that. The pilot of the famous — or infamous — Guardians of the Galaxy, and one of the new owners of Knowhere: still and silent for a long moment.

Maybe he’ll slip out of his chair and leave, you think, and the flutters in your belly twist in sudden regret. Maybe you’ve scared him off.

But when he speaks, his voice is like crystallized maple syrup: rich and gritty, waiting to crumble and melt and scrub against your skin.

“He’s why you got into a fight?”

You weigh out your options here. What to say? You’d lost sight of the cutie thanks to his height and the constant surge of new customers, and you’d sort of forgotten about him in the moment, to be honest — though you’re sure you’d have remembered later, alone in your shitty little room — but then you’d heard the sudden cacophonous boom of his enormous augmented cannon. There’d been screaming and crashing, and you’d woven yourself between the bodies toward the sound. Just to assess, just to figure out what kind of danger you’d been in—

Fucking B’darl — the worst of your regular patrons — had entered into view and suddenly hoisted the cutie right up into the air before slamming him down into the orloni fighting ring.

You hadn’t thought about it — about anything, really — just thrown yourself through the crowd, toward the fighting ring. By the time you’d gotten there, B’darl had the cutie pinned to the miniature arena’s floor by the throat. Both the orloni and the f’saki had cowered back, blood-soaked and wounded, from the sudden interference in their battle-to-the-death.

Looks like you wandered outta the ring, the fucking brute had sneered.Time to go back to brawling with the other vermin, you little monster.

B’darl had lifted his other fist, easily the size of your entire head.

My money’s on the f’saki, though.

You’d surged between them without thinking, latching onto B’darl’s massive forearm, knocking his fist to one side.

You shrug. “It was worth it,” you tell Rocket mildly, and take another sip of your drink.

His eyes drop to the ring of teethmarks in your arm again. He opens his mouth to speak, and you cut in.

“My own fault,” you tell him. “I should’ve known the cutie could handle himself. I got in the way.”

You can still remember how his firelight-eyes had stared up at you from behind a mouthful of flesh and blood, stunned and maybe horrified, teeth sunk almost to the bone. In a worse timeline, maybe you’d have tried to rip your arm away. But here, in this one, you’d curled around him instinctively. Protectively.

And then he’d reached around you smoothly and snagged B’darl’s ion pistol, and you’d heard the gun go off as he’d squeezed the trigger, blind.

“My only regret is that I lost sight of him in the aftermath,” you tell him with a shrug. You try for a teasing smile but it suddenly feels strained, tense on your mouth. You’d been too flushed with adrenaline when you’d first started this conversation. Now, suddenly, the nerves are present: rattling and twitching behind your sternum. Your fingers shake a little and you clamp them onto your glass. “Didn’t even catch his name.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When you finally get the fluttering in your vagus nerve under control, you hazard a look up at him.

His eyes are on your forearm though: the circle of silken raised marks, just three shades lighter than the rest of your skin, and strangely — almost prettily — translucent. His finger reaches out: dark and clawed, his touch like warm leather. You go so still that you can’t blink, can’t even breathe as he paints a ring of warmth on your skin, looping the circlet of scars onto his fingertip like pearls threaded on a string.

The flutters are back, full-force.

Slowly, Rocket drags his gaze up to yours, sunset-eyes glowing. “Cutie works.”

@hibatasblog deserves so much more & better than this little ficlet but i am dedicating it to them anyway because they regularly call rocket "short king" and i cannot get it out of my head. deepest love to them & all their writing (please do yourselves a favor and check out their ao3 fics if you have not already)

look i just feel like (1) rocket is a cutie and if you say it in the right tone, he'll be flattered enough to not kill you and (2) there's no way he'd ever forget the stranger who jumped into a fight on his behalf — and probably got scarred for it — back before he met the guardians. which is when the og encounter takes place fyi. forget about the fact that i don't think we know if he had ever been there before gamora brought them along — i headcanon that where two or more lowlifes gather, so too there is rocket.

sidenote oh my god i literally cannot stop with the increasing wordcount. day seven (when i eventually get around to it) is gonna be SHORT. it's a promise/challenge to myself. anyway i think my writing quality peaked with machinery and i'm sorry this is so late

day five. machinery. ✷ day seven. home. rocket prompt week masterlist ✷ main masterlist rocket raccoon prompt week list

taglist ♡ @evolvingchaoswitch ♡ @glow-autumz ♡ @wren-phoenix ♡ @suicidalshitstick ♡ @pretty-chips

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mackjlee9 · 9 months

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Adam Warlock x Top!Male!Reader [Smut]

I tried okay- it's been a while since I've written an actual smut

Masterlist.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol.3

Requested by sal the mon on Quotev.

Well, this is not how the Guardians' trip to Earth was supposed to go.

Out of everyone, (M/n) was the only one who was reluctant to sleep over at the Quill Residence, so he decided to sleep in his small room in the Bowie, they weren't gonna stay around for too long anyway so he didn't mind staying in the ship.

He thought he was gonna be the only one on the ship, until Adam came up to him silently as he made his way out of the house, "Need anything, Adam?"

The golden boy looked up from the ground at (M/n), and shook his head.

"I lost rock, paper, scissors for one of the rooms," the way he seemed defeated about not being able to stay in Peter's home almost made (M/n) laugh, but he simply smiled and continued walking around the back of the house, toward the backyard where the Bowie was.

He yawned as the ramp lowered, and they made their way inside, closing up again once they were inside.

"Well..." (M/n) yawned again, their footsteps echoing in the silence of the ship, the sound of metal filling their ears, "I'm going to bed, good night," his wrist got grabbed before he could walk inside his room, and he looked back, seeing Adam standing there, "What?" He asked quietly, feeling quite a bit flustered and hot with Adam so close to him.

"I'm not tired yet," for a moment, (M/n) was about to ask how the fuck was he not tired with all they did during the day, he was literally about to collapse from exhaustion, until he remembered that Adam was a Sovereign, and that was what he needed to think of to make him sigh.

"Fine," he opened his room door and took swift steps toward the electronic device that could easily be an iPad made by humans and he handed it to Adam, "This app," he pressed on the screen, and the app took a few seconds to load, "Has movies and series to watch, you can have it for tonight, and don't break it."

Adam scrolled down the app, reading the title of every cover that caught his eye, he was quite interested in all of it.

"Good night, Adam," he looked up and smiled at (M/n), mumbling a 'good night' back before making his way to his own room.

//////

Despite being exhausted, (M/n) had a hard time falling asleep, every time he closed his eyes, the image of a shirtless -and practically naked- Adam would fill his mind, making him groan and sigh as he felt hot and bothered, like really mad at his subconscious for constantly bringing that memory back whenever he got distracted.

Everyone back in Knowhere was so painfully aware of the hugely obvious crush (M/n) had on Adam, except for Adam himself, and (M/n) was too much of a coward to say anything.

Turning face up on his bed, he dropped his arm over his eyes and sighed, deciding to just ignore the memory to the best of his ability. Eventually, he will fall asleep, even if it takes a while for his brain to shut off for a few hours.

And it's only been roughly two hours later that Adam came out of his room, feeling his body tingly and warm, covered in goosebumps due to the involuntary shivers he felt whenever the scene played back in his mind.

He had a faint feeling that he was watching something he wasn't entirely sure he should, but he did anyway, intrigued by the cover and title. He should've known better.

Adam gripped the device in his hands, careful not to break it, as (M/n) had requested of him, and he took quiet steps toward the (h/c) haired male's room, his mind foggy and numb as a particular image flashed past. He shook his head when he arrived at (M/n)'s door, and slowly reached to open it.

As expected, the room was quiet, seeing as (M/n) was fast asleep, and Adam sighed in relief, he didn't know why he was relieved but he was, and made his way inside, careful to not make loud noises that could potentially wake (M/n) up. He placed the device down on his desk, and turned around to leave, until he heard a quiet sound coming from him.

Adam turned to look at (M/n) who had started squirming on the bed, the low brightness of the hallway light was enough to provide a good look at him, and Adam noticed a rather prominent bulge in (M/n)'s pants.

For a moment, all Adam could do was stare, feeling his mouth watering as his mind got plagued with sinful images, those he had just watched but slightly different. They weren't of a man and woman, they were replaced by an image them, (M/n) and Adam.

And he couldn't hold himself back.

//////

A deep frown marked (M/n)'s face, his jaw clenched as muffled groans filled the room, mixing with a constant and wet gawk sound.

His body shook hard enough to make him open his eyes, taking ragged breaths in as he felt like the room was spinning. (M/n) sighed, assuming he simply had a bad dream, but he knew that wasn't it, he probably had the hottest dream he'd ever had in years, and Adam was the cause and protagonist of said dream.

He would've gone back to sleep if it wasn't for a particular feeling on his lower regions, and when he looked down, he swore he could've cum right then and there, and he wasn't far from it.

Whether this was another dream or not, he didn't care, Adam was giving him probably the best head he's ever had -not that he had many, to begin with- but, fuck... he was really good with his mouth, holy-

"Fuck..." (M/n) observed with half-lidded eyes how Adam's hips were grinding down on his bed, his gold eyes closed as he whined needy around his cock.

Adam seemed to be enjoying this just as much as (M/n) was, perhaps even more.

His hands reached down to hold onto Adam's blond locks, pulling on them a little roughly as he started thrusting his hips up, listening to the wet sounds of him taking his cock deep down his throat. Adam's eyes opened, and he looked up at (M/n) through his glossy sight, feeling his dick leaking and throbbing inside his underwear.

"You're mouth feels... So good, Adam, fuck... I'm gonna cum," the Sovereign whined louder, trying to nod while his mouth was still being used, his whole body trembling at the thought of feeling (M/n)'s cum spill in his mouth and slide down his throat.

Groans and heavy breaths left (M/n)'s lips as he approached his orgasm, pulling Adam's hair as he kept his head pressed as close as it could be, releasing a loud moan as his cock twitched, thick ropes of warm cum spilling out of his slit.

He watched with a heavy stare how Adam's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his hands held tightly onto his thighs, making sure to take every single drop of his cum.

(M/n)'s breath was ragged but it was going back to normal, simply assuming this whole thing would end there, but it didn't. It won't be ending now.

Adam slowly pulled away and licked his lips before taking a deep breath, "(M/n)...?" He let out a quiet 'hm?' in response, "Can I... Do something?"

His was clouded by the post-orgasm bliss, so he was feeling pretty complacent, giving a few slow nods to Adam's question.

He knelt on the bed and simply tore his clothes off of his body, making (M/n)'s eyes widen at the sight of Adam's naked body. Oh, the things I would do to him...

(M/n) watched attentively how Adam straddled his hips, biting his bottom lip at the feeling of (M/n)'s cock getting hard under him, and he took a deep breath. He didn't know what Adam wanted to do, but he was expecting to see him slowly taking his cock inside him.

A choked moan escaped Adam's mouth, his hands placing themselves on (M/n)'s chest, tugging on the fabric of his shirt, releasing a high-pitched whimper, "So big, I... I feel so f-full..."

(M/n)'s teeth gritted, his hands reaching to hold Adam's hips harshly, feeling his mind going numb at how tight and warm Adam felt around his sensitive cock, "Oh my fucking..." He mumbled to himself, struggling to keep his eyes open, just to be able to see every little detail on Adam's expression.

They made eye contact when Adam looked down at him, tears sliding down his gold skin, which had turned some kind of copper colour over his cheeks and nose, giving the appearance of a rather cute blush.

"(M/n)..." Adam's voice was quiet and whiny, leaning down closer until their breaths were mixing, "I..."

He got interrupted by the feeling of (M/n)'s lips pressed against his, muffling his whimpers as he felt his hips being lifted and slowly lowered again. The movement made a shiver run down his spine at how he got filled up again.

At that point, Adam didn't care if (M/n) was gonna use his body like a toy, even more so at the realization that Adam's buffer and bigger body meant nothing with how easily was able to manhandle him. He loved it, and he never wanted it to end.

#adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x male reader #guardians of the galaxy #gotg3 #gotg vol 3 #gotg3 adam #adam warlock #will poulter #will poulter x male reader #will poulter x reader #smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #top male reader #.mackjlee9 writes

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glow-autumz · 11 months

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Here's a mess of doodles I created for a OC I made in a janitor AI chat with Rocket<3

Still learning how to draw Rocket don't come at me plz ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

#rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon fanart #rocket raccoon x reader #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #gotg oc #oc #self insert #fun times #janitor ai #dontaskmewhyahh #Rocket and Moon #Rocket x Oc

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grapefiesta · 1 year

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Attractive

A/N: Idk just have some wholesome stuff,, not proofread; sorry.

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"I am an insanely good matchmaker," You say as you sit on one of the chairs by Rockets workbench with rolls and slide towards the working Racoon.

Rocket looks at you and lets out a snicker. “Do I even have to ask how you came to that conclusion?” He says with a raised eyebrow.

“I just made Gamora confess to Peter. I think we’ll have a couple around here pretty soon.”

Rocket puts down the gloves, completely surprised by the news. “You did?” He says, with his eyebrow raised and his face showing an amused look.“How did you do that? The Gamora I know would’ve never confessed to Peter that easily.”

“Like I said.” You shrug, “I’m an insanely good matchmaker.” There was a short silence. “Soooo.. what are you tinkering on?”

He looks over at the workbench and points at the object he’s working on as he replies. “I’m trying to upgrade our communications systems. Just… small adjustments here and there, nothing too major. Still, it can help us keep communications running if we end up in an unstable area of space.” He says, sounding like he knows what he’s doing. (Obviously he does. Its like his whole thing!)

You just nod and get lost in thought before blurting something out. “Smarts are really attractive, to be honest.”

Rocket chuckles. “Really? So we’re both attractive, then,” he says, a playful smirk on his face.

He looks back at the workbench and continues to tinker with whatever was on there.

You laugh a bit. “You think I’m smart enough for you? I mean I’m a genius, yeah, but you? You’re another level of genius.”

Rocket chuckles at your response, and he gives you a playful nudge on the shoulder. “Y/N, you should give yourself more credit than that. If you have the confidence to call yourself a genius without hesitation, then you’re definitely smart enough. Not nearly as smart as me but still,” he says.

“Plus, I think you look very smart. Just look at you,” he says, while still grinning at you and poking his finger against your forehead, making you furrow your eyebrows.

“I look... smart..?” You point a finger at him with a teasing grin as if a light bulb went off in your head. “Aha! So you think I’m attractive!”

Rocket tittered slightly. He’s been set up here, and it makes him a tad bit uncomfortable… but to be honest, he doesn’t mind that much.

“It seems we both think the other one is attractive then.”

“I never said I think you’re attractive.”

“You’re thinking it, aren’t you?” He asks, looking you in the eyes again and giving you a teasing smirk.

You shimmy your shoulders with a smug face. “I don’t know. Never said it.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Humie.” He grins slyly and doesn’t break eye contact, still with that teasing smirk evident on his face.

“I can tell you think I’m attractive. You keep looking at me,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he continues to look at you.

“Oh really?” You were still teasing him. "Does you annoying me mean that you hate me then?” You ask with a smirk and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t forget that you also kept annoying me,” the raccoon replies with a smirk of his own, raising an eyebrow.

He leans on the counter, his elbows resting on the hardwood surface. With a playful look in his eyes, he says the following: “We love teasing each other. It’s like a game that never ends, it’s a fun way to pass the time for us. We always have the opportunity to outsmart each other, and I think that this whole thing we have going on is something special.”

Resting your elbows on his workbench you put your head into your hands and lean a bit closer with a grin. “True.”

“We keep finding ways to keep this game of ours going. It’s almost like a tradition, y’know?” The raccoon chuckles.

“And as much as we tease each other, I have to say that I’ve… somewhat come to enjoy it.” He says, the playful look in his eyes starting to look like a genuine smile.

At some point, while you were talking, Rocket continued to tinker with the communications relay.

“Aha.” You lift your head a bit with a grin. “Good to know.” You kept watching him tinker.

Rocket keeps focusing on the task in front of him and looks up after a few seconds. “What’s good to know? That I’m enjoying our teasing?” He asks as he turns back to the table and continues to make adjustments to the small device.

“Yeah.” You give him a vague answer and then ruffle the fur on his head before getting up from your seat next to him.

Rocket raises an eyebrow at you when you ruffle his fur. He lets out an amused and slightly annoyed chuckle.

“How would you like it if I ruffled your hair in front of the others, hmm?” He asks in a teasing tone, the playful smirk on his face not quite gone yet.

You gestured around the room. “No one’s here. No need to get embarrassed.”

“Good point… I guess what happens in the lounge stays in the lounge, right?”

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#rocket raccoon #fluff #gotg vol 1 #gotg vol 2 #gotg vol 3 #matchmaker #reader insert #x reader #oneshots #rocket racoon x reader #guardians of the galaxy vol 3 #rocket x you

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emmaloo21butwriting · 1 year

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As a minor, when I block tags like ‘Tw smut’ ‘smut’ ‘lemon’ etc, why do people not tag that? And if you write that at least put a warning and a keep reading! It’s really annoying

Edit; replaced right with write because I’m dumb

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redwingstan · 1 year

Note

Can I please request Adam Warlock dating someone like Mantis hcs please (looks the same and has the same powers)

author's note: thanks for your request, anon! hope you enjoy!

warnings; nothing but fluff!

The conventions of your relationship began with a single touch.

He watched you use your powers from afar on a grieving Terran - conflicted but curious on how someone who had just lost a loved one could experience such joy in an instant.

"How do you do that?" Was the first the question he asked you once he became an official Guardian.

Fearing he wouldn't understand your explanation, you held up your hand, offering to show him instead.

"May I?"

Apprehensive to what you were about to do, you settled your hand on his shoulder.

The first emotion you shared together was grief.

Months later...

He protected you every chance he got during times of combat.

Given your limited fighting skills, you didn't mind. Though there were times he went a bit too far.

You promised Rocket you'd look out for him on the field as curiosity often got the best of the golden Guardian.

Your job eventually became easy as Adam had no intentions of leaving your side.

Whether it was him standing next to you, touching your arm, or latching onto your pinky finger with his own, the both of you were inseparable.

During quiet moments, when the galaxy was as peaceful as it could get and everyone was occupied on the ship, he'd come find you and envelope you in a bone-crushing hug.

His love language is most definitely physical touch.

Hugs and hand holding are a must but only - when the work from guarding the galaxy was done for the day.

Often times he would sneak kisses on your cheek or forehead when no one was looking, causing you to be on your toes at all times.

He enjoyed pranking you. Whether it be taking you by surprise by wrapping his arms around you from behind or tickling you when he lured you into another hug for the umpteenth time that day.

And on the days he grieved over his mother, you'd settle yourself next to him, place your hand on his cheek, and start from where your relationship began.

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cxsmicbaby · 1 year

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this is the day

pairing : peter quill x reader

warnings : alcohol use; angst with a happy ending :p

word count : 4.7k

a/n : inspired by this is the day by the the. i love this actually. something cute :)

peter’s forgotten how to have fun. you help him remember, and suddenly he is reminded of things he pushed down a long, long time ago.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Peter is starting to really hate space.

He’s spent his whole life out there; once, a ravager, then a lone ranger, and now in apart of a team of his own. He used to sit by the windows on Yondu’s ship and watch as the stars slowly passed them by, twinkling; he would think about how once, they had been more like drawings on the sky than real things, and now, they were places he could go. It was like magic.

It’s all grown pretty stale, if he’s being honest. Which is why he really enjoys just staying put on Knowhere, drinking until his vision goes blurry. Listening to his music and ignoring all his problems. Letting the rest of them carry the heavy weight, because Peter tried, and he couldn’t handle it. He hasn’t been out in his ship in months. Sometimes he misses it, but then he remembers that it’s the feeling he’s missing, not the actual act. There’s no way to get that feeling back.

You seem to think different. You, with your inability to accept defeat, and your voice so loud he can hear it even when his music is on full volume. You’re outside the bar, engaged in some sort of argument with who-knows-who, and it sounds like you’re losing. Peter isn’t drunk enough to not be able to stand just yet, and his curiosity gets the better of him, so he turns his music down and tries to listen for what you’re saying.

“—acting like a dick, Rocket. He hasn’t left that place all day, and he’s been doing this for weeks. I’m sure the seat has his ass imprinted into it.”

“He’s grieving. I think we should just let him be, you know? Let him get through it.”

“Everyone is grieving! You don’t see anyone else drinking themselves to death.”

Rocket doesn’t seem to have a retort to that. Peter thinks that maybe he should be hurt by the way you’re talking about him, but he knows you’re right. You usually are.

“All he needs is to be reminded of who he is. Reminded of why he does this in the first place, you know. Of why it’s fun to be alive.”

“Okay, and how would we do that? We can’t even get him out of those clothes. He’s been wearing them for two days straight.”

Peter looks down at himself. He has been wearing these clothes for two days, hasn’t he? That’s gross, he thinks. He almost smells himself before he decides against it.

He’s so distracted by the idea of his own stench that he doesn’t notice the voices have stopped, and suddenly the door swings open, sending him tumbling backwards. Peter falls on his ass, but scrambles to stand, very conscious of how disgusting everyone must think he is after overhearing such a sobering conversation.

You stare down at him, your mouth spread into a wide grin. You offer him a hand, which is not what he was expecting, but he takes it anyway.

“Go take a shower, Pete! We’re going on an adventure.” You pull him to his feet.

“What?” Peter says, and his eyebrows furrow a little at how dumbstruck he sounds. Maybe it’s the liquor. He did have a good amount before your screaming disrupted him.

“I said, we’re going out. We’re gonna have some fun, like old times.” You’re not asking him, you’re telling him, and even if he’s slightly drunk Peter knows better than to outright say no to you. He’s known you a bit longer than the rest, as he met you about a year before the whole Ronan thing. You worked together on and off, and he got to know you and your quirks—he was a different guy back then, though. He’s honestly not sure why you kept talking to him, because sometimes he thinks about the vulgar things he used to say to you and shivers in disgust. Even worse, the things he used to think about you. If he had voiced any of those thoughts he probably wouldn’t be alive right now.

“Man, I’m tired. Can’t we go another time?” he tries, attempting to let you down easy. Your smile doesn’t falter, and you slap your hand on his shoulder, probably a little harder than you meant to.

“Nope! We’re going now, today. Go home, I’ll pick you up in an hour.” The rest of the sentence goes unspoken—if you aren’t ready when I come, I will kick you in the nuts until they both explode. Peter hears it, though, despite your warm grin. You’ve always had a very pretty, innocent smile, which doesn’t really match your personality. He finds it slightly off-putting.

Peter takes his time walking home, finishing the bottle of liquor on his way there. His tolerance has gotten infuriatingly high due to his overconsumption these past weeks, but it’s still worth a try. Maybe if you show up and he’s too drunk, you won’t make him go. You’ll certainly be disappointed, but he’ll still be able to stay in.

No, that’s not really worth it. Peter really hates disappointing you. It’s different than when you’re mad, because when you’re mad at least Peter knows he is going to either be hit or berated, and that’s always over soon enough. But when you’re disappointed, it lasts. And you’re sad. He’d rather you be mad at him than sad because of something he’s done.

It occurs to him; you’ve probably been saddened, seeing him like this. And that’s what motivates him to actually shower for the first time in who knows how long, and to put on an outfit that doesn’t stink, and to wait patiently for you by his door. He closes his eyes and tries to get a moment of sleep, but soon he hears those tell-tale knocks and he stands with a sigh, opening it to see you standing there. You look excited.

“Wow, you actually did it! I’m so proud,” you exclaim, and though he’s sure you’re being sarcastic, Peter feels himself smile a little. He bites it back and pushes gently past you.

“Yeah, whatever. Let’s just go. Wherever it is we’re going.”

Peter lets you drive, because he doesn’t feel like it, and he also doesn’t think it’s a great idea to steer a spaceship while... impaired. When the ship leaves the planet’s atmosphere, he feels himself jolt up a bit, unfamiliar with the feeling after spending so long on the ground. The blue sky fades into darkness, littered with stars. He should think it’s beautiful, but all he can think about is how many horrible things have happened to him out here. How many horrible things he’s done.

“You’re gonna love this, I promise. Total blast from the past,” you reassure, noticing how his face has fallen ever so slightly. Peter ignores you and sighs instead, reaching into his pocket to slide a cassette tape into the stereo. At least if he’s forced to be out here, he can have his music.

He’s not prepared to hear what plays. It’s a classic, for sure. It’s a great song. But he can’t hear without thinking about her, and that’s really not what he wants to be doing right now. He still remember exactly what Gamora looked like, staring up at him with glittering eyes, hearing this song for the first time. He was the one who introduced her to music. That’s basically a soul bond. The thought makes him slump into his seat.

“This is a good one,” you say, swaying from side to side to the melody, oblivious to Peter’s grief. “A little slow, though. You should change it to something more upbeat.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers, and you turn to him with slightly worried eyes. But he changes the song without saying anything else, and the rest of the ride you both stay quiet.

Peter closes his eyes about halfway through, and when he opens them up again you’ve landed somewhere he recognizes. Of course, he thinks, of course you would bring him here. This is definitely a blast from the past, you got that right.

“Come on, let’s go! It’s about to be prime-time, so there’s probably a happy hour deal somewhere.” You’re already up, putting on a brown leather jacket and walking toward the ship’s door, where a platform is lowering toward the ground. Peter doesn’t know how he feels about being here. Sure, he has a lot of great memories about this place. Most with you, if not all. But something about it makes him feel old and decaying, like those good days are the best he will ever have, and from there it’ll just continue going down.

“Alright, alright. But I don’t wanna stay out for that long.” Peter groans as he stands, stretching for a moment before he follows after you. You seem very happy, or at least, you’re trying to be. For him. That’s the only reason he’s still here, honestly. He knows you just want to make him happy.

The two of you walk out of the ship and down the bustling street, which is already pretty packed. Girls with antennae and guys with gills flirt on the corners, blobs that are vaguely person-shaped slide down the sidewalk in groups, making weird noises that someone smarter than him might be able to discern as speech. This place is just as strange and slightly decrepit as before.

“What do you say, should we just hit up Blue Diamond? I’m sure it’s still open,” you offer, an odd sort of pep in your step. You’re not usually this bubbly. Peter sort of enjoys it.

“I guess, yeah. I’ll just go wherever you wanna go.”

You sigh, and pause for a moment, turning to face him. Your hands fall on his shoulders and you look up at him, trying to stare into his eyes hard enough that he’ll really hear you.

“If you act miserable, you’re gonna be miserable. Try not to be such a downer, okay? Try to have some fun, even if it’s only for right now.” You’ve not been so sincere with him in a long time, and it’s a bit startling. Your eyebrows are raised and you look a little vulnerable, and Peter is starting to feel very, very badly about the way he’s been treating you recently. So, he manages a smile.

“Alright, well since this night is for me, I should get to pick where we go.” His smile grows a little, because yours does too.

“Makes sense to me. Lead the way!”

Peter ends up taking you to Blue Diamond, mostly because he remembers they have a drink there that is strong, and still tasty. Plus, if the same bartender is still working there, he might be able to charm his way into a free drink. She always had a thing for him, you could both tell. You used to laugh about the way she made goggly eyes at Peter when he wasn’t looking.

It’s not the same bartender. It’s actually this weirdly handsome guy who is built like Drax if Drax was a little less bulky. Peter told him once that he needed to get rid of his no-neck, but then Drax told him he needed to get rid of his beer belly, so he stopped.

“It hasn’t changed at all, has it?” you say, standing by his side. You’re right, it hasn’t. Same dim blue lighting, same metal barstools, same ratty old booths. Except, now they have table where people are playing something akin to beer pong, but instead of their hands they’re using these weird, mini tennis rackets. Strange, but Peter’s seen much stranger. Actually, it looks kinda fun.

You start for the bar before he does, strolling past a photo of the bar’s owner on the wall. He must’ve passed, Peter thinks, and that gives him that same sort of painful, existential feeling. He can remember talking to the guy like it was yesterday, and now he’s just gone. He wonders if he felt fulfilled when he died.

Peter takes a seat next to you at the bar, and you wave the bartender down, ordering two drinks that he doesn’t catch the name of. The bartender eyes you in a way that Peter doesn’t really like. It reminds him a lot of the way he used to stare at you when you would go here together, and that makes him feel gross, because if the bartender is thinking the same things he had been in those moments, he probably deserves a slap across the face.

You did slap him across the face, once. Peter remembers exactly what it was about, but neither of you have ever brought it up again, so he chooses to pretend it didn’t happen.

“So, what about this is going to suddenly make me realize that life is fun?” Peter starts, swiveling in his seat so that his body faces yours. You roll your eyes, as this confirms for you that he was listening to your conversation with Rocket.

“I just. I wanna remind you of what it feels like to be happy, you know? You deserve it, Pete. I’m serious.”

He did not expect that answer. “Why are you being so... sweet, lately? You’re being very nice to me and it makes me think you’re up to something.”

You laugh a little, and Peter realizes how long it’s been since he’s heard that; your giggle, which is probably the most perfect-sitcom laugh he’s ever heard in his life. You gaze at his face for a moment before you shrug, and pin your attention somewhere else before you bring your eyes back. There’s something else there now, something realer than before.

“I don’t know. I care about you, a lot. And it feels like you’re letting everything suffocate you. Whatever happened to the Peter that fought back?” You shove him playfully, and he smiles a little sadly at your words. “The Peter that didn’t let anyone tell him that he wasn’t worth it. That was you, it still is. But now it’s you telling yourself that you can’t do it. So I just thought maybe it would help if someone told you that you can.”

Peter doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he might cry, so instead of steeping in the moment he turns back to the bar and sees the guy coming back with your drinks. Perfect goddamn timing.

He downs the first one mere seconds after it’s placed in front of him. The drunkenness he had experienced before you left had turned to lethargy, but now it’s back with a vengeance. The alcohol is quickly in his veins, making him warm, his cheeks a little red. He takes off his coat and drapes it over the back o the stool. If he’s gonna be there, he might as well try to get into it.

Peter orders another once you’ve finished yours, which is not too far after him. You’ve always been a bit of a heavyweight, so you seem mostly sober, but that’ll change quickly. After two more, you’re giggling and leaning on his shoulder, your cheeks tinted pink and your words loose and stumbling together.

“Remember that time we ran into that weird guy here? The one with the horns?” you say, through bouts of laughter. Peter looks down at you and he smiles. He does remember.

“Yeah, I remember how I had to beat his ass. That guy was a fuckin’ pervert.”

You giggle again, hiding your face in his side. Without thinking, Peter wraps his arm around you, and his hand is flat against the curve of your back. Your skin is warm.

“I always thought that was so cute, how you fought for me. So chivalrous,” you confess, your words slightly muffled by his shirt. Peter feels an oddly familiar feeling rise from his stomach to his chest before he swallows it down with a laugh.

“I’ve always been a gentleman, what can I say?” Peter knows that is so false, and so do you, because you shoot up laughing so hard he’s sure tears will spring from your eyes any moment now. You’ve always been so pretty when you laugh, not for any really specific reason, but mostly just because he likes it when you’re yourself. You put up this really tough front a lot, but Peter likes to think he knows you better than anyone. That’s not who you really are. This is who you really are.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Pete. I haven’t forgotten that night.”

And just like that, the entire illusion comes crashing down, and Peter feels the warmth in his chest rise to his cheeks and ears. He’s sure they’re bright red, and this is confirmed when you gently take the edge of one between your fingertips, giggling and teasing him about how embarrassed he’s gotten. He grumbles, pushing your hand away. Your touch sends goosebumps down his neck.

“Come on, don’t bring that up. You know I hate myself for that.” Peter shakes his head and finishes off the remnants of his third drink. It goes down easy and he decides he should probably take a break before ordering another.

You lean your elbow on the bar, your cheek in the palm of your hand. You study him with soft, playful eyes, your smile nostalgic, as if you’re remembering something fondly. Peter thinks you must not be talking about the same thing, because if you were, you wouldn’t be thinking of anything fondly. He can still feel the sting of your hand on his cheek. It ached for a day afterward, and he felt so guilty that he didn’t even ice it. He wanted to feel the pain, a reminder that he should never ever even think about doing something like that again.

And then you speak. “I wasn’t really that mad at you, you know.”

Peter’s mouth parts in surprise. “What?! You fucking backhanded me, man. And I totally deserved it, I’m not complaining, I’m just—what?”

You inhale deeply, and turn away from him, toward the bartender, who has been checking you out even less shamefully since you’ve shed your jacket. You order another drink, which Peter thinks is not a great idea, but who is he to tell you to stop? He’s been doing the same thing for weeks, and he didn’t listen to anyone. It’s not really his place. He only wonders why your reaction to his outburst was more drinks, and not to explain. It makes him feel like there is something you don’t want to tell him.

“I mean, I wasn’t mad for the reason you thought I was. And you’re right, you definitely did deserve that. Even if I felt a little bad about it after,” you finally say, facing him once more. The lighting washes you in blue and makes Peter think of a siren, calling him to his demise from the ocean. He leans closer.

“What... what do you mean?” he asks, timidly. Peter is still very much drunk and he’s struggling to focus. Your eyes get brighter the closer he gets. Your skin looks very soft and he notices a necklace he didn’t before. Mantis must’ve brought it for you on her latest escapade. It’s beautiful.

You stare back at him, and suddenly you giggle softly. “It’s nothing. Just forget it.”

Peter doesn’t want to forget it. But he knows you, and he knows that pushing you too far always results in you pushing back.

The two of you drink, and drink, and drink a little more. You play that weird tennis-beer-pong game and he wins, but not by much. A song you really like comes on and you dance. He watches you from a booth, oddly entranced, before you force him up. You dance awkwardly together around the room, jumping and shimmying, probably off tempo. Peter doesn’t realize it until it’s time to leave, but he hasn’t felt that strange painful nostalgia in at least two hours. That’s a new record.

“Let’s not go back just yet,” you say, your eyes lidded and your words slurring ever so slightly. “I needa walk some of this off before I get back behind the wheel.”

The wheel? That’s not happening. “Nah, we should just sleep on the ship here, and go back tomorrow. I don’t wanna die yet.”

You laugh, and lean into him, interlocking your arms as you start to walk. Your head is heavy on his shoulder, and he keeps tripping over your feet, but he wouldn’t dare ask you to move. He doesn’t want you to. He thinks about how good it feels to be close to someone, and realizes that he missed that, probably most of all.

“Peter,” you start, your voice slightly breathy. You must be very tired. It’s later than he expected to it be and he knows you haven’t drunken like that in a while. Peter likes the way you say his name. “I missed you so much.”

Your words make his heart break. “I know. I missed me too.”

Quiet. The street is nowhere near as bustling anymore; just a few losers sitting passed out on the ground, a group of drunk younger people skipping down the street, a homeless woman petting a stray dog. Peter can hear the sound of his own breathing, steady and slow. Relaxed.

“You didn’t miss me?” Peter can tell you’re teasing, but he can also sense a hint of truth behind your words. His chest aches.

“Of course I did. Of course.” His voice is soft and quiet.

Silence, again. Then, your hand slowly slithers down his arm, and you timidly lace your fingers with his. Peter squeezes. Your hand is cold, despite the rest of your body running hot with liquor.

“Peter?” you say yet again, lifting your head so that you can look at him. Your smile is gone, and your eyebrows are slightly upturned. You look so vulnerable, and again it makes his stomach turn. He wants to hold you in his arms and tell you over and over that he’s sorry, he’s sorry for things he’s done to you, things he hasn’t done, for the way he’s treated you.

“Yeah?” he whispers, instead.

“I wasn’t mad at you because you kissed me. I was mad because I knew you didn’t mean it. Not in the way I wanted you to, anyhow.”

Peter feels like his organs have turned inside out.

His hand goes limp in yours and you take that as a sign that he doesn’t want to hold it anymore, so you let go, your arm falling to your side in defeat. You turn away, and you cross your arms over your chest, almost hugging yourself. You’re always protecting yourself from being hurt, physically, emotionally—he hates that it’s him you are hiding from, this time.

But despite all that, Peter stays silent. He doesn’t know what to say. All the repressed feelings he has for you suddenly threaten to swim up to his throat and he massages his chest, trying to keep them down. You take a deep breath and it sounds watery. You’re still walking, but you’ve slowed just the slightest bit. He slows to be next to you.

“Hey,” he finally says, craning his head, trying to catch your face. Peter swears he can see tears and his hands start to shake. “Hey, look at me. Please.”

You sniffle, and stop walking. You’re clutching yourself really tight, like you’re trying to hold yourself together. Peter’s never seen you like this, and it fills him with this heavy shame; it’s him, that’s made you this way. Him that has reduced you to this. Never in his life has he ever wished anything but good things for you, but here he is, something bad. Something that hurts.

But you look at him. You’re crying, but you still look at him.

You stare at each other in silence for a few moments before you scoff, and avert eye contact. “Well? Say something. Don’t just gawk at me like I’m a zoo attraction.”

Peter swallows hard. “I... I did mean it.”

Something heavy hangs in the air, like the sky right before downpour. You look into his eyes again and your eyebrows suddenly furrow.

“Oh, fuck you, Peter!” Your sudden volume makes Peter flinch, but you keep going. “You are such an asshole. You strung me along for so long. Giving me hope that maybe you felt the same, just to turn around and flaunt another one of your conquests in my face. If you really mean it, you didn’t do a good job of showing that.”

You’re crying hard now, unable to make it through your words without pausing for a small sob. The sight makes Peter reach out for you involuntarily, and he feels his face fall when you recoil from his touch, staring at him like he’s the worst thing to ever happen to you, like he’s the bane of your existence. But then that fades away and you’re just sad, and you’re suddenly looking at him like you love him, and you’d do anything for him, and Peter wants to cry too.

“I swear, I didn’t know,” Peter tries, his voice still quiet. He swallows a tremor. “I thought... I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way. About me.”

You try to glare at him, but your eyes are glistening in the streetlamp’s glow and you look like a fucking angel.

Peter takes a step forward. “I felt that way about you. I... I feel that way about you. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

You don’t move away, but you don’t say anything. You’re still hugging yourself, trying to fold away from his gaze. Peter feels fear bubbling in his chest the longer you remain silent and he can no longer fight the tears that are prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Please, say something,” he begs, close enough now to touch you. “Please. I can’t... I can’t lose you too.” Peter’s voice cracks and he reaches up slowly to put his arms on yours, trying to drag them from their positions clutching your sides. You let him, and he lets out a small sigh of relief. He holds your hands in his, which are trembling ever so slightly.

Maybe it’s the alcohol that’s still in him, but he swears he can see you about to smile. And then it becomes real, and a soft, beautiful smile spreads across your face, and it’s like the sun is rising.

“God, you’re so beautiful.” Peter says, before he can stop himself. And just like that, your lips are on his, your hands on his face, holding it gently between your palms. Peter blinks once, unsure this is really happening, before he feels himself melting from the inside out. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, kissing you like they do in those old films, passionate and loving, like it’s the last thing he’s ever gonna do that matters.

It’s you that pulls away, even though Peter chases after you. You’re still crying, but you’re also still smiling. Peter thinks that he would kill someone just to see you smile like this.

“Let’s keep walking. The night is still pretty young,” you finally say, quiet, like you’re telling him a secret. Peter watches your face for a moment before he mirrors your grin, and wraps his arm tight around your shoulder. You’re right, the night is young. And he has a lot of lost time to make up for, a lot of things to say and do that he has wanted to for so long, and now he finally can.

You walk together, still tripping over one another, still giggling like drunken idiots. And when you reach the ship, you stumble inside, and collapse onto the floor with a heavy, tired sigh. Peter lies down next to you and you cuddle into his side.

“Did it work?”

Peter hums, unsure what you mean, but then he remembers. He strokes your head and closes his eyes, feeling the exhaustion from the liquor beginning to creep up on him.

“I think so.”

You rest your hand on his chest. “You’re worth it, Pete. You are.”

And though someone can say something like that and you can not believe it, Peter believes it, for the first time in so long. He is worth it. Maybe not worth you, just yet. But he can fight for that, he can learn. He can be the person that you deserve. He will be.

That night, Peter dreams of the stars.

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