#empathytouched

NO! 

{☆} It was a S H A K Y breath that escaped her lips, her legs crossed on her bed. Gamora kept her eyes shut, knowing the E M P A T H was sitting across from her, eyes wide and waiting to follow through on Gamora’s F A V O R. The Zen Whoberi was terrified. In that M O M E N T. She had been neglecting her feelings for as long as possible, and now that she found herself alone with M A N T I S--she didn’t know what to do.

Slowly, she opened her gaze and kept her expression stoic, though she knew her nerves were evident in her yellow eyes. 

                                      “Remember--you M U S T not tell anyone of what you                                        read here. Not Drax, not Rocket--and certainly not                                        Peter. If I find out that you told--I will K I L L you and                                        make it look like an accident.”

Shakily, she held her hand out for Mantis to take.

It’s Mantis, who gets Peter to pull his head out of his ass. 

She sits beside him, careful fingers carding through his hair, which is comforting enough, but when she smiles at him and says I’m so glad for you, how wonderful it drives home the truth. 

Everything is good. 

Peter’s got this habit at picking at good, always trying to find the trick behind the shine, to see that whatever he’s got has to be fake. He’s picked fights with Gamora, with Drax, and he’s pretty sure if Groot didn’t have resting angel face, he’d pick a fight with them too. 

But they’ve weathered him, all of them. 

And Rocket...he tried to weather it. But they were too close for comfort, within easy reach of each other’s hang ups, and bruised egos. 

It wouldn’t hurt so much if they didn’t care so damn much. 

So he sits there with her, working through all those knots of emotion, carefully unwinding them with a warm hand on his neck, and damned if it isn’t easier to feel it with someone. 

(He owes her one. Peter’s thinking a trip to Xandar. To their hanging gardens. She seems like the type to like it.)

And then it all just...fits.

Peter blares Southern Nights through the ship, lets it replay twice before he makes his way up to the cockpit, fingers brushing over the tips of Rocket’s ears before he sinks down into his chair, never really reaching for the controls. 

gently pets peter too because he looks like he needs it

Critical Role Starters: (Accepting)

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

He means it with no ulterior motive, no need to get anything from it. (He wouldn’t turn down a kiss, she’s beautiful and she’s sweet, but he’s not going to risk their friendship for it.)

“Thank you.”

He tugs her against his side, bending down to press a kiss to the crown of her hair.

“Do those things on yer head do shit?” Kee asked, gesturing to her own forehead to indicate Mantis’ antennae. “They look like smell receptors, but damn if I know shit about anythin’, right?” She grinned, making it clear that it was meant to be read as a self-deprecating joke rather than anything sincere or challenging.

“You wanna dance?”

The music’s nice and slow, filling the space without being overbearing. Peter’s been tapping his foot, but he realizes absently that she’s probably never danced before. 

(They tore her life apart, the least he can do is teach her how to dance.)

It’s a downright hurtful thing to say.

Or it would be, if he weren’t frowning at her with narrowed eyes and suspicion heavy across his features.

    “ ---- you been watching me sleep?”

Alright, so he’s used to that, sorta. Ravagers are a sort of sleep-where-you-fall kind of bunch, and most nights that’s near each other, if not sprawled across. But this crew, this family -- not so much. Peter understands, after a childhood of it. The rest would look at him like he was crazy at best, or possibly stab him at worst if he tried it.

So yeah; call him uncertain.