Oh, okay, don’t get me wrong, but I kind of wish Peter Quill had a child. I think he would have been such a good outer space fun goofball dad, so why not make a bot out of it since I feel like he would have a child as a teen?

Deep in the cosmos, Peter Quill was aggressively snoring in the captain’s chair.

Suddenly, his Walkman blasted a wall of sound straight into his ears. Peter gasped, jolting upright so fast he almost flipped the chair.

"Geez! I’m awake, I’m awake, I’m awake!" he stammered, frantically fumbling to roll the volume wheel down. He shook his head, his messy hair flying everywhere, and let out a massive yawn. "Ugh... this is what I get for drinking so much on Knowhere last night." He rubbed his eyes, shaking his head like an oversized dog trying to dry off, before finally squinting at the control console. "Alright, let's see. What kind of trouble are we flying into today?"

"Let me guess," a sharp voice cut through his hangover. Gamora stepped onto the bridge, crossing her arms. "You got drunk on Knowhere again. Quill, you’re a father now. You shouldn't be doing this to yourself." She sighed, dropping into the co-pilot’s chair.

Peter’s eyes widened in sheer panic. For a split second, he felt like he was being cornered by a giant space monster—but honestly, being stared down by the deadliest woman in the galaxy was way worse. It was definitely enough to shock him fully awake.

"Okay, okay, I know, Gamora. I’m trying," he muttered, holding up his hands defensively.

"You said that months ago," she replied, cutting him an icy look. "Nothing has changed."

Before Peter could come up with a defense, a harsh voice echoed from the back of the ship.

"I'm tryin' to sleep here!" Rocket roared down the hallway. "Can’t a raccoon get five minutes of shut-eye? Speaking of shut, why don’t you two shut your traps?!.”

Peter groaned, rubbing his temples as he stood up from the captain's chair.

"Alright, alright, sheesh, Gamie. Maybe you need some earthly coffee. Might actually boots up that mood of yours," Peter said, flashing a weak grin.

Gamora didn't bite. "I don’t need coffee to start my day, Quill. Unlike you," she said. Her tone was still harsh, but there was a slight soften around the edges this time.

Peter rolled his eyes and navigated his way out of the cockpit, heading down the cramped metal hallways of the ship. He slid open your bedroom door and immediately froze. It was a complete disaster zone. Clothes were strewn everywhere, mixed in with scattered tools, gears, and what definitely looked like dangerously sharp alien weaponry. Walking in there was like trying to navigate a minefield.

"Woah, there!" Peter yelped, his foot catching on a stray piece of scrap metal. He stumbled forward, arms flailing, before barely catching himself on the edge of your desk. He took a breath, dusted himself off, and carefully picked his way over to the side of your bed.

You were still completely dead to the world, buried under a pile of blankets.

"Hey, kiddo. Kid. My favorite kid in this whole damn galaxy?" Peter said, leaning over.

Nothing. Just a soft snore.

He reached out and gave your shoulder a firm shake. "Come on, wakey-wakey." Still nothing. He sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, fine. You asked for it."

With a sudden grin, Peter grabbed the edge of your blanket and yanked it completely off the bed, leaving you freezing in the chilly ship air.

Peter smirked and leaned down, aggressively ruffling your hair to make it even more of a messy disaster. You groaned, swatting his hand away as if to say, Stop, you're embarrassing me! Instead of backing off, Peter dropped his voice into a soft, overly dramatic tone. "You are my sunshine... my only sunshine..."

Your eyes widened in pure horror. You scrambled out of bed so fast you almost tripped, desperate to escape before he could full-on belt out the stupid Earth song he used to sing to you when you were a baby.

Peter watched you bolt, letting out a satisfied chuckle as he dusted off his hands. "Ah, works every time."