scott x hope oneshots

when the dust settles

When the battle died down, the only thing Scott could focus on was Hope. Hope, who was standing there across from him, real and tangible and, oh god, alive again, her arm still outstretched from blasting a billion alien demon dogs into oblivion like the badass she was.

The brief glances they had given each other during the fight had been enough for Scott's adrenaline to surge again as they tried, tried in vain to fix the quantum tunnel, but now that they were safe all Scott wanted to do was run over to Hope, like some lovestruck loser from one of those cheesy romcoms that Hope had hated - did hate - with every fibre of her being.

The sort that Scott used to make them watch on a Saturday night, just to piss her off and to watch her nose scrunch up in disgust at all the mushy parts, to laugh as she would shout at the tv and warn the main character that, yes their partner was an asshat, and, god would it have been so hard for the writers to make the relationship at least a little believable?

"Am I an asshat?" He would ask, grinning at her while leaning forwards and grabbing her wrists, drawing her hands closer to his chest.

"You're the biggest asshat I know." And her reply was always the same, said with such sincerity that if it weren't for her very poorly concealed laughter, he might have taken her seriously.

"Aww. You've gone soft, van Dyne."

Scott made a mental note to get his hands on an absolute mountain load of shitty romance dvds when they got back to San Francisco.

Would Hope murder him for it? Oh, definitely. There was no doubt about it. But Scott would rather take death at the hands of the Wasp if it meant that she herself was back, no longer dead.
That she was there, standing amongst the rubble and ash, her suit somehow pristine - Scott would never understand how she did superheroing with such elegance and ease - and her visor still up.

He fumbled with his own for a second, his hands searching for the button that would retract his helmet back into his suit, and there, his vision wasn't tainted by red glass and dust anymore and he could see Hope so much clearer now and ohgod was he crying? Great, he was crying.

And yet Hope was too, her face now unobstructed and uncovered. She was walking towards him, carefully picking her way over piles of rock, and before he knew it Scott's legs were carrying him forwards, unsteady and unsure but definitely headed towards Hope. Hope.

They collided right there and then, their bodies crashing together and fuck, Scott was touching her again, his hands cupping her face and his mouth raining kisses on every part of exposed skin, desperate to confirm that she was there, she was back, she was alive.

A small part of him felt guilty – for him, Hope had only been gone for the few months that it had taken for the Avengers (ohhhh boy he was an Avenger now) to perfect their Time Heist plan, what with him being stuck in the Quantum Realm for those reality-bending five years. If he had missed Hope this much in such a short amount of time, then just how painful had it been for everyone else? For the rest of the world? For Cassie?

Scott gulped, pushing the thought to the back of his mind. For now, he just wanted to be grateful. They had succeeded, for god's sake. They had beaten Thanos and restored the universe to how it should be, no more half-families and a little less sadness.

But there would always be something to grieve over, Scott supposed. Reminders that would plague him whenever he looked over at his now-grown daughter, whenever he would hug Hope just a little tighter and for just a little longer. And just like that, he was crying all over again and Hope was the one kissing him, whispering soft and hushed words in between each press of her lips to his cheeks, his forehead, his mouth.

"Hey. Hey, I'm here, Scott. I'm here."

Scott felt a weak laugh bubble up in his throat, relief flooding his body at hearing her voice again (even though they had spoken during the battle. But that had been strategy talk, all logic and scheming, with only quick, unbroken stares as a method of expressing some form of fondness for one another).

"You said "Cap"."

Hope blinked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching ever so slightly, reminiscent of training days and lab excursions where Scott would habitually try to make her laugh, distracting the both of them from whatever they were working on at the time, all while Hank would complain in the background and mumble something under his breath that would suspiciously sound like "get a room". Though, later on when they were joined by Janet, Hank's comments would be accompanied by a wistful "Henry," and Scott would glance over at the older couple and wink, earning the middle finger from Hank in return.

"You said, and I quote, "we're on it, Cap."" There was no real need for him to reiterate his point and continue to tease Hope, but the laughter that followed was like music to Scott's ears. Was that incredibly cheesy to think? Fuck it, Scott didn't care. At that point, Hope could have started singing Hollaback Girl and he would have been over the goddamn moon; although, he did have to admit that part of that was because Hollaback Girl was a criminally underrated song and, hello, Scott would have paid good money to see Hope van Dyne, the prodigal daughter of the infamous science geniuses (geniuses? Genii?) Hank Pym and Janet van Dyne, sing Hollaback Girl without any prompting from Scott himself.

And so Scott found himself making a new mental note to take Hope out to a karaoke bar somewhere some night.

God, there was so much that they hadn't done together. When Hope had been dusted and Scott became trapped, they'd only just reached the point where their relationship was no longer new and, well, awkward, uncertain. Secretly, Scott thought that they'd done great even getting to that point in the first place. He thought that it would have taken a lot more time and healing for him and Hope to return to how they were before Germany, before the whole Accords mess and Scott's house arrest.

But no, in the three months that went by between Janet's return and, you know, half the fricking world disappearing, Scott and Hope had settled, had practically almost solidified their relationship. Fairly quickly, they had returned to working together, training together and other stuffing together.

Of course, the fact that Hope was still technically on the run from the FBI during that time period had made things a teeny bit difficult – Scott had lost track of the amount of times that Hope had declined BBQ invitations from Maggie and Paxton, citing a need to stay "relatively out of the public eye, just until things blew over a bit more".

He could only hope (ha) that things would be different now. For god's sake, the woman had died. Surely, in the five years that had passed, the FBI would have dropped all charges against Hope and Hank? Not that any of the charges made sense to Scott in the first place. After all, they weren't the ones who had gone to Germany.

And that was such a long time ago now that the FBI had to have dropped the case, right? Or rather, maybe they would have given up on it all considering that they had a new alien invasion and mass genocide to deal with. That was even if the FBI still existed.

Once again, Scott could only remain hopeful that finally, finally, he and Hope might have a chance at normality. At being a couple and doing couply things, whatever they were. Hell, they could go to bars and go on real, proper dates, ones where they didn't have to shrink down in order to enjoy their time together without worry and observation.

But for now he'd settle for this, for holding Hope in the middle of the bloody battlefield where they had fought alongside each other, alongside the Avengers and the Dora Milaje and those cool wizards with the glowing fists, always mere seconds away from losing the battle but always side by side. They were Ant-Man and the Wasp as they were meant to be, strong and glorious and one hell of a partnership.