LAYLA QUILL OFTEN FELT LIKE A SPECK
in the vast expanse of space. Her days were filled with the monotony of reading the same three books over and over again and spending time with her father. Though she was Terran, just like her parents, the details of her origins remained shrouded in mystery. Her mother was a distant figure, absent from her life since the tender age of a few weeks, according to her father's account.

Peter, her father and sole guardian, was her anchor in a universe of uncertainty. "Just me and you and the universe," he would often tell her, emphasizing their bond forged amidst the stars. Layla absorbed his every word, her trust in him unshakable despite the void left by her absent mother.

With her slender frame and sprinkling of freckles, Layla bore a striking resemblance to her grandmother, a fact her father never failed to mention. Yet, it was undeniable that she inherited Peter's emerald eyes and strawberry blonde hair, mirroring him in every way.

On this particular day, boredom gnawed at Layla's senses as she remained confined to their ship while her father embarked on yet another daring mission for Yondu. His protective nature prevented her from joining him, a fact that both frustrated and amused her. The thud of a body hitting the ground outside startled her from her reverie, prompting a sarcastic remark.

"Geez, dad!" she exclaimed, watching as Peter scrambled to his feet and hurried to the ship's control center.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted, his hands flying over the controls in a desperate attempt to initiate liftoff. The sound of gunfire echoing in the distance sent a shiver down Layla's spine.

"Dad, are they shooting at us?" she asked, concern etched in her voice.

Peter's response was terse as he focused on the task at hand. "Yup! So put your seatbelt on!"

Rolling her eyes at the notion of seatbelts in the midst of chaos, Layla moved to her seat with haste. "Psh— seatbelts? Who needs them," she muttered under her breath, only to be met with her father's unexpected retort.

"You need them," Peter stated firmly, catching Layla off guard with his keen hearing.

"How'd you even hear that?" Layla inquired, her curiosity piqued.

"Dad senses," Peter quipped with a grin, his attention returning to the controls. "Now, seatbelt on. I can handle this!"

Layla's eyes, vibrant pools of green, rolled in exasperation as she clicked her seatbelt into place. Amidst the cacophony of laughter and gunfire, their ship lurched forward, only to be rudely interrupted by a sudden impact that sent it careening in a dizzying spin.

With a startled yelp, Layla clung to her seat, watching in dismay as her father's face collided with the window, then as he was tossed about like a ragdoll in the turbulent chaos.

"Handle this my ass," Layla muttered under her breath, her frustration mounting as she braced herself against the unruly motion. She unbuckled her seatbelt, determined to take matters into her own hands, but before she could act, Peter's voice cut through the chaos.

"I said I can hand—" His words were cut short as he was tossed once more, leaving Layla to take charge.

Feeling the ship's gravity shift, Layla seized the opportunity to reach for the lever, only to find her father with the same intent. Their hands collided in a desperate scramble, both driven by the instinct to avert disaster.

In a heart-stopping moment, Layla's fingers closed around the lever just as Peter made his move. Together, they pulled with all their might, the ground looming closer with each passing second.

With a jolt that rattled their bones, the ship came to a shuddering halt, sending shockwaves of relief coursing through Layla and Peter as they collapsed to the floor, battered but alive.

"Lay, are you hurt?" Peter's voice, tinged with concern, pierced the air as he tenderly examined her face for signs of injury, his hands gentle against her skin.

"I'm fine," Layla assured him, her voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline. She felt his grip on her face loosen as he exhaled a breath he'd been holding.

Her tone turned playful as she quipped, "How are you supposed to tell me to put on my seatbelt, but then not put on yours?"

Peter's lips curled into a sheepish grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Because I had it under control, bug," he replied, accepting her outstretched hand as they both rose to their feet.

"Under control? Whatever you say, old man," Layla teased, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes.

Peter feigned offense, his eyebrows shooting up in mock indignation. "Old? I'm only thirty-six!" he protested with a chuckle, the tension of the moment dissipating in the warmth of their shared laughter.

LAYLA'S FINGERS MOVED WITH EASE
across the pages of her sketchbook, her pencil tracing delicate lines that gradually brought her imagination to life. Meanwhile, her father, lost in the rhythm of his music, tapped away at his device, his humming blending harmoniously with the melody.

"Can you turn your music down? It's like super loud," Layla interjected, breaking the tranquility of the moment. Peter's brow furrowed in mild surprise at her request.

"Too loud? Just turn your hearing aids down and you won't have to deal with it," he suggested with a teasing smirk, a playful jab at Layla's partial deafness. She had been afflicted since the tender age of five, the result of a reckless encounter with explosives—a tale that always managed to take the happiness out of Peter every time he remembered it instead, filling him with immense amounts of guilt. 5 year olds don't listen though, how could've it been his fault?

"Wow, telling a deaf person to turn down her hearing aids? Can't believe you," Layla quipped with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Peter rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but ultimately relented, reaching to lower the volume of his music as per Layla's request.

As the serene atmosphere settled once more, Layla's attention was drawn to the flashing screen of Peter's device, indicating an incoming call. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she informed her father of the interruption, her lips quirking into a knowing smile.

"Dad, you're getting a call," she announced, her voice laced with amusement as she observed Peter's subtle flinch of apprehension.

Peter's reaction was swift, a silent plea in his eyes as he turned to face Layla, silently urging her not to answer the call. But before he could intervene, it was too late.

"Quill?" Yondu's gruff voice crackled through the device, his presence looming large even through the screen. Layla couldn't help but smile at the sound of his voice, a fondness for the old pirate evident in her expression.

"Hey, Yondu..." Peter greeted, his tone resigned, already anticipating the impending lecture that awaited him on the other end of the line. As the call progressed, Layla settled in to listen, secretly enjoying the dynamic between her father and his grumpy yet endearing mentor.

Yondu's voice crackled with frustration through the communication device, his words laced with irritation and disappointment. Peter met his mentor's steely gaze with a practiced nonchalance, his expression carefully schooled into a facade of indifference.

"I'm here on Morag. Ain't no orb, ain't no you, ain't no you jr.," Yondu grumbled, his eyes boring into Peter as if trying to extract the truth through sheer force of will.

"Well, me and Lay were in the neighborhood. I thought we'd save you the hassle," Peter replied smoothly, his tone betraying none of the unease churning beneath the surface.

Yondu's response was immediate, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Well, where are ya' at now, boy?" he demanded, his impatience palpable even through the static of the transmission.

Peter hesitated, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he squared his shoulders and spoke. "I feel really bad about this, but I'm not gonna tell you that," he declared, his resolve firm despite Layla's disapproving glare.

"Dad!" Layla's protest rang out, a silent plea for Peter to reconsider their precarious situation. He offered her a sheepish shrug, mouthing a wordless apology that did little to assuage her concern.

Yondu's tone softened slightly as he addressed Layla directly, his gruff voice tinged with a hint of pleading. "Is that Layla back there? Girl, tell me where y'all are at," he implored, his desperation evident even from a distance.

Layla remained silent, her arms folded tightly across her chest as she refused to yield to Yondu's demands. "Sorry, can't say," she replied with a casual shrug, her expression betraying no hint of remorse.

"You better tell me where y'all are or—"

"That's enough of that," Peter interjected, abruptly ending the call with a decisive click of the button. He knew they would likely face repercussions for his brash decision, but in that moment, protecting Layla outweighed any consequences they might face.

Turning to his daughter, Peter offered a feeble attempt at justification. "What did you want me to say?" he asked, his tone tinged with resignation.

"Anything but that. We're screwed now," Layla replied bluntly, her frustration evident in the furrow of her brow.

Peter sighed heavily, his lips forming a thin line as he contemplated their next move. "You hungry? 'Cause I know I am," he offered, his attempt to change the subject falling flat in the wake of their current predicament. Layla rolled her eyes in exasperation, resigned to the fact that their troubles were far from over.

—
a/n

short but this is only the first chapter so...

Idk what to say except stan Layla Quill.