GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY IMAGINES

Purple | Peter Quill [romantic]

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the bar with us?" you asked Peter, who was sifting through a crate of junk to look for a spare part for his gun. "It'll be fun."

"I'm sure," he said. "I'll just protect my ship and do some repairs that we've --- I'm sorry, you've --- been neglecting." 

You huffed and crossed your arms. "Okay, Peter 'this is my ship, not yours' Jason Quill."

"Why did you keep my middle name instead of replacing it with your lame attempt at offending me?" he muttered, eyebrow raised. 

"Shut up," you said, kicking him gently. He swatted you away and laughed. He stood up. "You know I can't be mean to you, even though you have no problem with being mean to me. Are you really not going to come?"

 "I'm not even mean to you, babe," he said, shaking his head. "Why do you want to go to the bar with Rocket, anyway? You don't drink."

"I know, but I'd rather someone be there to make sure he doesn't get too trashed," you said. "I guess I'm just a good person."

"I guess so," he said. "You have fun. I'll be here."

"Okay," you said, frowning slightly. "I really wish you'd come. Maybe if you finish repairs, you can meet us out there for a bit?" 

Peter couldn't really say no when you looked at him like that and reached for his hand. He gave your fingers a squeeze and sighed. He smiled and nodded. "Sure, babe. I'll be there."

"Yay," you said, stretching up to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I'll see you."

"Yup," he said, smiling as he watched you quickly walk off of the ship and onto the purple ground. Down the road was a small but brightly lit town, where Rocket was waiting for you to join him. 

Although getting a drink sounded nice, and sitting in a bar with you with his arm draped over your shoulders and everyone aware that he was dating the prettiest girl ever definitely sounded nice, Peter found himself repairing everything. The ship had a leak from a recent "accident" on Rocket's part; the glass was cracked because of Groot throwing his toys; the kitchen was trashed from dinner the previous night; the floor was bent in because Gamora threw Drax over her shoulder when he annoyed her enough. There were a hundred things to do, and no one was going to help him with it. Which was fine, because this was his ship and he was the captain, and he knew you'd been eager to help when you got back. 

Time passed and he was only vaguely aware that he had listened to both of his mixtapes all the way through twice. He sang along, he danced, and he fixed and cleaned until finally he heard the welcome footsteps of his friends. He glanced up and saw Rocket trudge it, his feet dragging and his ears pushed down. 

"Hey man," Peter said, throwing all of his tools back in the box and sliding it back under a table. "How was the bar?"

"Uh, Quill..." Rocket muttered, unable to look at the guy. That was when you walked onto the ship, head down and silent. But that wasn't enough to disguise the darkening bruise over your eye or the red and purple splotches on your nose, or the way you limped as you walked up the ramp. But you tried to hide it and tried to avoid the look of alarm on your boyfriend's face as he stood up quickly and rushed over to you. 

"Whoa... dude!" he exclaimed, and you sighed as you looked up at him. "What happened to your face?"

"I just got in a fight," you said, mumbling. 

Peter pieced it together pretty quickly. Rocket was coming in completely trashed. And when Rocket got drunk, he got violent --- undoubtedly did he pick a fight with a guy far bigger than he was, taking offense to every little comment made his way, and undoubtedly did you step in front of Rocket to help him fight his way out of it. Peter turned towards his friend, who was just walking away like nothing had happened. 

"Rocket, I swear, you're going to get it this time---"

"Peter, don't," you said tiredly, grabbing his arm to stop him from advancing towards his friend. 

"What?" Rocket said loudly, "I didn't do nothin'! She shouldn't have intervened."

"You shouldn't be fighting in bars! You know you can't fight everybody and you know you act like an idiot when you're drunk!" Peter yelled. 

Rocket scoffed and walked off, and you grabbed both of Peter's arms and he looked at you. He frowned, seeing all of the color in your face that shouldn't be there. You were swelling and your eye was tearing up. You looked horrible. 

"Jeez, babe, I---" He cut himself off and shook his head. "C'mon, I'll get you some ice on it."

"Thank you," you said.

"Is your nose broken?" he asked, and you sat down on the floor as he grabbed some ice. 

"I was hoping you could tell me," you said, sliding your feet out and stretching your legs. Your ankle definitely felt sprained, but your nose hurt worse. It was probably broken.

He knelt in front of you, melting ice pack in his large hand, and touched it carefully to your face. You winced at the pressure and hissed, your fingers locking around his wrist to pull him away. He shook his head. "Hey, hey. Stop. I'll be careful. I'm sorry, babe." 

"Okay," you said. He held the ice around your nose. Every few minutes, he'd move it to your eye. You stared at him. He was looking at you, but he wasn't seeing you. "Peter..."

"If I had gone with you, I could've helped you beat that guy up," he said. "And then you wouldn't have such a purple face."

You rolled your eyes. "I knew you were going to say that. Peter, stop trying to take the blame. Blame the dumb guy at the bar, or blame Rocket for getting way too drunk and easily offended." You managed a smile. "Besides, what if I like purple? Don't you think I look good in purple?"

"That purple dress you have? Yes. Gorgeous. But you with a swollen, purple face? No." He sighed. "No offense, babe, but you're hardly even pretty now."

You laughed because you knew he was kidding. You shook your head at him and said, "You are so mean to me."

"But you know I love you because I'm so brutally honest with how gross it looks when you're purple and swollen." He moved the ice pack and kissed your forehead, then sat back to bring your leg up to his lap. "Let's look at your ankle."

"Okay," you said, leaning forward to roll up your pant leg while he untied your boot for you. "Spoiler alert, it's probably purple too. But you'll miss the purple when the bruises start to heal and turn green."

"You've got a point," he said, nodding. "Fine. The purple is growing on me, anyway. It matches your eyes." He kissed you on the lips, bringing another smile out of you.