Layla lay sprawled on the floor of the ship's common area, idly tossing a ball she had liberated from somewhere, up and down. Most of the time, she managed to catch it, but occasionally it would slip from her grasp, bouncing haphazardly across the room.

She let out an exaggerated sigh, glancing around the room for some form of entertainment. Owen, her faithful companion in boredom, was slouched in a nearby chair, snoring softly. The rest of the crew was engrossed in their plans to confront Ronan, a mission Layla had no intention of missing out on, despite her father's likely objections.

Lost in her thoughts, Layla pondered various strategies to convince Peter to let her join the mission. She couldn't help but wonder how she had ended up in this predicament—caught between a desire for adventure and her father's unwavering protectiveness.

"Layla."

The sound of her name snapped her out of her reverie, and she looked up to see someone standing over her. Before she could properly register their presence, the ball slipped from her fingers, connecting with her nose with a painful thud.

"Ah, shit..." Layla winced, sitting up and cradling her throbbing nose. Had that ball been made of metal? It certainly felt like it.

Strong hands landed on her shoulders, and she looked up to see her dad kneeling beside her, concern etched into his features. "You okay, Lay?" he asked, his hands gentle yet firm.

Responding with a few pained grunts, Layla gingerly pressed her hands against her nose, feeling the metallic tang of blood rising in her throat. "Oh, shit, Lay—" Peter's voice was laced with worry as he reached for a nearby cloth.

Taking the cloth from him, Layla followed his instructions, leaning her head back to stem the flow of blood. Peter's hands replaced hers, holding the cloth in place as she settled into a nearby chair, still holding it to her nose.

Peter took a seat opposite her, concern evident in his eyes. "You okay?" he asked again, his voice softer this time.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Layla replied, forcing a reassuring smile despite the unpleasant taste of blood in her mouth.

"I'm sorry about that, bug, I just needed to tell you that we're leaving now," Peter said, his voice tinged with a mixture of apology and firmness.

Layla scoffed, gingerly adjusting the bloody cloth against her nose as she prepared to make her case once again. "Can I please come—"

Peter sighed, shifting back in his seat and preemptively cutting her off. "We talked about this..."

"I'll listen to every word you say!" Layla interjected, her tone pleading as she attempted to sway her father's decision.

"Lay..."

"I'll stay right next to you!" she continued, her desperation evident in her voice as she listed off reasons why she should be allowed to accompany them.

"No, Layla," Peter reiterated, his tone final and resolute. Layla sighed in defeat, but she wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Remember Priric?" he added, attempting to provide some explanation for his decision.

Her mind immediately conjured the image of Priric, one of her dad's old flings. "You mean your old hook up?" she retorted, fixing him with a pointed stare.

Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yeah, her. She agreed to let me drop you and..."

"Owen," Layla interjected, determined to remind her dad of her friend's existence before he could invent some exotic name.

"...yeah, him. Anyways, she agreed to let me drop you off while we go stop Ronan," Peter explained, his words laden with a hint of reluctance.

Layla fixed him with a skeptical gaze, weighing his words carefully before responding. "You always said how I need to learn to defend myself," she pointed out, searching for some semblance of validation in his response.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration and exasperation. "Yeah, and I'm gonna teach you, not some evil Kree fanatic," he insisted, his tone firm and unwavering.

Layla sighed, setting the bloody cloth aside and reclining back in her seat. "I can fucking fight, Dad," she insisted, her voice tinged with frustration at his refusal to acknowledge her capabilities.

"Frickin'," Peter corrected her automatically, unable to resist the impulse to correct her language.

Ignoring his correction, Layla pressed on, her determination undiminished. "I want to prove I can too. I want some adventure!" she declared, her hands slapping down emphatically at her sides.

"Oh my god," Peter muttered under his breath, a mixture of exasperation and resignation evident in his tone.

"You never let me get a chance to prove myself. You never let me go on your simplest of missions," Layla continued, frustration bubbling up as she lifted her legs and rested them on her father's thighs, treating him like some sort of impromptu footrest.

"Yeah, and there's a reason for that—" Peter began, only to be interrupted by the sudden blaring of alarms signaling their imminent departure.

Layla sat up, her eyes pleading with her father in a way that always melted his resolve. It was a tactic she'd perfected over the years, knowing just how to tug at his heartstrings to get her way.

"Dad, please!" she implored, her voice soft and earnest as she locked eyes with him.

He found himself momentarily lost in her gaze, feeling a pang of guilt for denying her request. "Bug..." he began, his voice wavering slightly as he struggled to maintain his resolve.

"Dad..." Layla persisted, her tone coaxing and persuasive.

Are you kidding me? Peter thought to himself, feeling himself weakening under the weight of her gaze. He glanced down at his shoes for a moment, gathering his thoughts before meeting her eyes once again. "Fine, but you and idiot two, stay right by me," he relented, unable to resist her plea.

Layla's face lit up with an excited smile, a sight that warmed Peter's heart. She wasted no time in springing to her feet, her enthusiasm palpable as she retrieved something from a nearby shelf. In her excitement, she accidentally knocked a few items to the ground, but she paid them no mind as she marched over to where Owen was sleeping.

With a mischievous grin, Layla tossed the hat she'd retrieved at Owen, rousing him from his slumber. "Wake up, idiot, Dad's letting us help them kill Ronan!" she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she relayed the news to her friend.

Owen grinned sleepily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he stood up to join Layla. "I knew you could convince him!" Peter heard Owen exclaim as they walked away, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the room.

Sighing, Peter turned his attention to the mess Layla had inadvertently created. Kids were messy, he thought with a chuckle, shaking his head as he began to tidy up the scattered items. As he gathered her trinkets and knick-knacks, he couldn't help but notice a folded piece of paper nestled among them.

It was obvious that the paper hadn't been touched in years, covered in dirt and bearing the signs of age. Curiosity piqued, Peter carefully unfolded the paper, revealing an old drawing that Layla had made for him when she was just four years old. Memories flooded back as he gazed at the crude yet endearing illustration, surprised that Layla had kept it all these years.

A smile tugged at his lips as he traced the lines of the drawing, each stroke a reminder of the bond he shared with his daughter. He was sorta shocked she kept it after all these years. "Oh, Layla..."

—
nine years ago

Peter Quill settled comfortably into a worn chair, his eyes softening as he watched Layla engrossed in her coloring. She was a picture of concentration, her small hands moving deftly as she filled the page with vibrant hues.

As Layla stood up, a bright smile lighting up her face, Peter couldn't help but smile in return. She bounded towards him, her enthusiasm contagious as she reached him and planted her hands on his knees, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with joy as she looked up at him.

Peter chuckled, scooping her up and settling her onto his lap. "What do you got for me, bug?" he asked, anticipation flickering in his eyes as he awaited her revelation.

With a proud grin, Layla thrust a piece of paper into his hands. Peter took it gently, his heart swelling with affection as he observed the drawing she had created. It was a sloppy yet endearing depiction of him, wielding his blaster as he confronted some unknown creature. The words "my dad" scrawled beside the figure in uneven letters, a testament to Layla's earnest attempt to capture her father's essence.

He looked down at her, his eyes brimming with warmth. "Do you like it?" she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

Peter's heart swelled with love as he gazed at his daughter. "Do I like it... I love it!" he declared, his voice filled with genuine admiration.

In that moment, as he held Layla close, Peter couldn't help but wish that she would stay that small forever. He cherished these precious moments with her, knowing that one day she would outgrow her childish drawings and boundless innocence. But for now, he reveled in the simple joy of being her father, grateful for every moment they shared together.

—

a/n: IK THIS ISNT MUCH BUT I WANTED TO GET SOMETHING OUT, and I want act one to have 10 chapters so I have to end it or else there won't be enough for a new chapter in act one😭😭

But I changed Layla FC to Isabella Sermon, BUT DONT WORRY, Sophie is still her older FC.

The only reason I did that is because izzy definitely fits Layla's snarky personality more then Cee does, Ahhhh

Anyways, cya real soon

-xx ava