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Tweak says, "Cambiemos, Argentina :)"

Petra Quill (starladying) wrote in valloic,
@ 2024-09-26 10:38:00

Entry tags:

!: action/thread/log, marvel: gamora, marvel: peter quill

Gamora & Peter

WHAT: Gamora does Lady Quill's hair and make-up
WHERE: Knowhere
WHEN: This morning
WARNINGS: Minor innuendo
STATUS: Complete

He had the best eyelashes as a man and the best hair as a woman. Life was tragically unfair sometimes.

Gamora hadn’t laughed this hard in possibly ever, if she were to be honest. She could forgive the streak of bad luck Vallo so graciously bestowed upon her for allowing her to wake up to this, her husband—now wife—having a moment of confused panic at the realization that his (well, now her) body was vastly different. Less broad, a lot softer, with more curves and more hair than Peter knew what to do with. Their size difference was lacking, and Gamora was able to gift her wife (she needed to keep biting her lips from laughing) undergarments with comments like, “You’re a little more gifted in the bosom department than I am,” which was a nice observation and not a complaint, and then, of course, clothes. Pants were the important thing, and she supposed Peter could continue to wear her t-shirts. Gamora’s fit better though. And it was really the only time she’d get to see Peter in her clothes. Odd, yes. Also a little hot. A lot hot, actually. Peter made a handsome, rugged man—and also a very attractive woman. Gamora was deeply into both. “Such soft hair,” mused Gamora, having sat Peter on the stool before her vanity. She was delighted to take a brush to it, running the bristles down the length of all this voluminous hair. “Do you want to try to experiment with some makeup? Or is it too soon to suggest that, my Starlady?” She had to bite her lip again. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Peter replied, though there was no real sense of displeasure in the words or the glare leveled at Gamora. He was still trying to feel this whole thing out—falling asleep a man and waking up a woman. He had no complaints, wasn’t really uncomfortable, and had even been above the cliche of grabbing his newfound tits immediately, like a respectful dude, but it was still weird as fuck. Gamora found it funny, which actually kind of helped. If it made his wife smile and laugh like that, Peter was into it, and hell, he could look in the mirror and recognize he was a pretty hot woman. Gamora seemed to agree with that, too. So, even though this whole body was new, and he wasn’t really used to being a she and her instead of he and him, he was rolling with the punches. Could’ve been worse, he thought but didn’t say that out loud. “Let’s stick with just the hair for now,” he said, lifting his hands to push the much longer locks back over his shoulders. He let his hair grow out a little bit as a guy, but this was more than he had any damn clue how to handle. Luckily, he had an expert to take care of it for him. Gamora didn’t bother gooping up his hair with much product. A light spritz of something, yes—it helped with some detangling, and it made him smell so pretty, but he didn’t need much else. He had the best eyelashes as a man and the best hair as a woman. Life was tragically unfair sometimes. She fucking giggled and pressed a kiss on the crown of his head. “You’re done,” she said. “And very pretty. How’s the bra feeling? Do you hate it yet?” “I mean, it could be worse,” was Peter’s answer, hand twitching instinctively to adjust the band of the sports bra Gamora had given him. It worked for what it was supposed to do but felt a little tight. How he ended up with bigger tits than his wife when he suddenly switched sexes was beyond him. He examined himself in the mirror for a minute. He knew it was him he was looking at, but the sight of a woman looking back was still jarring, hot or not. The hair was nice, though, and the oversized shirt he wore—one of his own band shirts—grounded him a little more. He looked up at Gamora in the mirror, catching her eyes in the reflection. “And I guess we can do make-up if you promise not to make me look like a clown just for laughs.” “You know I don’t own that kind of makeup,” snorted Gamora, perching herself atop the vanity. She indulged in a few basic things—lipstick, things for her eyes, nail polish (always black). Two fingers went right beneath Peter’s chin, and she raised his face so she could examine all these new features. Weirdly, he still looked like him despite the hairless face and the less pronounced bone structure. “You don’t need much,” she decided quietly, her thumb pulling Peter’s bottom lip gently. “Mascara’s easy. Little bit of eyeliner for your eyes. I’ll do it for you.” Peter looked into his wife’s eyes, feeling the familiar warm flutters in his chest and stomach. He didn’t protest or suggest anything else. He trusted Gamora knew what she was doing, and he’d look decent. Leaving it in her hands was best, anyway; pushing a pencil near his eye himself probably wouldn’t have been a fun experience. There would probably be a lot of ow as he inevitably poked his own damn eyeball. “So, what do you think?” he asked, keeping his face still in her hand. He at least knew better than to start twitching around while she did this. “You like this version of me better than the original flavor?” He smirked playfully, eyebrows raising in question. “The view is nice,” Gamora admitted shamelessly, sifting through her little container of mascara wands and eyeliner pencils. She picked the mascara first and shook the tube in her hand. “The original flavor is my favorite—it’s what I loved first and what I know best.” She twisted the top off and pulled out the brush, solid black. “I would have been yours this way, too. Now, tilt your head up. Try not to blink for me. Or squirm.” Peter tried to both of those without tensing up completely, fucking his gaze on Gamora while she worked. The feeling of some sort of liquid sitting on his eyelashes took a minute to adjust to, and it was hard to fight the urge to blink, but he managed it. He blinked rapidly a few times when she was finished, lifting a hand to wipe at his eyes before thinking better of it and dropping it back to grip his thigh instead. “Wonder if this means there’s a world out there where I really am your Starlady,” he commented, leaning close to the mirror to examine the darker black shade of his lashes. “Probably. Doesn’t seem like the worst deal.” “You’d be just as insufferable,” she said airly, shoving the brush back into its tube now that Peter’s eyelashes were all plump and marvelously dark. Gamora fished for an eyeliner pencil instead—Peter wasn’t ready for liquid eyeliner just yet—and held his face by his chin. “Be a good girl and stay extra still for me. Look up at the ceiling with your eyes. Try not to blink.” The pencil point was sharp, but the pressure was gentle. “And if you think I ruin you now,” Gamora whispered, sultry and sweet, “think of how well I would have ruined you like this.” Peter stayed as still as he could manage at Gamora’s command. It was an awkward position—how the hell women just did this was beyond him even now that he was technically one himself. But he laid one hand on the vanity table and got into a staring contest with one particular spot in the ceiling where the cracks looked almost pinecone-shaped. “I did,” he broached carefully, afraid if he spoke too loud, he wouldn’t be able to stay still, “hear something about the, uh, female orgasm? Being way more…intense?” Gamora snorted. It was loud, meant to suppress a laugh, and it did absolutely nothing to keep her from grinning. She didn’t poke his eye out, at least—she was good at this—and used her fingertip to gently rub off a mild error right below his eye. “You’ll have to let me know,” she mused, and when she was satisfied with her work, she leaned back and gave Starlady an appreciative lookover. “Better hope you don’t get a period while you’re like this.” It took everything not to gulp at those words. Peter had always thought if something crazy like this happened to him—which it hadn’t, really, so far; he’d been lucky—that it would be annoying as hell. But this was both super fucking cool and super fucking promising. Emphasis on the fucking. It might take him a little more time to adjust, but he intended to take full advantage of this situation and Gamora’s obvious continued interest. How could he not? And then she had to go ahead and ruin it with that little tidbit. “Way to fucking jinx me, babe,” he grumbled without any true irritation behind his words. “Guess that just means you’ll have to take advantage before the bloody massacre occurs.” He smirked and grabbed her hands, make-up stuff be damned, and pulled her down for a kiss. The bloody massacre. This time Gamora did laugh, but that turned out to be muffled by that kiss. It was—different, yes. Peter didn’t have the facial scruff to prickle her skin. There was a softness and smoothness that she wasn’t accustomed to, and while she missed it, she had to admit: she didn’t mind this at all, either. “We should get you breakfast,” she murmured against his lips, letting her hands do some exploring and getting the feel of smaller shoulders and smaller arms. “Don’t want you to start going hungry if I end up keeping you in bed.” She also admittedly wanted to show Peter off to Nebula and Rocket. They’d die. Of laughter, of course. Peter groaned knowingly. She was right, obviously; he was hungry, and he was going to have to leave their apartment eventually. Nebula and Rocket and even Groot were going to have a fucking field day with this abrupt change of his, though. Gamora could barely contain herself from snickering already, and the other Guardians were equally trollish. “Speaking of bloody massacres,” he muttered dramatically. But he got to his feet anyway, pulling Gamora into his arms and stealing a final kiss. It was definitely different like this; the press of their bodies seemed more intimate somehow, curving into each other more familiarly. And his hair fell forward into his face much more than usual, enough so that he had to life a hand to push it back as he broke away. “Alright,” he sighed. “Better go face those other assholes.” “Those other assholes are going to love this,” Gamora smirked, wrapping her arms around that new, delicate waist of Peter’s. She missed the more solid, thick feel of him too like this but, like the kiss, the change was also pleasant. And it gave her an idea. She slid her arms a little lower, right below that ass (after giving it a cheeky grope), and hoisted Peter right over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “And I’m going to love tossing you around later.”

	sortadead 2024-09-26 03:00 pm UTC (link)
	I love that he's basically living the life of his mini from D&D vallo now. Same name and everything lol (Reply to this)