Title: Little Cosmos
Paring: Yondu Udonta X Reader
Warnings: mentions of death, pregnancy, motherhood. Angsty. Fluffy. The works.
Spoilers: yes!! For Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 1 and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2.
Requested by: irenekirkland who asked for this story in MAY and I'm super sorry I've not written it until now but please forgive me!! I had trouble with this story. I hope you like how it's turned out!
Author's Note: 112k reads???????? heck my dudes thas a lot of reads
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It was the hollow feeling in your chest that made it so much worse. But it couldn't be worse, not like it was on Kraglin, or Peter. But everyone standing around, everyone flying back to their homes, everyone whispering their condolences seemed to know that you were the one who knew Yondu the most.
He was always signing himself up for things bigger than himself. That was your Yondu - the man whose whistle was a harbinger of death, who led a faction of space pirates and plundered the galaxies for treasures...the man who fell for you. You'd say it was a hard thing to do, but your husband sure insisted that it wasn't. He wasn't a man of pretty words, but he'd wax poetic about you, to you, with you whenever he could, when you were alone. God, he wasn't a wordsmith, and butchered every word that passed through those lips, but they were words which made you feel chills, heart melt.
It was like he was two people; the rough 'n tumble star cowboy, and the love-struck tragical blue man. He'd tell you every day that he loved you. Without fail. He'd never forget. Over coffee, between shifts, over the Comms unit. Before bed, in between sentences, in fire-fight. It drove Peter mad over the years - the young boy wasn't fond of displays of affection, but if he was on Yondu's ship, and Yondu was captain, he'd be quiet when the captain would kiss his wife. You'd let him protest, though. He was entitled to it.
Whenever you could, you'd take Peter out away from the crew onto new planets and explore the cities, never forcing him to do anything that he wasn't comfortable with, like stealing, or lying like your husband would tech him. No. To you, the young boy was almost like your own, and sometimes when you were tired, or the light was funny, you'd see him as your own child. Yondu even saw it sometimes. But Peter never called you mother and did his damnedest to rebel against Yondu, and that was that. The young man had troubles beyond your abilities as the daughter of a laundromat servicer back on Terran. You weren't a shrink, and you weren't a magician. But you loved your boys. With all your heart.
But that didn't mean you didn't try. Stars, you tried your best. You had been a teenager too, at some time ago (it felt like ages at times) and you felt his pain. And even though he never said anything, you suspected that Peter thought of you as a sort of guardian. An angel on his shoulder to guide him. It felt nice to be a mother. It had been something that was expected of you, from Earth – an assurance that by your gender you'd marry, you'd birth heirs to your father's business, you'd die surrounded by family.
Yondu had died with Peter. He'd always had trouble with getting words out right, yes, but always to Peter. Never found the right time to tell him what he felt about being like the young boy's own father. But he'd died with Peter. And like all those pretty fairy stories where the children go out exploring with their fantasies and fantastic adventures led by their fathers, you had been left home, out of the fuss, unknowing to the fact that your husband had been dead. Kraglin had sent word, and you'd spaced-jumped as fast as you could to be there.
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