Marvel Imagines, Preferences, One Shots etc. III

Peter Quill- Intruder (a)

'An intruder?' You thought to yourself as you slid your slippers onto your feet and grabbed your pistol from the bedside table. 'On a spaceship?' You couldn't believe what you were thinking to yourself, so many questions ran through your head at the possibility. What kind of police would I report this to? Is it still called a home invasion if they're aliens and this is a ship? You had only been on this ship for a few days after being transported from your planet to another in exchange for some information to the Guardians and you knew it was exactly your luck.

Making as little noise as possible you crept over to the door, it slid open with a mighty swoosh as you approached it, you stood locked in fear, hoping and praying that the intruder didn't hear you. The ravaging and banging continued so you presumed you were okay as you continued down the narrow corridors of the sleeping compartments. As you made your way through you checked in the sealed pods, everybody still sound asleep. You couldn't wake them up, they were already suspicious enough of your request, only your obscure knowledge gave you the upper hand in the scenario, and taxis from one planet to another aren't cheap.

Carefully you approached what you remembered as the canteen of the ship and that appeared to be the centre of the noise eruption. You rose your pistol and lined the sights up as you strafed around the corner, unaware what to expect but fearful none the less.

"Stop right there you-" What you found was neither better nor worse that what you feared, but it definitely did not need a weapon. The captain of the ship, a Peter Quill danced around the kitchen in nothing but a torn and stained pair of underwear and a set of headphones blasting loud enough for you to hear from across the filthy room. Pots and pans sat on the sides, stained and stacked up high. The sink overflowed with dirty dishwater that splashed out onto the floor as Peter threw more dishes, plates and tools into it.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" You asked, trying to get his attention so he didn't freak out and think you were an intruder. "Excuse me... Mr. Quill?" He stopped with a frying pan in hand and slowly pulled the foam pads from his ears.

"I'm making pancakes, you want some?"

~*~

Written by Aaron.

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