Title: The Whole World Stops and Stares for A While

Paring: Scott Lang X Reader

Warnings: mentions of abuse, torture and HYDRA things. Also, manicures.

Spoilers: none

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For maybe seven years of your life, you didn't feel like a piece of crap stuck to the bottom of some poor person's shoe. These seven years were fleeting, from birth to the day after your birthday when the man who sired your birth ran back into your life and raised it to hell. A hell in which you ran from, were retrieved by the police to the shitty home life, and repeated steps one and two dozens of times over the years until you could finally get a job and move away legally from the deadbeat mother and abuser who claimed you as their child.

From there, it had not perked up. You'd been conned into the front of a major drug ring, poisoned by an under-cooked turkey sandwich, abducted and tested on by strange men in suits and accents you couldn't quite place, and shipped off overseas to live in a basement.

So when you came back from the mall after getting a manicure with Wanda Maximoff, you couldn't believe the way Scott acted. Sure, maybe all his woes were related to his time in prison, and his general skill set that made him to be the on-call Avenger he was today, and that his kid didn't get to see him all that often as he would have liked. Sure, maybe he was just an immature guy who lived out the back of the old truck and recycled all the crap he owned to save a few pennies, and hadn't really gone through the shit you had.

"Why did it cost like, twenty dollars for them to colour your nails?" He took a sip of beer, trying to lean casually in the van like he owned it. But he didn't, Luis did. "And Wanda did it too? I bet she could paint her nails with her eyes closed."

Brow furrowed, you crossed your arms. "That's besides the point, Scott. I went out to get my nails done to feel good about myself. Besides, it's my own money, stop complaining. At least I have a job besides being a bellboy for Rogers and Stark." You marched inside the apartment, locking the door behind you. It was then you saw his keys resting in the dish by the door. You kept walking toward the bedroom, prepared to throw yourself onto the bed and probably never get up.

There was the click of the window lock at three o'clock the next morning, you ignoring your boyfriend's entering of the apartment through less than legal ways. The bed shifted with his added weight, and before you knew it, he was beside you, giving you the damn puppy dog eyes you knew he knew you were vulnerable to.

"I'm sorry I was a jerk earlier," he whispered.

"I'm not sorry I locked you out," you blow a lungful of air onto his face, smiling at the way he squirms at your night breath. "I am sorry you waited this long to break into your own place, though. Did you think I'd be guarding the door with a pick axe or something?"

Scott was uncharacteristically quiet at that. "Maybe."

"...I - Scott, you know I had a rough childhood. Hell, all my life. I thought after all the shit I've gone through, I haven't paid enough attention to myself - I'm barely remembering to take care of my body most of the time..." you sigh, remembering all the days you forgot to eat while busy at work, the occasions you fell into bouts of relapse from the things they had put into you, times spent at the Avenger infirmary unable to work as an Avenger and your day job as an assistant manager at a local bookstore. "...I just wanted to feel good."

"Sorry I was a jerk earlier," he repeated,falling into the grasp of sleep.

You rolled your eyes, and turned from facing Scott. The window was alive, bright with the city outside the crappy place your 'normal person' salary could buy. People like Nat and Steve who lived outside of the Avengers compound had a little more of a pay packet than you, lived in pretty apartments with their boy-toys and casual dates (you knew Steve wasn't a blushing virgin, anyone could see he got around like a normal guy of the 21st Century). They probably didn't live next door to a blind man named Matt (whom you suspected to be the vigilante Daredevil), and had a leak in the roof every three weeks.

You fell asleep soon after that. Back to the nightmare you never seemed to ever wake up from.

It was during a team meeting when you noticed that with everyone barefoot for sparring (the best way not to get sneaker-shaped bruises over your body) that Scott Lang had pink toenails. You didn't say a word - they were a pretty shade of candyfloss, and suited his skin tone. But with Thor and Clint Barton watching, you didn't want to make a big deal.

"First up, let's have the lovebirds beat the crap out of each other. Scott and ______, you're up." Tony Stark ordered, crossing our names off the electronic list. "Five minutes on the mats. No suits, and try not to use your abilities, ______," he reminded you.

You nod. "Sure, I'll try not to." It wasn't easy, but somehow, with all the shit they had pumped through you, laced into your blood, through every cell in your being, you had the ability to become at one with whatever you were near, and completely lose yourself in the room. It was not a great gift, not as much as what Pietro Maximoff got, but being invisible had its perks; besides, being invisible just meant that the people who ignored you in the first place could just not see you at all. "But, let's be honest. I'd rather disappear than lose to this arsehole."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Babe, what did I -,"

You shake your head, raising your fists into position. "Talk, or walk. It's time to fight, Lang." You gritted, and as soon as the bell in Bruce's hands (he insisted on using a cow bell he bought on his travels through Austria), you pounced.

As Scott Lunged, you rolled, and once up, kicked his legs from underneath him. But, as he was on the mat, his legs caught yours, bringing you crashing down backwards. But you'd had worse things happen to you, and being winded was the least of your problems. Scott tried to stand, but you jumped, grabbed his hands behind his back, and whipped him into a lock with your body, head between your thighs.

"You cosy there, Scotty?" Sam Wilson called out.

You laughed. "This is for the jab about my fingernails," you whisper, releasing the Ant Man who runs a hand over his exposed throat. "Pink toes. Now we're even."

It isn't until everyone else is dispersing from the training area you turn to Scott. Without glancing down to his pink toes, which, you might add, not a single superhero noticed, he blushes.

"You know how I've got Cassie over at the moment?" He scratches the back of his neck, unable to meet your eyes. "While you were out tossing shots with your friends, she - she painted my toes."

You raise a brow. "Yeah, okay. No big deal."

Scott closes his eyes. "And I'm really sorry I was a jerk to you about your nails, they're really pretty and I was petty and please don't break up with me, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." He gushes.

You can't help but giggle, and bring your boyfriend, Scott Lang close to you. "Dude, you're the best thing that's happened to me too, I'm not going anywhere." You kiss his cheek, and then the other one. "But please, admit that you like having pink toes. I can practically read your mind."

"You can, now, can you?" He punches you lightly on the shoulder. "You're right. It does make me feel good. Let's paint our toes every week."