Summary: You, some teenager Coulson's team found, are full of secrets. The funny thing is, even you don't know what you possess. That's why Coulson takes to you. That, and you don't seem to have any documented family, and you're technically a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset. So, now destined for the Bus, you lot begin to uncover secrets together.
Spoilers: Begins end S1E3 and goes on from there.
Warnings: violence, needles, math, car crash (will add more as chapters go on)
So, Goose has said that in the final episode of the Amazing Digital Circus, we get to find out what the worst thing Jax has done is. I've seen a theory or two circulate the internet about what this might be, most of which are things he did in the circus.
It doesn't click for me, though. One of them was that Jax was the reason that Ribbit abstracted, but that doesn't make any sense to me. I feel like if that were the case, Jax would remove anything and everything that has to do with her, and we see that in the series, he has photos of Ribbit, Kaufmo and himself on his walls. It doesn't fit into his consistent run, hide, and don't deal with it pattern.
I don't think whatever Jax did is inside the circus. It's outside.
Remember right before Jax pushed the button in episode 7, when he had these visions/flashbacks? One of them shows a house on an unnamed street. The other, him in a car, driving in what looks to be a forest. Now this may be a bit of a stretch, but I think Jax might have killed someone. Intentionally. That, or he did something similarly, drastically illegal.
Still not convinced? Let me give you some more evidence for it being something at least outside of the circus.
Jax is a bully. He's trying his best to be funny, and he "likes to see funny things happen to people." This is a writing tool, something we see happen in everyday life: Jax acting up is a coping mechanism for underlyng trauma. It's a bad, hurtful coping mechanism, and I ain't justifying it by any means, but that's what it is. Something has happened and Jax doesn't want to deal with it properly.
Now, you could say that it might be because Ribbit abstracted, but might I propose that this fella has panic attacks (happening more frequently since the beginning of their escape attempts), one of which includes the flashbacks from earlier right before they press the button? And, when Kinger regains memory due to the bucket on his head in episode 8, and the group begins to discuss how they can escape the circus, Jax has to step out in order to hide his panic attack? Right when they talk about escape.
That, and this fella pressed that button that keeps them trapped. I don't think he knew. He just had to cover it up in some way, or else the others might not take him along the next attempt, where he can 'accidentally' sabotage it again.
I believe that Jax doesn't want to go back. And, if the next escape plan might mean someone has to stay behind to do something, I think Jax may sacrifice himself (so he can stay in the circus).
I don't know. It's just a theory. A TADC THEORY!!!!
So its readers first day on track, like total rookie up from f3. So there sitting with acouple other drivers like lewis and fernando are sitting with her and giving her tips? But like there is totaly a language barrier. Like she is max verstappen 2.0
Thanks 🫶
-🦕
VROOM VROOM?
Rookie! Reader x platonic! Paddock (Hamilton, Alonso)
SULI: Yes I started writing this right away what about it🤨 I should be sleeping right now☺️ but I got an idea for this and had to write it down right away(only took an hour btw)- This was actually so fun to write. Thank you dino anon! Hope you enjoy this. I actually don't know how to tag this😭
Warnings: podium in rookie year? None!
The rookie sits stiffly in the white-cushioned chair, F1 jacket a size too big, hair still a bit damp from stress-sweat and a poorly aimed espresso machine incident earlier. She’s surrounded by legends—Lewis Hamilton on her left, Fernando Alonso on her right. Both have taken it upon themselves to gently mentor her. She, however, is somewhere between a confused raccoon and an overcaffeinated toddler.
Lewis starts off, his voice smooth, professional. He leans in with a kind smile.
“So, first weekend. You’ll want to be careful with tyre degradation in the first stint. If it’s hot, you really have to watch your—”
She blinks. Blinks again. Then chews her gum slowly, like her brain is buffering.
“…What is ‘tyres’?”
Lewis stops. He stares at her like she’s asked what oxygen is.
“The… the rubber. You know? On the car? Tyres?”
She squints. “Rubber?”
Fernando makes a quiet noise—either a cough or a laugh.
“Rubber. Okay. Sexy.”
Lewis sighs. “No. Not like that.”
She leans forward, excited now.
“You teach me. I go fast. I do… vroom vroom.” She gestures wildly, mimicking a steering wheel and what can only be described as throwing invisible dice.
Lewis looks to Fernando. Fernando shrugs and calmly sips his espresso like this is just Thursday.
“There’s a bit more to it than just… vroom vroom.”
She points at Lewis. “Vroom vroom?”
He hesitates. “Sure.”
She points at Fernando. “Vroom vroom?”
He puts down his cup, solemn. “Sí. Vroom vroom.”
She claps like a seal. “Ah! Vroom vroom!”
Lewis runs a hand down his face.
“This is what mentoring is now?”
They try again. Fernando pulls out a tablet and starts showing her a track map.
“So this corner—you brake late, stay on the inside. Apex here.”
She watches, squinting like she’s trying to read a foreign language.
“Brake late. Got it.”
Fernando: “But not too late—”
“I brake never.”
Lewis: “That’s… death. You will actually die.”
She grins. “I have no fear. Only vroom.”
Fernando leans back in his seat, taking a breath, looking at Lewis.
Lewis looks back at him. “She’s going to kill someone.”
The media rep calls time. She springs up like she’s just learned how legs work.
“Okay! I do tyres. I do apex. I do vroom. Thank you, old men.”
She walks off confidently—straight into a glass door.
Lewis stares after her, deadpan.
“…Did she just call us old?”
Fernando sips his espresso again, nodding. “Yes. I respect her.”
Lewis sighs deeply, then mutters,
“God help us all.”
...
Later on in the season...Mayhem. Three DNFs.
Ger Engineers voice reached her ears again.
“Okay, that’s the last corner—just bring it home, nice and easy. P3, unbelievable job.”
There’s a pause.
Then the radio crackles with static and adrenaline:
“AAAAAAAAAAAH!! VROOM VROOOOOOM!!”
The entire garage bursts out laughing.
Engineer, through tears of laughter:
“That’s a… yes, that’s a P3 confirmed, copy. Incredible job.”
She’s already sobbing, half-laughing, half-screaming, still holding the steering wheel like it’s a joystick in Mario Kart.
“DO YOU SEE ME?! I VROOMED!! I VROOMED SO HARD!!”
She parks up and literally forgets how to get out of the car. A mechanic has to gesture like, “Lift the wheel. No, like this. There you go.”
As she stands on the podium, still stunned and soaking wet, Lewis and Fernando are already waiting at parc fermé. Both clapping. Both smiling like proud uncles.
She practically jumps into Lewis’ arms, almost knocking him over.
“You said tires! I did tires!”
Lewis hugs her back, laughing.
She turns to Fernando and opens her arms dramatically.
“My Spanish father!”
Fernando, completely deadpan, opens his arms back.
“My chaos daughter.”
He pats her helmet like she’s a weird little puppy that just won Westminster.
Fernando leans in, murmurs just for her:
“Next time… brake maybe once, sí?”
She snorts. “Never.”
Lewis shakes his head. “She’s going to be a menace for the next ten years.”
Fernando: “Yes. And I love it.”
As they walk off together, someone overhears her say to Lewis:
The New Kid on the Grid Part 3 | Part 2 | Part 1 |
Rookie!Fem!Reader x 2025 Grid (Platonic)
Warnings: aggresive blue lizard, probably bad writing
Words: ~645
Saturday, you didn’t get rid of Frank. You wouldn’t. Instead, you carried him everywhere. Were you in the garage? So was Frank. Were you grabbing a snack from hospitality? Frank had to come along. Were you going to find an FIA rep to plead for Frank’s permission to stay? Then so did Frank, because how else were you going to convince them?
“No.”
“What, come on! He’s adorable.”
“It is a lizard.”
“He is Frank.”
“Do you really want a five second penalty over a lizard?”
“I would die for Frank.”
Your team manager was not happy with you. Or Frank.
“We are not paying that penalty.”
“He’s our mascot. We can’t do that?”
“We?”
“We.”
Your team manager sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Just let him free.”
Pouting, you walk away, Frank’s tank under your arm.
The Emergency Meeting
Oscar: “What’s going on?”
Charles: “Are you alright?”
Carlos: “Are you dying?”
You: “Uh… No?”
George: “Why do you have a lizard?”
Ollie: “That’s Frank.”
You: “And they want me to let him go.”
Max: “Then let him go.”
You looked at him like he’d personally offended you, clutching the tank closer to your chest. And then it clicked. The grin on your face was close to maniacal.
Carlos: “That does not look safe. You do not look sane.”
Charles: “Do not call an emergency meeting over your lizard ever again.”
Ten minutes later, you, Kimi, Ollie and George (who was mainly there for damage control and had voiced multiple times that it was a stupid idea) initiated a plan that was r/maliciouscompliance worthy: you let Frank go. With his belly full of dried crickets and a note wrapped carefully around his foot — which said: ‘I bite (sometimes)’ — you released him into Race Control. Because, really, there were no instructions as to where to release your little mascot.
The FIA had been vague about the whole thing anyway. ‘The premises’ could have just been the garage, and quite technically, you didn’t legally own Frank, so he wasn’t your pet.
Regardless, Frank was free, and terrifying the crap out of nearly every person he skittered by.
Not even five minutes later, you got a call.
FIA manager: “Come pick up your lizard.”
You: “What lizard?”
FIA manager: “The blue one- please do not tell me you have more.”
You: “I won’t.”
FIA manager: Audibly sighing. “... Please just pick up your lizard.”
You: “But I don’t want that penalty.”
FIA manager: “Just catch it! We’ll make you an exception, whatever. Just get it out of here.”
You: Grinning at the others. “Deal.”
That is how the four of you proceed to spend your break before Qualifications chasing Frank down. Little Frank caused more chaos than the four of you combined, proceeding to:
Cause five onsite FIA workers into a visible panic, like he was some mouse in their home.
Take a snack out of Lewis’ lunch.
Bite at Charles’ ankle (yes, really).
Thanks to Charles’ sacrifice, you were able to catch Frank, prying him off. “You’ll be fine,” you reassured a paling Leclerc, who just stared at you with something akin to the thousand-yard stare.
He was not happy. It’s fine. You’d bribe him with croissants or something later.
Post-Race
Frank was not a lucky charm. At all. You lost control of the car in Turn 5, Lap 3. Luckily, you weren’t injured (though your ego was). After podium and recovery, you left at the end of the day with Frank’s tank under your arm. Right outside of the premises, you put it down and crouched beside it, cradling Frank in your hands one final time.
“Do not bite anyone again. I heard it’s not nice. Farewell Frank.”
Then you released Frank, and he disappeared into the foliage, though he would never disappear from your heart.
-------------
AN: Not 100% happy with what I’ve written, but I’m treating this as a lowkey writing exercise. Still hoping you lot enjoy this. Not sure what Part 4 is going to be, either some angst or bonding or something. Very open for ideas.
i do love x reader fics since i adore romance, but i was thinking about something. it'd be cool if there were more x reader fics that were platonic. not sure if that's just me or not but sometimes i hyperfixate on a character and love them in a platonic way. it doesn't happen very often but it happens regardless 🙂↕️
Part 2 of The New Kid on the Grid | Part 1 | Part 3
Pairing: Rookie!Fem!Reader x F1 Grid (Platonic)
Wordcount: ~868
Featuring: Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Esteban Ocon, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and a few others
Friday
Round 2: China Grand Prix. As soon as you’d flown in, you’d been served with data and telemetry by your passionate race engineers, prepping you for FP1. About half an hour before you were meant to be in your Formula, you spotted something cyan-blue skittering across the garage floor.
Almost instantly, you moved. Not away out of fear, but towards it. To catch it. As you dove down, hands outstretched, reaching out to grab it, it slipped under a toolcart. Clumsily, you hit your head against the metal, a sharp pain blooming through your scalp.
“Are you alright?” Your team manager asked, making his way over.
You sit up, rubbing your head and nodding. “‘S just a scratch.”
“What was that?” one of your engineers asked, who had squealed as soon as he saw it and had jumped to the other side of the garage.
“Uh,” - you leaned back down to look underneath the toolcart. “A lizard.”
“What’s a lizard doing in our garage?” your race engineer wondered, and you shrugged.
“Probably wants to drive.”
The engineer who’d jumped away shook his head warily, moving back towards the car. “Whatever, just get rid of it.”
“Yeah, after FP1. Watch Frank for me, will ya?” you gestured towards the toolcart, before getting to your feet and walking off to find your helmet, because where you’d left it last definitely wasn’t where you’d left it last.
The team exchanges confused glances with one another, before shrugging. You were strange in the first place for somehow choosing 69 as your race number and somehow convincing the FIA to roll with it.
Post-FP1
Between Practices, the wary engineer gestured vaguely towards a tyre blanket. “You better catch it or I’m burning the garage down,” he muttered murderously.
You come back a few moments later armed with a plastic container and a cloth bag. Crouching down beside Frank’s supposed hiding place, you lift up the tarp carefully, and the lizard darts out.
Frank somehow ends up taking you:
To the Mercedes Garage, where not only Kimi ends up startled by Frank, but you also get formally shooed away by Toto Wolff himself for possible espionage on their car engine (again)
Across the Paddock, which earned you a confused look from Charles and an amused one from Max (which really was an achievement in and of itself)
Across the track, which luckily wasn’t in use. Eventually, with the help of Oscar, you managed to catch Frank and put him in the cloth bag until you figured out how to keep it.
Haas Motorhome
Post FP2, Ollie managed to sneak you and Kimi into the Haas Motorhome, and you were slumped on the couch, phone above your head as you vaguely researched how to keep a lizard.
“What’s his name?” Ollie asked as he peered into the bag.
“Frank.”
Kimi eyed you hesitantly. “And you’re going to keep it?”
“Absolutely.” You spoke without pausing to think. Frank was cute. Of course you were keeping him.
“And you’re certain the FIA will allow it?” Kimi leaned over Ollie’s shoulder but jerked away when Frank twitched.
“They’ll make an exception.”
“And if they don’t?”
“They will.”
“What do you have there Ollie?” You looked up briefly from your phone to see Esteban, fast approaching, eyes on the bag. “Snacks?”
No one moved as he reached out, took the bag and opened it, only to scream and chuck it back at Ollie. Safe to say that the TikTok you later posted with the recording of it went viral.
@ F1driver_69
[clip of Esteban freaking out over Frank and the three of you laughing your arses off]
No lizards were harmed in the making of this video. Frank lives to see another day.
#Frankrocks #f1 @ estebanocon
Comments:
Esteban Ocon: I am never trusting you three again
Ollie Bearman: I love Frank
Lando Norris: Can he be our mascot?
Oscar Piastri: Please no Lando
You: Sorry, he’s already our unofficial mascot. Find your own lizard.
F1fan#1: Lol, who even is this girl and how did she even get into the Haas motorhome?
[Redacted]: this comment was removed.
The next day, you entered the Paddock with a glass tank under your arm and a bag of dried crickets in your bag, which you had only just bought. The bag with Frank was right where you’d left him, and you transferred him into the tank, which you’d already prepped with a few sticks and a little water, placing the tank in the garage and feeding Frank a few crickets.
It was only a little later that you heard about the FIA’s official statement:
‘Please remove Frank from the premises, as we do not allow pets unless under special circumstances. Failure to adhere to this rule will result in a five second penalty.’
You stared down at the note, and then grinned. You weren’t about to give up Frank, he was your lucky charm now. Besides, you were a rich success story with a lot of influence. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d had the FIA make exceptions for you.
Keeping Frank was just another hill you were willing to die on.
------
AN: This do be Part 1 to the lizard saga. Part 2 coming tomorrow (I hope)
Where you, a fresh rookie in your debut race, try to make reasonable impressions.
Part 1 of The New Kid on the Grid | Part 2
Pairing: Rookie!Fem!Reader x F1 Grid (Platonic)
Wordcount: ~977
Featuring: Kimi Antonelli, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and a few others
Being one of the Grid’s youngest drivers with a frontal lobe that had yet to finish development, you were the leading cause of the FIA’s constant headaches.
It started in Australia, where the weekend was hot and the driving exhausting. The sweat was staining the shirts of both engineers and drivers alike. Pretty quickly, during FP1, you’d made up your mind, and after FP2, you’d begun plotting. You were a rookie after all, and wanted to make a good impression.
Well, maybe ‘good impression’ wasn’t the right phrase. An accurate impression.
Saturday
You’d snuck through the paddock gates hiding a little water gun beneath your shirt. On the way to your team garage, you passed by your first victim: Kimi Antonelli. Just as he passed, you turned and opened fire with your little yellow pistol. Kimi made a startled noise, his hand flying up to a damp spot in his hair, searching the crowd for whoever had just committed a water crime against him, but you were already on the move again.
Throughout the day you’d shot at as many people as inconspicuousness allowed, some of which being:
Carlos Sainz, right between his shoulder blades when he was analysing data with his race engineer.
Oscar Piastri, in between FP3 and Quali, who you’d nearly been caught by.
Lando Norris, who didn’t even realize that he was getting shot at until you redirected the water so that it hit him in the back of the neck. Even then, he only wiped it away with his hand without even looking up for the culprit.
Charles Leclerc, whom you’d sprayed on multiple occasions, and each time he’d react dramatically. By the fifth time, he’d thrown up his hands, looking around wildly for the source. “Who is doing this!?”
After Qualifications, your phone buzzed.
[Groupchat]: Mission: find the sharpshooter
Lando: Who’s the one with the water gun?
Max: Someone has a water gun?
Ollie: Yeah, they’ve been shooting at people all day
Charles: I will do anything to help find the perpetrator
Carlos: Desperate much?
Charles: Five times. I’ve been shot at five times. I’m being targeted here.
Max: Maybe you should just dodge faster
At the end of the day, just as you were about to head out and call it a day, Kimi and Ollie corner you by the motorhomes.
“We know it’s you,” Ollie starts.
“Besides Max, you’re the only driver who hasn’t been shot,” Kimi accused.
“Either you’re extremely lucky-”
“-or you’re the culprit.”
For a moment, you hesitate. You’d been caught, the game was done. “And what if I am?”
“Then you better bring more guns tomorrow.”
Delighted, you grinned.
Sunday
You entered the paddock with your bag suspiciously fuller than normal. No one batted an eye at you, except Charles, who gave you a polite nod. If only he knew. You spritzed him as soon as he wasn’t looking. He was audibly frustrated for at least five seconds.
You’d barely reached your team’s garage when you heard a sharp whistle. Hiding in a dark, shadowed corner were Ollie and Kimi, who beckoned for you. Grinning, you pulled a sprint.
“Do you have the goods?” Ollie asked, sunglasses on and looking like a dealer pulled from a thrift store.
You hand them each two water pistols: one for themselves and one for whoever else they could manage to recruit.
Between then and lunch, the three of you had three missions:
Single out Charles (because his reactions were like dopamine bombs)
Somehow soak Max (who had been impossible to catch)
Not get caught
[Groupchat]: Soak ‘em
Ollie: Verstappen spotted
Ollie: By the RedBull hospitality
You: WAIT. DO NOT ENGAGE.
You: I’M BRINGING A BUCKET.
Ollie: I will not let him disappear again 🫡
Kimi: I want to see this
Sure enough, with a slopping bucket in tow soaking your shoes, you spotted Max right where Ollie said he’d be, with Kimi and Ollie hidden behind a corner inconspicuously.
Somehow, Max had dodged your attack. The entire bucket of water. He had somehow heard your sneaking up and jumped out of the way just in time. He stared at you with a disappointed Dad look. The boys behind you hold their breath.
“So you’re the one soaking everybody.”
“Uh… No?”
He raised a bemused eyebrow at you.
“Maybe.”
He didn’t yell at you, or walk away, or demand you apologize. “Do you have another one?”
Grinning, you give him a pink pistol, leaking with water, and he walks away spinning it around his finger. Ollie shoots you a thumbs up.
Pre-Race
It started with Kimi, hiding behind the Mercedes garage wall, beckoning to you as you passed. Quickly, you scurried over, lowering your cap and adjusting your sunglasses as you hid with him. Silently, he pointed at Charles, Carlos and Ollie, where they stood talking about the superiority of pasta.
“Watch,” he whispers, before opening fire on Charles and retreating quickly.
“Who- Where are you? Come face me and we can fight it out, you Water Ghost!”
Ollie was holding back laughter. A few Mercedes engineers snickered, then they shooed you out for possible rival espionage.
Post-Race
The race was hot, exhausting, and for you, pretty successful. You’d started from P11 and finished in P8 with a lap time that broke what you’d set in F2 last season. Lando had won, with Max in P2 and George in P3.
@ f1
[Lando Norris spraying champagne from the podium grinning and giddy]
[Max Verstappen shooting at Lando with his pink water gun]
[Lewis and Charles vibing to the British anthem together]
What a fantastic opening race in Melbourne! There was a mysterious Water Ghost this weekend spraying water at the drivers, and it seems we’ve found the culprit.
Max didn’t deny the allegations.
All in all, you considered your debut race a grand success.
----------------
AN: I can add a second part where you try to convince the FIA to let your new pet lizard to be allowed to stay on the paddock, what do you guys think?
A fem!reader-insert 'Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.' story.
Part 2 of the Agent Wildcard series
Word count: 2.281
Spoilers: S1x04 of 'Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.'
Warnings: Car crash, Night-Night Pistols
"You're telling me she's gone?" The man was silhouetted against the bright screen before him. Displayed on it was the security footage from the night before. Grainy imaging of three people who had stormed the premises, and later when four of them had left. The fourth lay limp in the seconds arms, the first looking strangely familiar to the man and the third rounding up the back.
"Well, yes, but-" the tinny voice from his old phone replied, stumbling over his words.
"Do you think that I have the time to track her down?"
"Well, no, sir, but I think this might help her - help the project, I mean."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How so?"
"Well, she might get more freedom, and as we've seen before, that can lead to more codes."
The man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He rewinded the footage. "Are you hearing yourself? S.H.I.E.L.D. could get the codes, and then we lose our upper hand. Stop being ridiculous and just do your job like I pay you to."
"Yea, but-"
"No buts. You have 24 hours to find her, or I'll send someone after you instead."
"You want me to retrieve her?"
"No. I just want her location. I'll send someone else after her, since you don't know how to finish the job." The man then ended the call, watching the screen.
“See you soon, Coulson.”
You leaned your elbows against Fitz's workbench, twisting a nut around a bolt back and forth as Fitz worked on a gun beside you and Simmons was inspecting a couple samples under the microscope.
"What are you thinking about, Gills?" Fitz glanced over at you, polishing the pistol absentmindedly.
You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. "I don't know," you mumbled and you opened your eyes again. Were you getting a headache again? You weren’t sure. The fog that had settled over your brain was still thick, but you felt as if it was thinning over time.
Alas, the previous week had felt long. You’d barely gotten to do anything, and Simmons had kept asking you questions. She wasn’t being annoying. Not at all. She was just concerned, and you felt so helpless about it.
On the contrary, though, they’d both let you help out with them. Simmons had let you look through the microscope at her samples, explaining to you what you’d see, and Fitz would have you help out with putting gadgets together. They’d been quick to take you under their wing when Coulson had announced you’d be staying longer (much to Ward’s protest).
You'd made up with Fitz last week the day after you'd annoyed him to insanity.
"Hey... Fitz." You were seated on the cot again, your back leaning against the wall, an open robotics book on your lap.
"What do you want?" He didn't look up at you, eyes on the blue hologram displayed before him. It looked like the shell of a gun.
Why was this so difficult?
"To say sorry..." you muttered through your teeth.
Fitz looked over at you for a moment. "...Really?"
You avoided his eyes. Why did you always do that? Why were eyes so intimidating? "I, uh… I wasn't the kindest yesterday. I don't know what came over me."
Fitz looked at you for a moment longer before turning back to the hologram. "Well, I don't know either."
Silence followed. Absolute, dead silence. The silence that makes you crazy. Made you crazy. Was that an acceptance of your apology, or a denial? Or had yesterday not bothered him? It sure looked like it had rattled him.
You let out a heavy exhale, mustering up every bit of courage in your bones, before standing up and walking over to Fitz. "Start anew?"
Fitz turned his head towards you, before smiling. "Yeah." He held his hand out to you.
"Fitz."
You took his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Nice to meet you."
"Still can't remember your name?" Fitz asked, holding your hand a moment longer, denoting his hope. Your hope.
There was a single word that came to mind every time you tried to remember. It sounded like a stupid name, but there wasn’t another candidate as of now.
"Gills... It's Gills."
It wasn't. You knew for sure that that wasn't your name. But what was, and why was Gills the only word you kept finding every time you dug deeper?
"Earth to Gills?"
You jumped, blinking rapidly. "Oh, yeah, sorry..." You held out the bolt and nut to him. Fitz looked back at you, frowning.
"When did I ask you for the nut?"
You looked at him for a moment before brushing it off. "Oh, no, I wasn't going to give you the nut, I was just, uh..."
Fitz just rolled his eyes, grinning.
Ward, who must have entered earlier when you were thinking, picked up one of the small dendrotoxin cylinders laying on the bench, holding it up to the light. "I only get one shot, and I have to knock a person back, as well as out." He turned away from the light as Fitz held up the Night-Night Pistol he'd been working on earlier. It looked a lot more polished than before. When did that happen?
"Which is why we're perfecting this little beauty. 45 caliber cartridges..."
At that point you zoned out again. He'd told you that over a million times now, explained what each thing meant and why it was important. You, for some reason, couldn't wrap your head around it. As long as it could shoot and the person couldn’t shoot you back, it was fine, right?
"... contains eight rounds of dendrotoxin-"
"In case you miss!" Simmons turned around from her work, the toxin having been her idea. Ward glared over at her, and her face faltered, but she quickly recovered. "Or, you have multiple assailants."
Ward turned his head back to face Fitz, holding his hand out for the gun. But, Fitz pulled back quickly, almost knocking his elbow against your face. You pushed it away though before he could manage a hit.
"Careful, we'll have the Night-Night pistol running in no time." Fitz grumbled, wiping the gun down again. What’s his deal with grime anyway?
Ward sighed. "Great. One thing, though. We're not calling it that."
As he walked away, Simmons cleared her throat, a smug look on her face. "Told you two."
"It's two against two now, Sim.” You said, stocking your tongue out at her. “ Actually, no, scrap that. My vote counts for three, so, that's your two to our four." You say, pushing yourself up from the bench as Fitz goes to put the gun away. You pointed little finger guns at her, and Jemma shook her head with a smile.
"Night-Night pistol for the win."
The boot of the white van you'd retreated into was dark. It felt nice. No light, no super loud sounds and no cold silence. Only you, the nut and bolt, and the old iPod with music Skye had given you. She'd told you she didn't need it anymore but could never find it in herself to throw it away.
The music wasn't amazing, but it wasn't terrible either. You liked the way it drowned your thoughts out, how it pushed down the strings of numbers that kept surfacing the fog.
Maybe you should write them down sometime. Maybe they meant something important.
The van lurched into motion, causing you to slide backwards and slam against the back doors. How thankful you were that you had closed them after entering, or you would have fallen out.
You pulled one of the earbuds out of your ear, hearing the soft purr of the motor. You must have missed when it came to life, or when someone had gotten in. Maybe you should turn the music down.
Once you got your bearings and the vehicle stopped accelerating, you crawled over to the front of the boot, popping your head up just enough to look through the small window into the cabin. FitzSimmons and Skye sat in the back, with Coulson in the passenger seat and Ward behind the wheel-
Shit.
You ducked. You weren't sure if he'd seen you through the rearview mirror. It was dark in the back, the back windows covered in a black paint. No doubt to keep whatever cargo is in the back out of sight. But that meant that there was no reason for him to look in the mirror. So why had he?
But, the van kept on chugging along, and you eventually went to sit against the wall between the cabin and the boot. You put the earbud back into your ear, although you’d turned the music down a little. You’d let your guard down.
Until the van stopped. You tumbled into the back doors, hard. The wind was knocked out of you, and the sound was loud. Your spine ached.
The van didn't pick up again. Why had we stopped? Was something wrong?
Without warning, the door behind you gave way, and you fell backwards towards the street. Before you could hit your head on the road, though, a hand gripped the front of your shirt, stopping you from falling further. Ward's hand, to be specific.
"Hey..." You grinned sheepishly up at him, his face upside down in your vision. Somehow, that made his glare even more intimidating.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were back on the Bus." That was Coulson, who stood to Ward's left. He was frowning, and he did not look ecstatic at all.
"Technically I wasn't planning on coming along…"
Ward heaved you up to your feet outside the van and you let out a startled noise. "Technically, you snuck onto the van in the first place,"
"Technically, I was here first," you say as Ward slides the back door open. FitzSimmons and Skye look at you, all three dumbfounded.
"I'm sure you can squeeze in somewhere," he mumbles as he closes the door behind you. You took a seat behind Skye, and once Couson and Ward got back in the car, he started it back up and you were on your way again. It was a tight fit, but it worked. This bus wasn’t meant to hold six, that much was clear.
“May, we’ve found the kid,” Coulson said into the radio once you were settled.
White noise rang through the cabin. “Where was she?”
“The sneak was in the boot,” Coulson replied, glancing back at you.
A simple ‘huh’ was all they got back, and Coulson turned the radio back down so that the white noise wasn’t deafening.
"How did you even get in here?" Fitz asked, clutching his metal briefcase to his chest.
"I, uh… I just opened the back door, and got in, and closed the back door." You were still holding Skye's iPod, one of the earbuds in your ear, playing 'bury a friend', which you'd probably played a million times over the last week. A long crack ran down the silver surface. You’d have to take a look at it some time later.
"Real clever, Gills," Skye looked over the back of her seat, grinning at you. "You'd make a good spy."
"If you don't make such a racket," Simmons said. "We'd have never known you were there - you could have gotten hurt."
"Well, she didn't. And Skye has a point - if you were older I'd have recruited you myself." Coulson turned his head around to look at you.
"Really?"
Coulson gave you one of his amused smiles. "Maybe, yeah. If you can keep down the racket next time."
Ward had parked the car in a secluded area, and he and Coulson had left for Zloda while the rest of you stayed behind. You'd taken the passenger seat so that the back wasn't as crowded, iPod now tucked in your pocket. The bud in your ear was now playing 'Something Blue', the tinny music making your head bop along every now and then. You were turned in your seat so you could see the others as they worked to find... What was her name again?
"You lot getting anything?" You craned your neck over to look over at Skye's screen.
"Nothing," Skye said, eyes focused on her screen and reading through anything and everything that appeared on it.
"Wait, wait, isn't that something?" Simmons asked as she pointed over at the screen.
"Maybe..." Skye mumbled as she began to decrypt the signal. Once she'd done so, a video appeared on the screen. It seemed like a heat signature, four figures clear in the frame, in a van. Wait…
Fitz seemed to be on the same frequency. "What the..." He stood, waving his arms.
The figure on the video did the same.
"That's us!" Simmons says, her voice hinted with panic as she turns to look at the window.
You're quick to your feet. Before you’ve had a moment to think, your body is already moving, and you don’t stop it.
As the three of them look through the window to spot where the filmer is, you're already taking a seat behind the wheel. You could hear the roar of the truck to your left as it revved to life, advancing. You turned the ignition switch, shifted the gear off of P and dug your foot into the gas pedal.
You felt the van lurch forward, then topple unexpectedly onto its side, and you went flying out of your seat, hitting your head. Your ears were ringing. Someone was screaming. Maybe two, maybe three, maybe four.
A fem!reader-insert 'Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.' story.
Part 1 of the Agent Wildcard series
Word count: 1.885
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Needles, maths >:)
You were cold. Your vision was blurry. Have you been here before? Had you been there long? Everything felt the same, carrying safe familiarity. Everything, as far as you could see, was tainted blue. Blue-gray, blue-black, blue-blue. Everything was merged into one visual, the shades varying every few moments.
And cold. Oh, were you cold. Had I made that clear enough? You were so cold you'd forgotten what warmth felt like. What anything felt like. Now everything was a frozen blur made up of even fainter memories.
What was the time? What was the day, the year? Every second felt like an eternity and nothing at all at the same time. How old were you even now? Did it matter at all? It felt like forever ago when you'd felt the sun hit your skin; forever ago when you'd felt the frozen bite of the cold - which was now a dull and ever-present throb.
Maybe that was all a dream. Maybe this is how life is meant to be. Alone and frozen in time, staring ahead but not seeing. Hearing the muffled noises but not listening. Smelling freedom somewhere far away but never touching. Never tasting. There was darkness and blueness and muffled sounds.
Was this a dream?
No, it couldn’t be. This all felt so real to you.
Did they miss you? Who, you didn't know, you don't remember, but they must miss you, right? Isn't that what people do? They feel, don't they? They love, and then they protect those who they cherish most with their life. You’d felt that once before too, hadn’t you? The memory was too far to reach, too far for you to grab and pull back just to relive it one more time. Your mind was like a thick fog.
Did you feel anymore? Not even the cold drew a reaction from you anymore, it was like your body and the chill were one. Sentiments, they felt so far reached now that your brain barely thought and your eyes barely saw.
The Bus' lab was well lit. The occasional chatter of people and rattle of metal was muffled into the background, giving the place a warm atmosphere. Every now and then, it drew you out of your book and into one of their intellectual conversations. Other times, you'd be completely submerged in your book. Well, it was really Fitz's, but he'd given it to you when they'd set you up a cot in the lab since Simmons wanted to keep an extra close eye on you.
Fitz's book felt familiar to you. You’d never read it before, you don’t think. The numbers and the formulas and the strange long words held something more than just definitions, though. Maybe they held knowledge, hidden somewhere deep in your brain. Damn fog.
Someone waved a hand between your face and your book, pulling you out of your trance. "Are you alright?" It was Simmons. She was frowning, and from behind her, Fitz turned his head to look at the two of you. He was hunched over a small metal contraption, a tool in his hand.
"Yeah, no, I'm fine." You closed the book, keeping a finger in between the pages so you wouldn't forget where you were at, before adding, "why?"
Fitz turned back to his work, but Simmons eyed you carefully, as if she didn't take your word for it. "You weren't responding."
"She's called you like three times already - I'm starting to think you have a selective hearing," Fitz didn't look back up as he spoke. His thick accent took a bit to get used to, but you'd eventually managed.
"Are you?" Simmons prodded, turning her back to grab something from her workbench.
"What? No!" You protested, leaning against the back of the wall, cracking the book open again. The letters and numbers were reaching out for you, taking hold of you and pulling you back in. "I'm just reading."
You were just a couple of words in when you felt a sharp prick in the crook of your elbow. You almost pulled your arm away if not for the hand that held it steady. Looking up, you saw that Simmons was drawing blood. Of course she was drawing blood. As if she doesn't have enough samples yet.
“Warn me next time. You scared me,” you muttered.
"You're immersed. The last time I saw anyone reading that book was years ago," Fitz piped up.
"And you've kept it all this time?"
"On the off chance it might come in handy."
You flipped the front cover over to study the title once Simmons had finished extracting the samples, now disposing of the needle and placing the vials in a rack. "'The Ultimate In-depth Guide to Aeronautics'? Horrible title, by the way."
"I gave you the book so you would let me work." Fitz looked up to give you an irritated look.
"Oh, don't be such a bore, Fitz," Simmons scolded as she placed her eye up to the microscope's lens.
"She's the bore! Who the hell likes to read about aeronautics anyways?"
"It's interesting," you looked back up from your book, giving him an almost confused yet stubborn look.
Fitz stared back at you, his eyes mirroring yours. He didn't look the slightest bit convinced. "It's boring."
"Why do you have it then?" You repeated an earlier question, lowering your book back down. If anything, you just wanted to annoy Fitz now.
"Has it passed your tiny little brain that we are on a plane by chance?"
You pouted your lips momentarily, before the edges curled upwards. "And?"
"And? Oh for fuck's sake!" Fitz threw his hands into the air. His project was now completely abandoned. "If you don't shut your mouth right now I'm going to throw you out of the plane myself."
"While it's flying or not?" You were grinning at him. You knew you had the upper hand. You were patient. He was not. Was this wrong? Maybe. Was it fun? Fuck yeah.
"It's like a hen house in here," an agent who'd just entered through the glass doors mused. Agent Sand? No, no, Agent Great... No? Yes?
"Tell me about it, Ward," Simmons said as she sighed. Agent Grant! I knew that. Totally.
"Well, I've come to free you. Debrief's in five. I heard Skye found something interesting in the HYDRA files we picked up on the mission."
"The whole mission was interesting," Simmons finished up her notes before stepping away from her microscope.
"You don't say," Fitz muttered. "I'll be down in three. Just let me finish this up."
"And how is she doing?" Ward asked Simmons, but you interrupted before she could say anything.
"Doing just grand, thanks for asking."
Ward gave a single, slow nod. "I'll be sure to ask Coulson when we can get you off of the Bus. And why he thought that bringing a teenager on would be a good idea."
"Yes! Yes, That's the best idea you've ever had!" Fitz agreed quickly, making you turn around to face him, pouting.
"Oh come on, you love me!"
"Do not!" Fitz finishes up what he was doing, placing his screwdriver down before rationalizing himself. "You're just annoying and won't shut up. I like to work in peace."
"I can see that," you crossed your arms as you spoke, leaning against the wall behind the cot.
"Now you're doing it again! Stop that!"
Ward glanced over at the clock. "I suggest you two get a move on, we don't want to be late." He then straightened back up and left the lab, Fitz catching up to him. He whispered something in the older's ear, and Ward glanced over at you quickly before an almost amused smile crept onto his face and he hung his head.
Simmons stopped in front of you, studying you with concerned eyes for a short moment. You were aware you looked like absolute dogshit, hollow cheeks and dark bags under your eyes. She gave you one of her sweet smiles. "Just be careful not to touch anything of Fitz. He’s closer to the edge than I’ve ever seen him." After another short moment, she left out the way Ward and Fitz had, disappearing out of sight.
Was it wrong what you’d done? Maybe. Probably. Most likely. But you couldn’t help it - he was just so easy to annoy. No. No, you should stop and apologise. It wasn’t nice of you, he was just doing his job. Maybe you would. Just maybe.
You felt your attention drawn elsewhere, and you took a moment to look around the room. Your eyes fell on a simple sheet of paper. Leaving your book behind on the cot, you walked over to the page. Upon inspection, you found that it was completely blank and boring. Like everything else.
Not for long.
You picked up a pen lying around somewhere, pulled the cap off and began to scrawl.
Simmons, Skye and Fitz had returned to the lab within half an hour, their footsteps resounding against the tiled floor. For trained spies, they weren't very quiet.
You look up from the half-inked paper, nearly illegible nonsense on there. You'd been forced to find another sheet because you'd filled up the first one front to back and all the blanks spaces. Both pages were covered in numbers, and letters to represent other numbers. At some point, you'd grabbed the Aeronautics book again so you could reference the correct formulas and grab the right numbers, although both came almost naturally to you. You’d barely had to think.
"What are you doing?" Fitz asked, moving towards you, eyes fixated on the paper. It wasn't accusatory, like you'd feared, but curious. He came to stand beside you, looking over your shoulder as you finished up the last sum. Simmons and Skye stood a little ways off, no doubt to not end up crowding you.
"I was bored." You shrugged, circling a series of numbers you'd ended up finding.
Simmons pulled the open book towards her, scanning the page, as Fitz grabbed a calculator, quickly punching in numbers you’d written on the paper. He had to squint his eyes. You knew your handwriting was bad, but not that bad. Plenty of people had said that before. Someone you knew. But before you could pull the memory back it vanished, and you were left confused.
"When you're bored, you find something not boring. Like drawing," Skye said from where she stood.
"You don't go and prove the concept of lift and drag," Fitz muttered, putting the calculator back down. Sure enough, the numbers on the screen were the same as the numbers you'd just circled. “How did you even manage to do that anyway?” He looked at her incredulously.
Again, you shrugged. Doing this felt familiar to you. It felt right. So, you did it.
Skye was leaning against the workbench next to Simmons, who glanced up from the book, studying you carefully. "You’re full of surprises. You know that?"
And although you couldn’t remember what secrets you held, although you weren’t sure what surprises you had, you were confident she was right. They were, after all, submerged in a deep fog. And you? You were sinking deeper.
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READERS NOTE:
Hello there you lot, welcome to my series which I most likely won't be finishing (but I'll try). Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!!!
