And Then I Wrote Marvel

Bird Murderer (Scott Lang x Reader)

And here we have number 8 of DisneyWorldInfoQueen 's contest.

Scott was right about something that you might like, for once. A road trip with just the two of you was actually relaxing, unlike the big family cross-country drives you'd dreaded as a kid. The bag of unhealthy snacks you had gone through--and had left--was very frightening and comforting at the same time. You actually got to listen to the music that you wanted to instead of watching Disney movies on repeat. Both you and your boyfriend sang at the top of your lungs, and nobody was complaining, for once.

The wide expanse of wilderness in front of you was a comfort; the more time you spent in this strange state of bliss, the better. As soon as you got to New York, life would be an exact agenda until you left in two weeks. The Avengers were fun to mess around with for a little bit, but staying with them for an extended period of time was a whole 'nother story.

For now, you enjoyed your much-awaited time alone with Scott. This was the first time you'd gone with him to New York for the full two weeks. You had dropped by, taking a plane, for a couple of days at a time before, and even in those shorter increments, the outgoing heroes were too much for you.

You stopped at a gas station a couple hours outside of New York. You didn't buy anything there, being completely sugared out from the previous few days, but you did manage to start an argument.

"Gosh, Scott, this isn't preserving any masculinity. Let me drive, and you can take a nap," you argued.

"No, (Y/N), I'm fine. How about you take a nap instead?" he suggested.

"Is this because you don't like my driving?" you asked suddenly, narrowing your eyes.

His jaw dropped as he fumbled for the right words. "I, no, I, uh, you're a good driver, but, um, sometimes, maybe, you're, uh, that is to say, uh..." he trailed off, shrugging. "Not as cautious as I wish you were?" He smiled apologetically.

"Scott Eugene Lang!" you shouted.

"Eugene?"

"I don't actually know you're middle name," you replied sheepishly.

"It's--" he cut himself off with a huge yawn.

"Oh!" you called, pointing to him. "I told you! The driver's seat is mine!" you giggled maniacally.

"No, (Y/N), come on--"

"Nothing out of you, Lang. Hop in the passenger seat, boy."

You bounced into the right side of the front, turning on the car and buckling your seatbelt. He crawled into his seat, a dejected look on his face. That was split by another gigantic yawn. "I hate it when you're right," he mumbled.

"Eh, can it, Lang." You pulled out of the gas station parking lot and made your way back to the highway.

"Don't throw my last name around like that. It might be yours someday, sweetheart," he hinted.

"What are you trying to say here, Scott?" you grinned. "Trying to butter me up?"

"No, I'm just saying that--ugh. How do you get me this flustered?" he said, putting his face in his hands.

"It's a talent, bud."

"Obviously," he scoffed. "For now, though, I'm broke. No ring as of now."

"Aww, Scott. Going from road-raging backseat driver to hopeless romantic. You're cute." You held out your hand , and he high-fives it, confused. "No," you laughed, "gimme your face."

"What?"

"I'm keeping my eyes on the road, Mr. My-girlfriend's-not-as-cautious-as-I-wish-she-was. Just put your face by my hand." He did so, bewildered. Then you tapped his cheek twice, and said, "My poor, broke little Ant-Man. Can't even afford to buy a ring for his girl.

"Hey! Do you know just how dang expensive those things are? I could barely afford one when I was a thief. Now that I'm an honest man..." he put his hands in the air.

Out of nowhere, a rogue bird slammed into the front of the car. You both stared at the greasy mark it left on windshield in shock.

"You legit just killed that bird," Scott said.

Panic had begun to set in. "N-no, I didn't, and don't say legit. It sounds stupid," you tried to turn the focus away.

Scott chuckled. "Whatever, Bird Murderer."

"It's not dead!" you shrieked. "I swear I saw it fly away."

He just laughed some more, then let silence fill the mini-SUV. "You know," he started after a couple of minutes, "hitting that bird was kinda hot."

Your mouth dropped open and you slammed on the brakes. The car behind you quickly switched lanes and honked loudly. "Scott!" you shouted.

"What? It's true! The way that you just fearlessly slammed that bird?"

"Stop talking!" you commanded, backhanding his arm.

He jumped and tried to dodge when you smacked his arm a second time. "It was hot!" he defended himself. "Is a man not allowed to think that his girlfriend is hot?" he muttered.

"That was not hot! I didn't even do anything, it was all that stupid bird's fault. It's not like I went out of my way to hit the bird."

"Listen, babe--"

"Ew, Scott, don't call me babe," you complained.

"Why not?"

"You'd know if I was really a babe, honey."

"And how is that?" You cracked up. "What?"

"'Cause I wouldn't be dating you," you cackled.

Scott clapped a hand to his chest. "That's low, (Y/N), even for you."

"Whatever, Bird Murderer Accomplice. Just go to sleep."