scott x hope oneshots

(you) make me feel better

It has never occurred to Scott Lang that his bad-ass, unstoppable, indestructible (too much?) girlfriend, Hope Van Dyne would have fallen sick. So, it half surprises and half alarms him when he receives a call from her one morning, when he's halfway through devising a security plan in his apartment.

"Scott?" Hope's voice comes through the phone. Hoarse and crackling. A pause. Then a hacking cough. "Can you, uh, come over? I'm..."

Worry creases appears in between his brows. "I'll be right there," Scott replies, shrugging on his jacket, already halfway through the door, doesn't even need Hope to finish her sentence because he knows she's sick by the sound of her voice. "Do you need anything?"

In a haste, she sends him a list in a discombobulated state. He browses through the list on his phone - bread, soup, Vicks, flu tablets, but he certainly didn't expect to come across, pads? His eyes bug out, wide as saucers. Being the most supportive boyfriend that he is, he shrugs it off in a second. He'd do anything for Hope, anything.

Which is why he's standing at an aisle in a grocery store, hands on his hips, eyes flicking through the selection of pads displayed in front of him. He sees that there's an whole array of different brands. Well, that's a start. But then he starts to notice that there are ones for days, nights, wings, wingless, and what? scents and unscented? He doesn't understand why this has to be so complicated.

He's never done this before, not even for his ex-wife. Well, because she has never ask him to.

Scott quirks a brow, then rubs at his neck uncomfortably, all while trying to ignore the suspicious eye of a young woman standing beside him. He offers her a small smile, which she most probably interpreted as a creepy middle-aged man smile, because she takes a pack off the shelf quickly and scutters away.

He doesn't know why it's a taboo for men to buy sanitary pads.

Because it really shouldn't be.

He considers Face-timing Hope but thinks she's most probably knocked out in bed. He wants to see her. And with every growing minute, his worry for her expands. He needs to make this quick. He thinks of calling Maggie, but they've recently just build back the burnt bridges, and it would be awfully awkward.

So, Scott decides to make it simple, and takes one pack of each and chucks it into the trolley cart. He's off to the payment counter in a whiz, and it's now the cashier's turn to narrow his eyes at him.

"What? I'm buying these for my wife," Scott blurts, without a single hesitation, looking at the cashier straight in the eyes. And then he blinks stupidly for a while, realising what he'd just said. Wife. The word feels natural on the tip of his tongue. He lets his thoughts stray, because, oh boy, he really wants to call Hope his wife one day. A big silly smile plasters on his face.

The cashier simply shrugs.

...

Hope thinks she's going to die.

She is not being dramatic in any way, but she really thinks so. Pondering the possibilities of her death, she's lying curled up on her bed, wrapped in a bundle of blankets because she's running a temperature and freezing at the same time, it doesn't make any sense. The curtains in her room are drawn tight because she can't stand the sight of the light that's streaming in, and the illogical part of her brain thinks she's turning into a vampire.

Her head is pounding causing a constant ringing in her ears, her nose is blocked, she can barely breath and her throat's scratchy like sandpaper. She coughs, for like the billionth time, making her throbbing head worse.

It has been a very long time since she felt this sick.

And it sucks.

She barely ever gets sick that it's countable on one hand, and Hope prides herself for it. She would have gone to the grocery store herself if she wasn't feeling like she just got run over by a truck. Flipping over to sleep on her side, she groans, wishing that Scott would arrive soon.