"Quill!" rang out through the metal corridor. Each call getting louder and angrier.
Peter ran shirtless out of his room. "What in Dormammu's name does he want now?"
The Ravager captain stalked towards Peter, his arrow hovering- poised to dart and make a hell of a hole. "Boy! Why you ain't et something all day? You started to look like Kraggles over there. "
"Hey!" the beanpole of a man scowled, smacking his captain. Yondu glared at the contact, before storming off to look at the beeping flight console.
When a large ship carrying several of the finest Kree warriors in Hala pulled up beside the ship. In the ensuing chaos, Peter forgot to heed Yondu's reminder, as he fought a gruesome battle.
'That was a mistake,' Peter thought. An irate Yondu was "debriefing" the team after the nasty but not fatal, battle.
"That was a disgrace! You call yourselves the Guardians of the Galaxy?! Training at 5 standards for a week." He was about to continue until the self-appointed Starlord dropped like a bag of potatoes.
Peter opened his eyes to a bunch of eyes staring at him. He blinked, and rolled over, and retched.
"Nasty!"
"Rocket, shut up."
He began to move upwards, finding himself cradled in arms that would have put the Rock to shame. Drax walked as carefully as he had with his daughter years before until Quill was in his bunk.
Peter lay there, his vision still swimming before his eyes. A large blue hand offered him soup, and he took it- not caring who or why all that mattered was sustenance. He closed his eyes once the spoon disappeared and slipped into an easy sleep.
Had Peter known what was coming, he would have left his eyes closed for the rest of his short life.
'All right. It says that these here Terrans need half a plate of the veggie things and a quarter of meat and carbs.' Yondu surveyed his handiwork, before gleefully calling the Guardians over the comms. "Crew! Supper's ready!"
The more subdued crew walked in as they stared at the "meal" Yondu had created. It was disgustingly healthy, and any protests died in their throats at the sight of Yondu. He smiled sweetly, his leathers clashing with the frilly apron tied around his waist.
"Tell him to stop feeding everyone!" Peter whispered to Kraglin, under the cover of the rather interesting dinner conversations.
"I can't, it's part of his DNA!" Kraglin replied. When Quill shot him a look, he backtracked. "It's how the folks of Alpha Centauri are! The males look after the younglings. It's why they got the pouch. You triggered decades-old parental instincts with your little swooning episode."
"You mean we're stuck with-" Peter's yelp disappeared under Yondu's call of dessert. Hopes of sugar vanished from the team's minds when the raisin bran muffins appeared.
Let's say Peter was persona non grata on the Milano until Rocket made the ship's only fan explode by "improving" it. In the middle of Xandar's heatwave.