#gamora fluff

The air on the artificially-constructed world of Kalos-IV was a peculiar thing, a permanent, climate-controlled twilight that tasted faintly of copper and recycled ozone. It was the kind of place where legitimate business went to die a quiet death, and illegitimate business thrived in the cacophonous, neon-lit chaos that took its place. The market, known only to those who needed to know it as the “Bazaar of a Thousand Regrets,” was a sprawling, multi-leveled labyrinth of stalls, temporary structures, and repurposed cargo containers. It was the exact sort of place where a well-meaning Nova Corps officer would tell you to never, ever go, and the exact sort of place where the Milano’s crew found themselves at least once a quarter for supplies that couldn’t be found anywhere else.

You’d been walking for what felt like hours. The initial thrill of seeing the impossible array of alien species—hulking, four-armed Brinaris, hissing, translucent Yautja, and squat, fur-covered Vellusi—had long since given way to a bone-deep weariness. Your feet ached in your boots. The constant press of bodies, a tide of strange textures and smells, was exhausting. Peter was up ahead, his red leather jacket a familiar beacon in the crowd as he chatted with Drax about something you couldn’t quite hear over the din. Gamora walked beside you, her posture a study in coiled alertness, her eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced ease of a former assassin.

And then there was Rocket.

He was trying to navigate the forest of legs, his small, furry form a stark contrast to the towering aliens that surrounded him. He was grumbling, a constant, low-level stream of profanity directed at the shins of a group of oblivious, six-legged Lax’thorians who had just blocked his path for the third time. His ears were flat against his head, his tail twitching with irritation. He was a master engineer, a brilliant tactician, a being capable of building a bomb that could crack a small moon, but here, in the Bazaar of a Thousand Regrets, he was a creature of shin-height, constantly jostled and overlooked.

You watched him for a moment longer, a familiar, fond ache settling in your chest. It was the same feeling you got when you saw him doze off after a long job, his small body curled up on a pile of scrap metal in the Milano’s cargo bay, or when he’d get so caught up explaining the intricate workings of a new gun that his voice would lose its usual cynical edge and become animated, bright. He was, in your opinion, the most incredible person—raccoon, person—you’d ever met.

Another alien, a massive, lumbering creature with tusks the size of your forearm, jostled Rocket, nearly sending him sprawling. The sharp, angry yelp that escaped him was your final cue.

Without a second thought, you broke away from Gamora’s side. You moved through the crowd with a singular focus, bending at the waist as you reached him. Your arms slid around his small, tense body, and in one fluid motion, you scooped him up.

“Wha- HEY!” Rocket’s protest was immediate, a startled, indignant yelp. For a split second, he was a whirlwind of fur and panic, his claws twitching instinctively. “Put me down! What in the- I was FINE! I had it under control! I was about to bite that guy’s ankle clean off!”

But you were already settling him against your chest, cradling him like a very bristly, very argumentative baby. You held him securely, one arm beneath him, the other wrapped around his back, mindful, as you always were, to keep your hand away from the base of his tail and to not put any pressure on his ears. He was warm and surprisingly solid.

You looked down at him, a sleepy, utterly unbothered smile playing on your lips. The exhaustion of the long day had softened your features, and there was a gentle, dreamy look in your eyes. “Now you won’t get pushed around,” you said, your voice soft, meant only for him. “Or stepped over. I don’t mind carrying you.”

He froze, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it had come. This had happened before. Twice, actually. Once on a chaotic spaceport on Tivanus, and once during a particularly long trek through a muddy swamp planet. Both times, he had grumbled, he had protested, he had insisted he was perfectly capable of walking on his own four paws, thank you very much. And both times, he had ended up silent and still in your arms, lulled by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat and your warmth.

This time was no different. His ears, which had been flattened in annoyance, began to relax. His tail, which had been lashing, gave a final, half-hearted flick and then curled loosely around your wrist. He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the sleeve of your jacket, but the tension in his small frame was melting away by the second. It was impossible to stay angry while being held like this. You were so warm.

He’d never admit it, but it was a heat he craved. Humans, he’d discovered, ran warmer than most humanoid species. And sleepy humans? Sleepy humans were like portable space heaters. And you, a young human, were the warmest of all. Your body was smaller, he’d reasoned to himself the first time this happened, so the heat was just more concentrated. A perfect, fur-sink-into-it warmth. And the smell. He’d never mention that, either. It wasn’t perfume or cologne, none of that chemical garbage. It was just… you. The soft, sweet scent of vanilla from that stupidly expensive body soap you liked, mixed with the spicier, warmer scent of gingerbread from the shampoo Peter always made sure to stock for you.

He let out a long, slow breath, his body going limp against you. The cacophony of the market faded to a dull roar. The press of the crowd no longer mattered. Your arms were a safe harbor, your chest a soft, warm pillow. His eyes grew heavy. The rhythmic sway of your walk, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, it was all too much. He was tired. Tired from the job, tired from navigating a galaxy that wasn’t built for his size, tired from pretending he didn’t like this. His eyes closed. His little paws, which had been braced against your arm, relaxed and curled inward. Within minutes, he was asleep.

He drifted back to consciousness an hour later, slowly, like surfacing through warm water. The first thing he registered was the continued, gentle rocking motion of your walk. The second was the soft fabric of your jacket against his cheek. The third was the sound of voices. Gamora, to his left, and you, to his… everywhere. He was still cradled in your arms.

He kept his eyes firmly shut. Groot was back on the Milano, busy with growing in his new pot, which meant no one was going to tattle on him for being awake. He could just… stay here. Just for a little while longer. He burrowed his face a fraction of an inch deeper into the crook of your arm, feigning the deep, boneless sleep of the truly exhausted.

“…do find some similarities,” you were saying. Your voice was a low, sleepy murmur, and he felt the words vibrate through your chest, a soothing hum against his fur. “The sense of humor is… I mean, I think a lot of it is just human. It’s the same kind of stupid. And the music thing, obviously.”

“Yes,” Gamora’s voice was a smooth, thoughtful contralto. “I have noticed that Quill’s nostalgia is a powerful force. It is… endearing. At times.” There was a pause. “Do you find comfort in it? His familiarity? Being of the same race, in a place so far from your home world?”

You were quiet for a moment. Rocket felt your grip on him tighten almost imperceptibly. “Yeah, I do,” you said finally. “It’s nice to have someone who just… gets it. Without having to explain. The little things, you know? Like what a dog is, or why Christmas is a big deal. He makes it less… lonely.”

“Then he is your favorite,” Gamora stated, and there was a hint of a knowing smile in her voice. “Among us. It is only natural.”

Rocket felt a strange, cold knot tighten in his stomach. Favorite. Of course the kid’s favorite was Quill. Same planet, same stupid music, same stupid… everything. It was logical. It was fine. He didn’t care. He was a master criminal, a genius, he didn’t need to be some human kid’s favorite. The knot tightened further. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

And then your arms tightened around him. It was a subtle movement, but to Rocket, who had his eyes closed and his senses attuned to you in a way he refused to analyze, it was as clear as a shout. You had stopped walking.

“Peter?” you said, and there was a strange note in your voice. A note of… confusion? Disbelief? “No.”

Rocket’s ears, hidden against your chest, twitched.

“No?” Gamora echoed, her voice genuinely curious now.

“No,” you repeated, firmer this time. “My favorite is Rocket.”

The cold knot in Rocket’s stomach evaporated, replaced by a sudden, electric jolt. A surge of something hot and fierce and utterly wonderful shot through him. His heart, which he was sure had just stopped, started beating again, double-time. He was intensely grateful his face was hidden.

“Rocket?” Gamora’s voice was a mix of surprise and dawning amusement. “Not Quill?”

“Rocket,” you confirmed. Your voice was soft, but there was a bedrock of conviction in it. You looked down at the 'sleeping' bundle in your arms, and though Rocket kept his eyes closed, he could feel your gaze. It was like a physical warmth. “He’s my favourite. He’s the coolest person I know.”

Rocket’s tail, which had been lying limply around your wrist, gave an involuntary twitch and curled more around it. Coolest. She said coolest.

“I mean, he’s a raccoon, I know,” you continued, a small, fond smile in your voice, “but he’s like… the coolest friend I have. All of his inventions are incredible. Do you know he built a bomb once that could’ve blown up a mountain? And he made a toaster? Do you know how difficult is it to make a toaster? He’s a genius. A grumpy, sometimes bite-y genius, but a genius. And he’s loyal. He’d never, ever leave anyone behind. How could he not be my favorite?”

Rocket was beaming. It was a full-body experience. If anyone had been looking at the small, furry creature cradled in your arms, they would have seen a sleeping raccoon whose mouth had curved into a distinct, smug little smile. His mind was already racing ahead, cataloging the perfect moment to bring this up. Later. On the ship. When Quill was being particularly insufferable. He’d just saunter up, maybe clean his claws nonchalantly, and drop the bomb. "The kid says I’m her favourite, you know. Said I was the coolest. Which, by the transitive property of coolness, means I am objectively cooler than you. I don’t make the rules, Quill, I just get to rub your face in them." He was going to savor it.

Gamora laughed. It was a low, genuine sound. “I understand completely,” she said. “He is… formidable. In a very small, very angry package. I would pick him over Quill, as well. I would pick anyone over Quill, for that matter.”

“Hey!” Peter’s voice rang out from a few paces ahead. He had turned around, his hands on his hips, a look of mock outrage on his face. “I heard that! I heard both of you!”

“What is it you humans say? ‘No offense’?”

“Hell no!” Peter started walking backward, keeping his eyes on you. “I am taking offense! I am writing this down in my journal, and I am holding this grudge until the day I die! My own species, kid! My own flesh and blood! betrayed by my favorite saying her favorite is the furry gremlin who got me to steal my prosthetic leg that one time!”

Drax, who had been walking patiently beside Peter, looked between him and the group with a placid expression. “I, too, would choose the rabbit,” he stated, his voice a low rumble that carried through the crowd. “His methods, while unorthodox, demonstrate a tactical cunning that Quill sorely lacks. Quill relies on dance-offs and luck. Those are not reliable strategies.”

“His name is Rocket, he’s not a rabbit, and you are all dead to me!” Peter declared, spinning back around and stalking forward with exaggerated indignation.

In your arms, Rocket’s smile had grown so wide it was threatening to split his face. He listened to Peter’s sputtering protests, to Drax’s matter-of-fact insults, to Gamora’s quiet, amused chuckles. He was warm, he was comfortable, he was surrounded by the sounds of his dysfunctional, bickering family, and he was, unequivocally, undeniably, the favorite.

He let out a contented sigh, a tiny sound he was sure no one would hear over Peter’s continued grumbling about “loyalty” and “the sanctity of the human connection.” He shifted slightly in your arms, pretending to be readjusting in his sleep, and buried his face deeper into the soft, vanilla-and-gingerbread scent of your jacket.

He didn’t open his eyes. He wasn’t going to. Not until they were back on the Milano. Not until he’d had at least another hour of this. This, he decided, was his favorite thing. The kid—his kid—was his favorite. And that was a secret he was perfectly fine with everyone knowing, even if he’d never, ever say it out loud. For now, this was perfect. He was right where he belonged.

this is pretty much the only way to end up in an actual relationship with gamora — not just because her traumatic past has left her with plenty of trust issues and a strained relationship with intimacy and affection, but also because unless you two are something extremely casual she needs to know that she can (a) trust you to not turn her in for a bounty from her adopted father or anyone else who may have it out for her, (b) rely on you to have her back and help her out when things get difficult in general life or in the heat of a battle (yes she’s more than capable of defending herself, obviously, but having someone that looks out for her at all times massively lessens her burdens and makes life a whole lot easier), and (c) know that you’re looking out for her best interests and are willing to step in and speak out if she’s in the wrong or needs to adjust her approach for a particular mission (seeing feared and known as the intimidating assassin she trained to be is good for the ego and all, but having someone who loves her enough to stand up and correct her when she’s wrong just as much as they’ll stand by her when she’s right is really important), and having a background of intimate friendship would have more than given you the time to prove yourself to her in these ways and thus would make the transition to being romantic partners much easier for both of you

additionally, as her closest friend you were already gamora’s confidant — so trusted that you were the first one she came to about any and all fears and concerns and frustrations with the rest of the group, so trusted that she’d often reconsider her stance and approach if you advised her against it, so trusted that you were the one she’d seek out when she was more sober than she wanted to admit in order to vent about the difficulties she’d faced in her life before meeting you all, and likewise she was the one you’d go to for all the same reasons — and consequently you entered your relationship without any secrets left to keep and felt no need to hide anything from each other going forward because of this established routine (after all, why would you change what isn’t broken?)

the shift from strictly platonic teammates and (in quill’s words) besties to romantic lovers and bedmates would have been extremely slow — slow enough that neither of you would be able to, in hindsight, point to an exact moment or timeframe where things felt noticeably different — and would have felt so natural that there wasn’t really an awkward crushing phase for you both to experience because you didn’t even notice the shift happening until you were well and truly on the other side of it

it wasn’t as if one day you were just friends and the next you were kissing. no. more like you both continued to get closer and touchier and more relaxed around each other as time went on and gamora got used to casual physical intimacy until one day you just looked at each other, realised something had changed, and quietly acknowledged it without saying anything or putting a label on it because it just felt right

you never called her your girlfriend, but she was the person you’d give your life to protect

she never claimed you as her lover, but you were the person she couldn’t bare to lose

you never said that she was more than a friend, but you were always at your happiest and most relaxed when she was safe by your side

she never announced that you were dating, but she was always quick to scare off and threaten anyone who tried to flirt with you when you were out and about as a group

neither of you cared about naming what was between you because all that mattered was how you both felt, but everyone else knew that you two cared deeply and intimately for each other and were generally just happy for you both

Full of enjoyers of the winter holidays, your family had always had a sort of bucket list of activities you would go through every year–getting a real tree, going out in the snow, seeing the Nutcracker, making tons of cookies, and your favorite, ice skating at the big rink an hour or so away from where you lived.

Naturally, as you grew older, you continued these traditions loyally as if your life depended on you doing those tasks. It just became a normal part of every winter.

No matter what was happening, whether good or bad, you could always fall back on those traditions to give you such endless joy. So, of course, when Gamora came into your life, you had to share them with her.

You, by no means, were an above-average skater. No way. But you didn't need to hold onto the wall or someone else to keep yourself steady.

As soon as you got onto the rink, you were gliding around with an everlasting smile spread across your cheeks.

Gamora followed you onto the rink soon after. She was much, much less experienced with skating. Well, she had never done it before, but for you, she was willing to give it a try.

It took a few moments, but soon Gamora was actually doing it. You called out to her, hooting and hollering with excitement and pride.

As you were turned opposite the direction you were moving in, you bumped into someone and fell, twisting your ankle in the process. You tried to stand back up but quickly went straight back down to the ice.

Gamora skated over to you as quickly as she could, crouching to see if you were alright. As soon as she saw the tears welling in your eyes, she picked you up to get you out of the rink.

While carrying you out, she whispered sweet nothings to you, hoping to calm you down and possibly soothe the pain.

Gamora has always been a tough woman. Her father was a mass murderer who kidnapped her when she was younger. She has always been at war with her sister, Nebula. She was trained at a young age to become an assassin and a killer for Thanos. She has every reason to feel sour, bitter, and unhappy.

Until she met you.

You are the ray of sunshine missing from her life. You started to melt her frozen heart. She’s beginning to care about a lot of things she didn’t before all because of you. It’s amazing what one person can make you do and feel just by being them.

One of the things she loves about you is your kindness to more than just humans. She’s taken you on trips across the universe, and it didn’t matter who you met or what kind of species they are, you treated everyone with respect and understanding.

Your heart is made of gold whereas hers is made of steel. It’s balanced each other out, especially in situations like these.

“What is that?” Gamora asks, staring at your new rescue puppy.

“You’ve never seen a dog before?”

“What the hell is a dog?”

“They’re pets that humans have. They’re good for company, service animals, and to always have a best friend with you. They’re such lovable creatures. I adopted him today.”

Your new puppy is excitable and ecstatic to be here. She licks your face and barks. Gamora stares at her with a weird look, but you know she will warm up to the dog soon.

“Just give her a chance,” you grin.

Gamora takes a seat on the floor, and your puppy runs over to her in excitement. She jumps into your girlfriend’s arms and licks her lovingly. Gamora doesn’t know what to do, but you can see a faint smile on her face.

“She loves you,” you smile.

she didn’t trust you at all at first

because all of the other guardians clearly had an edge to them

except groot, but his best friend was rocket (and anyway, the way rocket translated his speech, he felt like he wasn’t as kind as he truly was when given the chance)

but you? you were all kindness and sunshine aside from the people who crossed your friends

so, why were your friends the guardians?

why was she your friend?

why did you go out of your way to compliment her fighting methods, the way she handled de-fusing tense situations, how well her clothing choices brought out the vibrance in her hair?

why did you volunteer to help her when you could, to fight those who disparaged her for her adoptive father, to march into the line of fire to protect her?

were you going to turn on her?

it didn’t make any sense to her until one festival in celebration of the guardians for fighting off the destruction of a peaceful planet

there was a little girl handing out flower crowns, and you took two

you turned to her and offered gamora one

but she said, “what’s the point? they’ll wilt by tonight and probably be dead by tomorrow.”

“the point,” you replied with a grin as you put yours on - vivid pink blossoms providing a pop of color to your comparatively haggard post-battle appearance, “is that we pay attention to every little spark of goodness to remember what we fight for. even if it’s only temporary, it can inspire more warmth and beauty to follow after it.”

she considered this as she took the one you were holding out to her, with flowers that matched her crimson hair

“yours is crooked,” she eventually said, reaching forward with her free hand to fix it for you

you shot her a look of genuine gratitude and said thanks before a trio of kids ran up to you and grabbed you by the hands to drag you away

somehow, she ended up smiling while she watched them insist you join the game they were playing on the street

and she put the flower crown on

when you noticed it, you couldn’t stop grinning and invited her to join you with the kids

that night, she dreamed of your smile

it was almost funny how, as soon as she understood for good that you really were that caring on first instinct, instead of treating it as suspect, she started looking forward to it

she relaxed when you took the time to put a blanket over her shoulders when you shared night watch on colder evenings

she liked when you made her morning drink for her on the rare occasion you woke up earlier than her

and sometimes, since she more often woke up before you, she’d do the same for you

when you tried out a new set of protective armor, she complimented how well it looked on you and offered and to help you secure it

and she bought you a few small, pretty trinkets from planets when she thought you’d like them

if you noticed the change in her behavior, you didn’t comment on it

and if she saw you smiling at her a bit more fondly than before, she didn’t comment on it

she had to be the one to ask you out

not because you were shy or because you couldn’t see how she felt about you

but because you knew she hadn’t had the best childhood and wanted her to be really, really sure she wanted to be in a relationship with you

she was, indeed, very sure

anyway! she didn’t want it to be super big because you liked the little things, the sincere things

so, in the downtime between one mission and another, she pulled you aside from the others

“(y/n), i heard from some of the locals around here that there’s an amazing restaurant overlooking the city. would you want to join me for dinner—just us?”

“yeah!” you said as soon as you realized she was asking you on a date, ahhhh!!!

she struggled a bit with the small talk while waiting for your food, but you found a nice topic she could hold conversation better with

and before long the two of you were talking about everything from epic battles to shared grievances about some of your teammates’ worse habits

you both talked for so long, the restaurant staff eventually had to politely tell you both that they were closing up

neither of you had realized the late hour, and when you walked back to the benatar, gamora’s hand brushed against yours

you slipped your fingers into hers

she squeezed your hand and smiled to herself

when you were going to part ways to go to your own rooms, gamora was reluctant to let go of your hand

so she kissed you on the cheek, as sweetly as she could, because even though she wanted to do more, she figured that was the sort of gesture that you’d

you pulled her back in to kiss her on the lips

and the two of you ended up in her room, chatting and making out until you both fell asleep

needless to say, that was just the first of many lovely dates you and her went on

As much as you loved Gamora, she had one annoying habit: She was always right. That was a side effect of being as intelligent, well-travelled, and keen as she was. Normally, you adored her wit, and her knowledge definitely helped prevent you from dying more than a few times, but when you were the one in the wrong...

You woke up with a sore throat the way you always did right before you came down with something. Wincing, you reached over to grab the cool bottle of water you always kept by the bed you shared with Gamora, hoping that would soothe the ache. It didn't. You groaned internally. A couple nights ago, you'd run out after a target in the middle of a cold rainstorm and didn't immediately dry off and warm up once you'd caught him. Your girlfriend had warned you as you insisted on staying up to watch the prisoner while bringing him back to Xandar, telling you you'd get sick. Foolishly, you said you'd be fine.

Even now, you were in denial. It was just a little cold. You'd power through it. It would pass in a couple days.

A tickle rose in your throat after breakfast that soon led to you coughing into your inner elbow. At least Gamora was sitting up front with Drax, leaving you in the back with the others as Peter tried to mitigate the damage Rocket caused to the ship while "fixing things up."

"If you're dying, you mind doing it a little quieter?" Rocket snapped in the middle of one of your coughing fits.

Peter glanced up to you while you tried in vain to ignore your aching throat and the way your nose felt stuffed up. "You okay, (Y/n)? You don't exactly look your best."

"Just peachy, Quill." Pointing over to where Rocket was tugging at wires, you added, "But our ship might not be if you don't keep Rocket from tearing it apart."

With Quill's attention squarely back on keeping the ship together, you turned yours back to the tablet in your hands so that you could look through the Nova Corps' warrants for arrest. A hand creeped into your vision, and you grabbed Mantis's covered forearm before she could touch you. "Said I'm fine, Mantis."

"I just wanted to be sure," she squeaked, her eyes darting between you and her arm to ask you to let her go. You did so without her even having to verbally prompt you. "I worry."

When you looked across the table to Nebula, who had another tablet out to look for bounties, she narrowed her eyes at you knowingly. "You got sick from the rain and don't want Gamora to know, right?"

Nodding, you said, "Don't tell her."

"I won't," she replied evenly, returning to her tablet. "The way she looks when she's about to say, 'I told you so,' is unbearable. I'd rather not witness it even as a bystander."

"She's not that bad," Peter said, squinting as he fixed the wires Rocket moved on from.

Several feet away and already destroying something else, Rocket scoffed, "You're just used to it because she says it to you most."

"No, she—" Pausing briefly, he sighed. "Yeah, fair enough."

You chuckled before you found yourself sneezing into your elbow, cringing inwardly at the loudness of it.

"Was that (Y/n)?" Gamora called from the cockpit, getting up from her chair.

"No, it was Mantis."

"It was not."

Ignoring your words and the pleading look you shot Mantis, Gamora approached you and put the back of her hand against your forehead. She bit the side of her bottom lip the way she always did when she focused before she pulled back and turned around. "You feel warm. Where's the first aid kit? I want to check your temperature."

Before you could try to point her in the wrong direction, Groot reached up to open the compartment he was sitting under while he played his game. "I am Groot."

"Thanks, Groot," she said, taking the kit. She flipped it open and took out the thermometer. When she turned to you, you slapped your hands over your mouth. "(Y/n), either we use this thermometer, or I'll grab the other one and wrestle you until you're upside down and take your temperature that way, right in front of everyone."

Peter interjected while you contemplated your choices, whistling and saying, "By all means, (Y/n), let her use the other thermometer."

You shot him a contemptuous glare. It was only the idea of the humiliation from letting the other Guardians see your girlfriend take your temperature with a rectal thermometer that prompted you to let your hands fall and open your mouth. She popped the thermometer in your mouth and waited a couple seconds before it beeped, at which point she took it out again and looked at the temperature with a sigh. "You have a high fever."

"Please don't say, 'I told you so,'" you begged, pouting. "When you know you're right, you get that smug smile."

"I don't—"

Sensing Gamora's denial, Nebula interrupted, "You do smile pretty smugly, and it never helps us feel any better when we're wrong."

Your girlfriend turned around to shoot her sister a look. Then, she huffed with a frown before looking over at you as you worriedly rubbed your temple where you felt a strong throbbing. Finally, she said, "All that matters is getting you better, (Y/n). Not who's right or wrong. Okay?"

"I'm fi—ah-ah-achoo!"

She rifled through the first aid kit a bit more before taking out a box of tissues. You blew your nose, hoping to be able to breathe better, while she cleaned off the thermometer. When she came back, she pulled you up from the chair you sat in and took the tissue box in her other hand.

"Come on, you need to rest. Sleep and fluids, and you'll be better in no time," she said. She rubbed your back while she walked with you to the bed the two of you shared. "I'll make some soup for you in a little bit. And no missions or bounties until you feel better."

You kicked off your boots before slipping into the bed and letting her tuck you in. "That's a bit overkill, don't you think?"

"You got sick on a mission, and I won't have you getting worse because you want to exhaust yourself on a mission." She picked up your bottle and checked how full it was. "Besides, everyone else can handle themselves for a few days without us."

Without us. You smiled as she said something under her breath and went off with your water bottle. Of course she planned on personally nursing you back to health. You would have tried to argue, but when she had her mind set on something, she wouldn't back down.

"Thank you, Gamora," you said under your breath as she gave your water bottle back before setting off to make you some soup. "Love you, sweet cheeks."

"Love you, too. That's why I want to get you healthy again."

You woke up in a puddle of your own sweat, sticky and uncomfortable and barely able to breath through your blocked nose. Since Gamora was sleeping peacefully on the other side of the pillow blockade you insisted she build to keep her from catching your cold, you just barely repressed the urge to whine at how frustrated you were. It felt like someone was knocking on your skull from the inside. Reaching over to the tissue box, you tried your best to quietly blow your nose, but you felt the weight of the bed shift anyway.

"Can't sleep?" she asked, sitting up and turning on the light on her side of the bed.

You groaned after failing to clear your nose and dropped the used tissue into the bin moved next to the bed. "Can't breathe. Sorry I woke you, Gamora."

"Don't be sorry. Let's at least see if that fever went down yet." She got up and left your small room before returning with the thermometer. This time when she looked at your temperature, she smiled, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. "There, you broke your fever. That means your body won the fight against the worst of it, so you should start feeling better soon enough."

"And in the meantime, I'll just breathe through my mouth," you groaned while laying back. "Next time, I'll listen to you. You know what, next time, I won't even go out in the rain. It's not worth it. Stars, I hate being sick."

Shooting you a sympathetic look, she laid down the thermometer on the nightstand. "I might have a remedy to help you breathe a bit better if you want to try."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion while she reached over you to the other side of the bed and plucked a small jar full of something red. "I've always thought that as Thanos' daughter, you never got sick."

"Well, I haven't always been Thanos' daughter," she replied patiently. "When I was a really little girl, I used to get colds all the time, and my mother would help me breathe better by putting some czkalu paste right under my nose. It's just lucky we had some of that fruit onboard. I mashed some up while I made your soup, but the soup steam already helped you breathe—until now. I don't know if it'll work for you too, but it's what my mom always did for me, so..."

Your heart melted at the sincere and sweet sentiment, and also at the thought of her reverting back to a memory from her early childhood—the simplest days of her life—to help you feel better. This was one of the first times you'd ever heard her mention her life before Thanos. A part of you had worried that there wasn't much of it to remember and mention. After all, she was such an excellent fighter, she'd obviously had to train for most of her life.

"I'll try anything to clear my airways. Especially if it's you suggesting." When you reached out for the jar, she held it out of your reach.

"You wouldn't let me feed you soup earlier," she said, her voice tender in the silence of your shared room. Her dark brown eyes glimmered with urgency. "At least let me do this."

Nodding, you sat up and leaned forward. She screwed open the jar and scooped up some of the red paste on one fingertip before lightly dragging it over the stretch of skin between your nostrils and the cupid's bow of your lips. The paste smelled sweet but felt cool as you inhaled the fumes. When she was satisfied, she grabbed a tissue and rubbed off the paste from her finger before wiping a bit of excess off from your face. Precise and careful as always. You smiled.

"There," she said.

She smiled back, too, before her expression drew into a slight pout. Then she raised her hand again to press her lips to the side of her index finger. When she held it out to you, you picked up on what she'd wanted to do and kissed the other side. Chuckling, she switched the jar for the thermometer on your nightstand and got up to sanitize and return the thermometer. You took a couple swigs of your water in the meantime, careful to wipe off your lips without touching the paste. To your surprise, the cool fumes seemed to ease your breathing by the time she got back and slipped into the other side of the bed.

Before she turned off the light, you said, "This paste is working really well. My nostrils and I thank you."

"I told you—" She stopped and turned to you with a mix of humor and surprise in her expression. "Whoops. Sorry."

You reached over the pillows between the two of you and patted her arm with a laugh. "I'll take it this time since I don't have a fever anymore. Good night, babe."

"Good night."