Yondu began to talk to Y\N trying to calm her anxiety that seemed to spike out of nowhere in the middle of the night taking her hand from his thigh and bringing it up to his lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of it before placing it over his heart.

“Darlin’ I don’t know what’s got you fretting all of a sudden, but I want you to listen to me. As long as that heart right there is beating you ain’t ever gotta worry ‘bout nothin’ getting you in the night. I promise you that.”

Yondu, as gently as he could, pulled Y/N to his chest and slowly rocking her back and forth trying to calm her as quickly as possible. He didn’t know what she may have been through, but he knew it had to have been something terrible to have her this out of sorts from simply being in a different bed than her own. Why hadn’t she realized yet that she and the boy were the two safest ones on that ship as long as he was around. Yondu would rather sacrifice his own life than to ever let either or those two get hurt in any way, shape, or form. 

If Y/N questions, her safety still after being on his crew for this long, could something have happened with them or was this something from her life back on Terra messing with her still? Yondu made a mental note to try and ease her into opening up as to why she had this reaction later when she was actually awake enough to delve into potential past traumas. 

Yondu managed to get her calmed and back to sleep within about an hour of her waking as she had, and it was a restful rest of the night. As the day started it came with the sounding of alarms to wake and get to work on the ship. More maintenance for the ship and caring for Peter he was still young and needed taught the basics or everyday life all be it not the everyday life that was expected by him and Y/N. 

Yondu carefully woke Y/N and handed off her daily Ravager attire of her denim coveralls with the Ravager emblem over the part that rests over her heart and the pants and plain white tee she wore under them. She offered a small smile as she took them and hurried off to the captain’s bathroom to ready herself for the day.

Once dressed she left the captain’s quarters, checked in on Peter, and started on her daily tasks. She did her best to avoid Yondu all day and for the most part she was successful until it came time for the nightly meal. 

Yondu basically cornered her asking her why she had been avoiding him all day to which she tried to get away without responding. She wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened the night before and was going well out of her way to avoid it. She just wasn’t ready for that particular conversation with Yondu. She thought if he knew what caused her to wake the way she did in his bed he would see her as ‘soft’ and that would be the end of their relationship. Something she wasn’t ready for, nor did she want. 

Yondu decided to let her avoid their conversation at that moment but was determined to at least find out what had happened last night that she had woken up so terrified. He left her eat and socialize like she normally would, but he watched her closely. Waiting for her to decide to call it a night and retire to her quarters for the night after making sure the boy was in for the night. Once she had tucked the boy in then Yondu would make his move and get her to talk to him. 

Yondu was waiting outside of Peter’s quarters for Y/N to finish up the boy’s nightly bedtime routine. A fact that Y/N was unaware of until she exited Peter’s room. Upon realizing Yondu was waiting for her startled her which caused her to let out a little yelp of surprise before greeting him.

“You surprised me Cap. Wasn’t expecting you to be lurking just outside the door, Sir.” She spoke barely loud enough to be heard by him and made no efforts to make eye contact. She wasn’t entirely up for the conversation she knew was about to be had but she knew Yondu was like a bulldog with a bone when he wanted answers.

“Well Darlin’, you’ve done an excellent job of avoiding me today and I needed to talk witcha ‘bout las night…” He stopped and gave her a knowing look he had a feeling this was going to be a hard conversation to have with Y/N, but he needed to confirm his theories about his love. Deep down he wanted to be worried over nothing more than a simple bad night but something in his gut told him there was more to it. He really hoped it wasn’t as bad as he feared.

With a sigh Y/N nodded and agreed to talk with him only in his private quarters as to not risk the rest of the crew overhearing the conversation. She motioned to Yondu to lead the way back to his room as she was clearly not in any hurry to have that conversation.

Her childhood was the one thing that she never talked about. It wasn’t a good experience and not something she enjoyed revisiting. It was a harsh reminder that she was damaged goods. A fact her father would remind her of almost daily. Y/N was starting to feel the anxiety build at the thought of telling Yondu what caused that nightmare the night prior. The fear of her father’s words ringing true was weighing heavily on her. What if they were true what if once Yondu finds out about how damaged she was and decided he wasn’t interested in her anymore because the trauma was too much to deal with on top of everything else on his shoulders. What if he agreed with Y/N’s father, that she was in fact completely unlovable…

To Be Continued…

@capitanostella

Staring at her with wide eyes, your mouth falls open. Your jaw snaps shut, and you try again, “What do I need to save myself from?” You keep your tone light and bubbly, mimicking the Grandmaster’s Ladies. You tear your gaze from the Scrapper, focusing only on the marble floor under your feet, “My goal is to continue serving the Grandmaster faithfully.”

The other woman snorts, and takes another swig from her flask before digging another one out from a hidden place on her person. Tossing it to you, she nods to the Ravager, “He’ll need it if he was truly left in space.”

You catch the flask in surprise, opening it to sniff its contents. The smell is overwhelming, reminding you of a seedy gas station at night. The Scrapper laughs at you, drinking from her own. “It works better than it smells.” Is the last thing she shares before 142 leaves you standing in the middle of your rooms, with a strange blue alien in your bed and a foul-smelling liquor in your hands.

How was this even real life?

You sigh, your head falling into your hands. Taking a deep breath, you set yourself to work. You place the flask by the bed, and turn to your… guest. He’s still out, has been this entire time since 142 presented him to the Grandmaster. His body shutters with every shallow breath. You can’t help but ache with sympathy, seeing all the scars, bruises and cuts this Ravager carries. 

You rearrange him on the bed, grunting under his dead weight. With shaking fingers, you manage to undo his jacket and shirt enough to check his chest for any sign of damage. There’s not much, except for a large purple and black bruise discoloring his blue skin on his right side. You’re not really surprised to see the hard, functional muscle there… but there were far too many scars marring his skin to count. You frown and manage to pull the blankets out from under him and cover him. You rummage in your closet for your hidden medical supplies.

You set the box next to the flask, and bite your lip in thought. You really don’t know where to start, or what to do exactly. It’s not like he’s human, and it’s not like you know anything about alien biology. At all.

You rub your hands over your face in frustration, turning back to your closet. You pull out a change of clothes; one of the older, shorter dresses you have. All you have are dresses- they’re the only things the Grandmaster has gifted you with. You’ve promised yourself multiple times that the first thing you’ll do once you get off world is find yourself a pair of pants.

You quickly change, peaking quickly in the false bottom of one drawer, ensuring your phone is still there. No one had taken it from you on your arrival, unfamiliar with the device. Not that it was doing you any good; you had found a way to keep it charged (and you’ve never been so grateful to your engineering professor of an aunt making you grade papers on weekends) but nothing worked. There was no data out in space. There was no jiggery pokery to make it actually call or text from an alien planet.

Turning back to the still body on your bed, you breathe out a long sigh through your nose. You close the distance, and awkwardly balance on the edge of the bed. Closer up, you can see the calloused and ridged scars along his scalp where the skull and flesh met the metal of the implant. You cringe in sympathy, noting the exposed wiring. Whatever implant that had once been there was gone, shattered to pieces.

Hesitantly and unsure, you reach out and gently tap on the Ravager’s shoulder with your fingertips. Nothing happens, so you try again, this time tapping a little harder, managing to jostle his weight just a bit. Again, nothing happens. Grumbling under your breath, your hands fly up, pulling at your face before trying again.

“Dude, you gotta help me out here,” The words tumble out from your mouth, somewhere between a plea and a command, “I know shit about aliens.” You jostle him again, this time flat out shoving the blue Ravager.

His eyes snap open, and he lets out a growl, one hand striking out to grab your wrist. You jump back in surprise, breaking his weak hold. You’re struck by how red his eyes are.

“Uh, hey?” You swallow, raising both hands, “I’m not gonna hurt you. I wanna help but, um, alien, y’know?” You point to yourself at the word ‘alien’ and hope he understands.

He glares, his red eyes narrowing as he tries to raise himself up on his elbows, only to fall back down to the bed. A painful moan escapes his lips.

“Take it easy!” You stand up, fluttering over him, “142 says you’d been left out in space- it’s a miracle you’re still alive, dude.”

“G…girl…” His voice is low and rough, “wh… where am I?”

“Sakaar.”

His head angles to you, “Wh… where?” The confusion is palatable in his tone.

You shrug, reaching for the bottle Scrapper 142 gave you, “Shittiest planet in the galaxy, if you ask me. Just don’t tell the Grandmaster.” You show him the bottle, “142 said drinking this would help, so let’s start there. I’m gonna help you get up enough to drink, okay?” You don’t wait for him to acknowledge, just snaking one arm underneath his shoulders and levering the Ravager into a sitting position. You manage to uncap the flask, and raise it to his lips.

The Ravage glares at you, and tries pushing you away. There’s no strength beneath his touch.

“I promise, I’m not trying to hurt you,” You tell him softly, before shuffling around enough to bring the flask to your lips instead. You make sure he’s looking at you before taking a tiny sip from the flask.

It tastes absolutely awful. With disgust written on your face, “Not gonna lie; that was horrible. But, hey, not poisonous or whatever.” You offer it to him again, and this time he drinks. You cap the empty flask and lay him back down on your bed.

“I’m gonna try and clean these up.” You lightly brush your fingers over one of the many cuts on his skin. The Ravager says nothing. Taking another deep, steadying breath you set to work. Your medical kit isn’t quite up to the task, but you manage at least to clean and dress the worst of them. By the time you finish, he’s passed out again.

You glance out the small window in your room, and groan at the already fading night sky. You so weren’t going to get any sleep tonight.

___

You wake slowly the next morning, slumped in a blue chair, your head hanging over an armrest. Your back hurts like crazy, and your neck is beyond sore. You didn’t sleep long, and what sleep you did get was fitful at best. You blink against the sunlight streaming in through your window, catching something big and blue out of the corner of your eye.

The space pirate!

Scrambling up out of your chair, you rub the sleep from your eyes. A deliberate coughing fills the room. You freeze, actually taking the time now to look at the Ravager.

You really wish you hadn’t. The blue alien is sitting up, blankets gathered at his waist and in his hand is the heaviest, potentially deadliest object in your room- a wicked looking letter opener the Grandmaster had gifted you after you told him about the Hulk and his Lady Ross. The story had been total bullshit- you only guessed and made up half of it given that Ross worked at Culver for a time, and with her military dad it made for a good Romeo and Juliet type tragedy. The Grandmaster had eaten it up.

The long, sharp blade is pointing towards you. The Ravager looks far better than he did last night, but his breathing is still labored. The hand that isn’t clutching the knife is holding his bruised side. The sound of silence fills the room while you and the alien study each other.

You break the silence, “Uh, good morning?” Your voice nervously pitches up at the end.

The alien snorts, a wry smile breaking his stony expression before it quickly falls. He runs a pink tongue over yellow, crooked teeth. “Ya wanna tell me what’s goin’ on ‘ere, girl?” He has a thick accent, like something from the south. It’s comforting, how he sounds like home.

“Well, I mean,” You lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry, “D’you want the long story or short story?”

“Le’s say short.” He waves the blade for you to move on.

You swallow nervously. You jump into an explanation of Sakaar, the Scrappers, the Grandmaster and his Contest of Champions.

“Most of the people that get dumped on the planet get labeled either food or fighter. I… I don’t know what happens to food, but fighters are brought here to the Grandmaster.”

The Ravager leans back against the wall, his body facing you while you speak.

“What were ya?”

“I’m sorry?” You blink in surprise, eyes wide.

“Ya don’t look like someone born ta this,” He waves with the letter opener, “Can only assume ya were dumped here too.”

“Um, y… yeah. I’m from Earth.” At this he smiles, a wide, almost overwhelming thing.

“Good. Always did like a Terran.” Before you can ask what he means, he’s already plowing on, “So, were ya food or fighter?”

“N-neither?” You squeak, “I think I’d be dead by now if I wasn’t the Grandmaster’s Storyteller.”

“Storyteller?”

“Yeah. Like it says on the tin,” You sigh, sliding down in the chair- he’s finally laid the blade down on the bed beside him, “I just. Tell the Grandmaster stories. Entertain him when he wants it, or whatever.”

He tilts his head back, watching you with lidded eyes, “Ya don’t sound too pleased.”

“Well, I mean,” You run your fingers through your hair, looking away, “I just wanna go home.” You shift your gaze back, “I, um, I’m kinda hoping you can help with that? Like, you don’t even have to get me all the way back to Earth, just help me get off world at least.”

His eyebrows lift, curiosity coloring his expression. You get up from the armchair and move to sit on the edge of the bed.

“You’re a Ravager, right?” You ask, voice earnest, “A space pirate?”

“Long an’ short of it, yeah.”              

You can’t help reaching out towards him; you stop yourself in time letting your hand fall back to the bed. “Help me get off this planet,” You say, “If you can get me off this planet, and I can keep you from dying in the Contest.”

You can’t help reaching out towards him; you stop yourself in time letting your hand fall back to the bed. “Help me get off this planet,” You say, “If you can get me off this planet, and I can keep you from dying in the Contest.”

“Well now, why’d I wanna help someone with’ so little faith in me?”

You snort, laughing, “Honestly? Because everyone who enters that place dies. Maybe not their first day, maybe not their hundredth, but eventually they do. Eventually, someone is going to come along and defeat the current champion, just like all the others… Or the Grandmaster kills them for show.” Licking your lips again, you lean closer, “And I don’t know about you, but I’m not really planning on dying anytime soon.”

The alien Ravager studies you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. “What’s yer name, girl?”

It’s not a question you were expecting. Stuttering, you offer him your name. He repeats it slow, rolling the sounds in his mouth, as if he’s tasting it. It’s been so long since you’ve heard someone else say your name, you can’t help but bask in the sound of it.

He smirks, showing off his crooked teeth, “Name’s Yondu Udonta, and ya got yerself a deal, sweetheart. Ain’t no way fer me ta git meself off this planet until this thing is fixed, anyway.” He taps the ruined implant on his head.

Relief floods your veins. Relaxing, you mumble, “Might be able to find a guy for that…”