AN: Minor trigger warning for implied past abuse, nothing specific, this fic is more about comforting after waking up from nightmares, but I thought I'd put this here just in case

"Don't touch me!" Gamora snapped at the contact, lips curled back into a snarl as she ripped her head back towards them, towards him. She reared back to face him with a fire in her eyes, a message of back off and I can take care of my own wounds after battle.

This team thing was still new, and Peter always took it upon himself to make sure everyone was alright, get the first aid kit out, and patch anyone up who needed mending. Just like the hand that he laid on her shoulder, ostensibly about to ask if she needed help with the major gash on her upper arm that she hadn't had a chance to clean yet. But she could do it herself. She could take care of herself.

He pulled his hand away. Good.

He was about to ask her a question, had tried to catch her before she turned and walked away (she had more experience with the new upgrades they made to the bridge, after all), but apparently that was the wrong move.

"Don't," she growled, yanking her arm from his grasp and storming off.

"She don't like to be touched," Rocket whispered to Peter in her absence. "How's long'll take you to learn that?"

And then it grew, as all things do. Their closeness, their relationship, her craving for contact. The thing she discovered after they started dating- she actually liked cuddling with him. Kissing too, but she wasn't surprised by that. What she was surprised by was how quickly she made the transition to it being their room and their bed and snuggling together every night. She found comfort in his touch- it was easier to fall asleep in his warm embrace, with Peter brushing her hair as his slow, even breaths lulled her into the most peaceful sleep she's had in years. Gamora liked touching him. To wrap an arm around his hip and drift off to the steady thrumming of his heart beat every night- it was nice.

They fell asleep every night and woke up every morning cuddling, and it was fantastic.

Peter blearily opened his eyes at the sound of shouting- coming from right next to him. He could see the outline of Gamora sitting straight up, a scream still strangled in her throat.

"Hey, G'mora, you're okay," he mumbled a bit sleepily, sitting up next to her. "It's okay. You're okay. You're-"

When he laid his hand on her shoulder in a comforting touch, she snapped her head towards him and growled, deep and low, "Don't touch me."

She bared her teeth, threateningly, looking dangerous and violent. Looking feral.

He did as she said and slowly pulled his hand away from her.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her like they were a few hours ago, but he didn't. He wanted to soothe her, and he was just trying to comfort her with his touch, but she didn't want that, so he removed his hand.

She couldn't handle his touch right now, so he stopped.

Stopped touching her, that is. He kept on talking.

He pulled his hand away, and kept on going in the most steady and soothing voice he had. "It's okay, Gamora. Was just a dream. You're okay. You're safe. You're safe now. You're doing great. I'm here. I'm here with you. You're safe. Everyone's safe. Everything's okay now. You're safe, Gamora. I promise. You're safe."

Gamora wrapped her arms around herself as he reassured her with his voice- closed her eyes, gripped her arms tight, still shaking. And Peter kept droning on and on in the background until his words of comfort lulled her back to sleep.

Sometimes when she had nightmares, flashbacks of things that made just the slightest touch seem like monsters and danger, she'd wake up with a cry crushed in her throat. Peter always woke up when she was shouting like that in her sleep, but even when her only signs of unrest were sleep dredged movements and half mumbled sounds, he always seemed to sense it.

Sometimes she'd come out from those with a scream, already lost in panic, from those nightmares that made just the softest touch feel like major threats. Those memories. They turned every touch dangerous.

She'd wake from those with a startled shout, heart pounding, vision blurring, Peter already awake and sitting up beside her. All ready starting to try and calm her.

Of course some times were worse than others.

This time she awoke with a jerk, her eyes flashing open as she sat straight up and looked around wildly in alarm. Even though her lungs were burning, she couldn't stop gasping. It was so real. It was so real this time.

Then she turned, and her eyes landed on him. She let out this crumpled sound. Peter, she reminded herself. Peter was beside her, she was okay, she wasn't back there anymore, all the hands grabbing at her as she fought with all her strength, it hurt, every touch hurt, they only wanted to hurt her-

No! She violently ripped herself away from the thoughts. She wasn't going back there. It wasn't real- not anymore. She was with Peter, and she- she needed grounding

"P-Peter. I want… want the good touches." Her voice quivered, actually breaking at the end of her request.

He nodded solemnly, scooting closer to her. First his hand went to her side, and she flinched so hard at the contact. Peter slowly, softly traced it around her back, til his arm was wrapped around her side, and he moved closer to her, scooting up behind her, so his chest was to her back, and he was just hugging her from behind-holding her. He already had his right arm wrapped around her torso, but when he wrapped his left arm around her too she still flinched just as hard. She was still shaking.

With Gamora's back pressed against his chest, Peter started softly and simply running his hands up and down her arms. Gentle, repetitive motions. Rubbing her arms like she was cold, basically.

That's what… that's what the good touches meant. When she asked for them. When she woke up from a dream of bad ones that made every touch seem dangerous, sometimes she asked him for good touches to combat them, to remind her where she was.

Nights where he rubbed her back, or just ran his hands up and down her arms again and again. Where he drew circles on the palm of her hand, or brushed her hair. He gave her firm and reassuring touches on the outline of her body, her shoulders, sides, hips, legs- like he was protecting her from the outside. From Peter sweeping his hand down the outside of her leg, kneading the joints of her knee, massaging her ankle- he gave her these gentle yet firm and steady touches every time she asked for them. They were stabilizing.

Whether he was wrapping her in his arms, petting her sides, holding her hand- he was always there for her.

That's what she meant when she said good touches. He came up with that term. It sounded so simple and juvenile- embarrassingly childish- but that's what she asked for every time.

Good touches.

If it was anyone but Peter she'd be embarrassed by that terminology alone. But with Peter, she felt safe. He made her feel safe.

Gamora closed her eyes and curled into his embrace. While she still felt shook up, she had finally managed to stop actually shaking.

"You're safe," Peter murmured, his voice just as reassuring as his touch. "You're safe, Gamora. It's okay. You're safe now."

And she believed him. Because here, in his arms, she knew it was true.