(Y/n) is alive and well, but, no one knows.
Not only does no one know but those close to her are gearing up to fight her and the cause she was brainwashed into supporting.
As she fights for the wrong side, and as (Y/n) gets flash backs to times with...
I don't own anything except any original character and/or any original plot.
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2k Special
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A year and a half of therapy hadn't done much for me. The professor did his best, and Nebula was inspirational, but it wasn't enough. So, I pulled a Tony Stark and drowned my sorrows in the alcohol hidden in the bunker. Water was malleable and easily fit into locks.
Red solo cups full of dirty thirty beer couldn't compare to the buzz I felt from well-aged whiskey. Enough so I really could forget what I'd done and gone through.
"(Y/n)? The professor said that you left the session early and- oh god, (Y/n). Again?"
Humming, I spun around on my heels, greeting Peter with a smile, "Peter! I was about to look for you!"
Peter glared at the bottle in my hand, "Put it down, (Y/n)."
"It makes me feel better. You want me to feel better, don't you?"
"This isn't the way, (Y/n). You're nineteen and getting so drunk you're out of your mind. It's not right."
Setting, and nearly dropping, the bottle on the desk, I stumbled into Peter's arms. He was so handsome, so loving, and so ready to give me the reassurance I desperately needed.
My lips clashed against Peter's in a one-sided kiss. Nudges against his chest prompted him to step backwards until he reached the bed.
"What are you doing?" Peter pulled back, holding my wrists to prevent me from pushing him further.
"I need to forget. You love me even after everything, right? Prove it." I fussed with the seam of his shirt.
Hand held up between our faces, I was unable to kiss Peter anymore. Frowning, I stepped back. He was trying to stop me from kissing him, from loving him... almost like he didn't love me. My eyes teared up at the thought.
"No. You're drunk, and hurting. Our first time having sex is not going to be under these circumstances."
"Why not?" I whined childishly.
"So many reasons. Now lay down. You're really gonna feel this in the morning."
"That's bullshit," I slurred, stumbling without the intention to walk in the first place. Peter caught my arms, holding me steady, "Total bullshit."
Peter's face contorted to show confusion, "What do you mean? You're drunk (Y/n). There's no way you won't feel this."
"Maybe I will but I do this all the time. It's- it's- it's how I feel better. 'Cause otherwise I feel like crap. I'm just a murderer and a daughter of that purple grape guy and nothing will ever change that and he's still in my head and-"
