#daisyjohnsonfic

[florchis]

we were in screaming color

A collection of drabbles for Pride 2020

Ch. 8:  4 times Sye corrects someone on the team when they misgender her and one time she doesn’t need to (nb!Skye, S1)

[theclaravoyant]

for the drabble challenge, 80. "Let's run away together" + ship of your choice?

thanks for the prompt!

i had some static quake feels to get out in this one, but in a slight copout/fresh take on the ship of your choice suggestion, you’re welcome to apply it to any of your fave daisy ships because i just want her to be happy

enjoy

for @aosficnet2‘s True Drabble Challenge (100wd). Prompt me?

-

The night is quiet, but for Daisy it sings. She can hear not only the crickets, but the swaying of the trees and somewhere, a river; not only her own heart but his, and the flow of air in their lungs and blood through their veins. Alive. Together. If she tries, maybe she could even hear the stars above them. It feels like infinite possibility.

“Let’s run away together.”

She expects him to laugh it off and surrender to the golden light that will soon engulf their precious night. Instead, he takes her hand and squeezes.

“Just tell me where.”

[aosficnet2]

for Prompts for Adoption, here's an anon prompt that I'm unfortunately passing on, I thought somebody else might like it: Skitz + "cupid's demanding back his arrow, so let's get drunk on our tears" (lost stars, adam levine)

Thanks for the prompt, Anon! I’m sorry I couldn’t fill it in the end but hopefully one of the other lovely people will pick it up.

-

Find out more about our prompts for adoption program (including the rewards available for filling them!) here.

[theclaravoyant]

messy ~ an autistic!skye fic

AN ~ So the dawn of time ago, I got a handful of prompts for autistic!Daisy including one more specific one where Skye has a meltdown when everybody gets mad at her about Miles. A lot has happened with my life and writing since that prompt, but tonight I finally came back to it and realised where I had stumped myself before. I’m so happy to finally untie this knot! So, without further ado, autistic!Skye ft S1 Bus Family, especially the Bus Kids (and yes, there’s found family feels) (but they’re fluffy feels I swear)

Read on AO3

messy

“I told you! I already told you, I didn’t think it would- !”

Something should have seemed off then, when Skye apparently decided to bite her own tongue and fall silent right in the middle of an argument – nay, a fight. Of course, in those few seconds it seemed obvious why she’d done it: there was no way she was going to win against the entire rest of the team, especially when even she herself wasn’t really on her own side. She knew what she had done was wrong, was dangerous, but what she was doing with Shield felt just as wrong, just as dangerous, sometimes. It was all messed up in her head, and now she was beginning to realise that it had become all messed up in her heart as well, and it didn’t seem worth questioning, that she would fall silent in the face of inevitable defeat, with an added dimension of self-exploration.

It was not worth questioning – in fact, the tension was so thick that everyone was actively avoiding questioning it – until they were sitting in the car on the way back to the Bus, and more and more things started to seem off.

Skye didn’t smile at FitzSimmons’ bickering. She didn’t help, or complain, when all their equipment was shoved all over her, she just let it happen as if she didn’t even realise she was in its way. She didn’t ask about music, or bury her head in the nearest device. She didn’t even look at the window. She stared straight ahead, at the back of May’s seat, and if somebody looked closely they might notice her shoulders shaking. Her arms shaking. Her fingers shaking. Her lips shaking.

In a way, Skye knew all this was happening. It had happened before – not for a long time, but it had. She’d forgotten how to hide it properly, she’d caught it too late, and now she was trapped. Trapped in more ways than one. Words felt sharp and stuck in her throat and it felt like she was choking, even when she gave up trying to speak them. Everyone’s anger was so loud, it felt like all the air in the car was shaking with it. Every little jingle of a zip or clearing of a throat, it all clambered on top of each other until there was no air anymore, there was only noise, and all Skye could do was tap on her own arm and remind herself that it would not be long until she could lock herself back in her room on the Bus until all the other sounds went away.

(A little voice in her head began to hiss: They already don’t want you. How much worse could it be? She tapped and tapped, but it only got worse. She’d forgotten how the song went. Had she ever even known at all?)

Then Simmons tapped her on the shoulder, and she almost felt like screaming. Couldn’t they just leave her alone? Hadn’t she already said she was sorry?

“Skye?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

Even their caring was loud. Skye felt tears well in her eyes. She couldn’t do this. What kind of spy was she? Well, she wasn’t one, and that was the whole point wasn’t it? That’s what had led her here to begin with? Failing the people she- Well, these people. Betraying them, actually. Oh, wow. She really did not need this. And the caring. And the cracking open of a bottle of water. Skye gritted her teeth and swallowed, glad that May’s door controlled the locks in this car so she couldn’t throw the door open on impulse. Objectively, she knew, that would be bad, but the sensory overload was worse – well, almost. So she kept tapping, and turned away from Simmons. Maybe they would just figure that she was upset and leave her be. Tapping, tapping. It wouldn’t be much longer.

Simmons, of course, was very good at noticing things, and had never been particularly good at leaving things be. It certainly didn’t help matters that – though in fairness, through not much choice of her own - she was pressed right against Skye’s leg in the confines of the car. She could feel the shaking. The silence in the car was deadly, and people were still annoyed, and Simmons was not all that used to speaking when people were silent and annoyed, but somebody had to, right? It seemed to be what Skye would have done. So Simmons tapped her gently.

“Skye? Are you okay?”

Skye made an uncomfortable sort of motion, almost a shrug, but one that looked like she had never shrugged before in her life. She turned to the window with a slow sort of awkwardness, like she was acting and had forgotten how. Staring out the window, her fingers were moving, tapping back and forth on her own arm, and on the side of the car door, with an incessant, spidery, anxious rhythm, and near-silent, using the pads of her fingers like she was trying to remember some sort of song.

Fitz leaned forward in his seat, and frowned. He’d seen Skye upset before, but not like this. Miserable Skye wasn’t nearly so restless. Worried Skye wasn’t usually so quiet. It made his skin crawl. He could only imagine what it must be like to be inside her head right now. What could possibly have been going on?

He shared a worried glace with Simmons, and then they both looked up into the rear view mirror. May was still paying attention to the road, thank goodness – though she’d never admit that her hands were tighter on the wheel than they otherwise might have been. Coulson looked up and then back at them with concern, even distress, in his expression.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is she sick? Skye, have you eaten today?”

“I think she’s having some sort of seizure,” Fitz put in.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Simmons corrected. “She was responsive. Sort of. I think she can hear us, she just… can’t ask for help.”

“What?” Coulson demanded, shifting in his seat, discomfited by the idea that he didn’t know what was going on, and apparently couldn’t do anything about it. “What do you mean, she can’t ask for help? Is it- is it an anxiety attack or something?”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame her,” Fitz muttered, “you were saying some pretty harsh things back there.”

“And you weren’t?”

“Hey, we all said things we didn’t mean, okay, and I’m sure Skye-“

“I’m sure Skye doesn’t need us to speak for her when she’s sitting right here-“

“Well clearly somebody should since she’s gone nonverb- wait. She’s gone nonverbal? Like, nonverbal nonverbal?“

“I think so to.”

Understanding flashed between Fitz and Simmons like electricity in the air. All of a sudden, bags and crates were passed back and forth with purpose as Fitz wrestled noise-cancelling headphones from one of them and his phone from another. Simmons dug around in the packs as well, but she couldn’t find something that fit what she was after quite right.

“What do you need?” May asked. “Should I pull over?”

“Buttons, buttons,” Simmons muttered, gesturing a pressing motion. “She’s doing this sort of, tapping thing. Probably more satisfying with something to push. Like, a calculator, or…”

“This do?”

Coulson held out his car keys. Since Lola was somewhere far away, he had no need of them, and judging by the way Simmons’ eyes lit up, they might just be helpful after all.

“Skye?” Simmons checked with her again, tapping her on the shoulder so that she could be more sure that she was being addressed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to speak. Fitz has something for you, you should put these on. They’re very good. They'll make it quiet.”

She gestured a sort of padding motion with her hands. Skye still looked a little dazed, but if nothing else, she recognised the headphones being held out to her and she didn’t fight it when Fitz reached forward hesitantly to put them on. Instantly, the world was muted. The rushing of the wind past the car, and the wheels on the road beneath her. The jingle of buckles and rattling of breath. All of it faded beneath the sound of her own blood in her ears. It was odd, but soothing. Skye let out a breath.

(The others did too. It had been a long, stressful day and it was nice to take a moment and rally around one of their own. And she was, one of their own, in spite of everything. They took a moment, each to themselves, to reflect on that somehow unsurprising truth.)

Fitz lifted his phone and waved the end of the aux cord.

“Do you want music?” he offered. She frowned, trying to read the shape of his lips. It really was quiet in here; she could only catch the slightest murmur of sound even though, from the shape of his mouth, he was deliberately trying to be loud. “Or can be silent. Music? No music? You know what, here, you pick.”

He plugged the phone in and passed it to her, and she realised what he must have been saying as he left a song paused beneath her fingers. You pick. Huh.

Another tapping on her shoulder. Skye looked toward it, and saw Simmons offer forth a set of car keys. She gestured the clicking motion with them, and passed them to Skye, and it felt a little silly but Skye couldn’t help but smile as she mimicked her. The tapping certainly felt a lot less neurotic this way, where she couldn’t twice feel it on her own skin. Plus, the clicking sensation was oddly satisfying. She did it again, and again, and she had to laugh at herself.

“Simmons, you’re a genius,” she said. “But I guess you already knew that.”

Skye was pretty sure they’d laughed, but she wasn’t quite settled enough to check that yet. The sounds had quietened down, but the anxiety spiral was still going strong. She’d had a lot of these on the way back to the orphanage, and she’d been really looking forward to putting them behind her. Still, at least the view outside looked a lot nicer now that she wasn’t half mad with desire to claw through the glass and get out to it. She didn’t mind the silence, but maybe, she could drown out some of the anxiety too if she tried listening to a song. She could always pause it later if she changed her mind, right?

She pressed play, and this time, it wasn’t herself she laughed at.

“ABBA?” she teased, smirking at Fitz.

“Oi, I was trying to find something you might like.” His indignance was clear, even if his voice was gloriously peacefully muffled.

“Oh, okay sure,” Skye assured him, and as he continued to blather, she added: “For the record, I can’t hear you.”

She could if she wanted to, of course, but she wasn't quite ready to jump back into the wind-whipping reality of the outside world, so instead she pointed at the headphones he had given her, and he rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in exasperation. Simmons stifled a giggle as Skye went back to staring at the view. If she was not mistaken, Fitz would be complaining right about now. Something about how you try to do one nice thing! Jemma would be rolling her eyes at his nonsense and trying to reassure him. May would, just generally, be rolling her eyes. Coulson probably still had his eyes on her in the rear view mirror, Skye mused. He was always looking out for her, that one.

(Somehow, her heart and her head didn’t feel quite so messy anymore.)

[theclaravoyant]

Autistic Skye/Daisy?

Hi Anon, thanks for the prompt! I hope you don’t mind, I combined this with another more specific prompt, and it’s finally been posted here! I hope you like it

[florchis]

47. “Dogs don’t wear clothes!”

This pairing is not my forte, you know, but I hope you can enjoy nonetheless!

{Warning for language}

In her defense, she was having a pretty crappy day before this asshole decided that it was okay to park this old piece of junk he probably calls ‘baby’ on her spot.

Now, she knows she doesn’t have any legal right to that spot. She knows. But it is the perfect parking place on all her block- close enough to her building, but away enough from the trees so birds won’t crap on it too much, and away from the corner teens use to hang out-, and in the last six months since she moved here, she has not found it occupied once.

Until today.

She parks behind it a little viciously, and if she touches the rear bumper of the other car a little more than it is strictly necessary, well, who can’t blame her, right?

“Hey! That’s my car!”

She comes down of the car stomping and screaming, and okay, she feels like a little child throwing a tantrum, but she did have a fucking awful day, okay?

“And that’s my spot!”

In two seconds flat there is a handsome man all donned in black leather standing in front of her, and somehow the fact that his freckles are so attractive makes her go even madder.

“Street parking is for everyone, you crazy woman!” He kneels to evaluate the damage from up close, and only then- that his face is not distracting her, ahem- Daisy sees the small black dog with a tiny red sweater he is holding under his arm, and she realizes he came out running of the pet store near her building.

“What are you even doing here, hm? Getting new clothes for your dog? Dogs don’t wear clothes, dumbass!” It all comes out of her mouth in a rushed explosion, and after she yells herself hoarse, she feels much better, like she has cleansed the negativity out of her body. Also, a little dumb, because she is yelling at a stranger on the street about his dog’s clothes.

He stands up, his nostrils flaring and looks her up and down in distaste.

“What can you know, chiflada?”

And that way he marches away, the dog still waving under his arm. Daisy exhales and takes a minute to fully calm herself down with her back against the door of her card. This was it, disaster averted.

Until, of course, she notices him entering her apartment building.

Well, fuck.

[theclaravoyant]

from the ashes [platonic fitzdaisy, S1/2]

AN ~ Not for any Bingos, but for a very patient Anon who asked for “Daisy being there for Fitz after Jemma left in S1/2″. I hope you like it!

Angst/Hurt/Comfort. platonic FitzDaisy, with background Bus Kids/FS as was canon compatible at that time. Rated G.

Read on AO3 (~2000wd)

from the ashes

Skye was busy a lot these days: May was a tough S.O., and there was a lot to be done in the wake of the fall of Shield, with hundreds if not thousands of agents in the wind who had to be tracked down, identified, and protected or blacklisted depending on which way they had turned. She had been plunged into the thick of it, but at least now she had the confidence of Coulson, May and the team on her side. Other team members were not faring so well, and especially not Fitz.

When Skye had first found out what had happened, who had done it, she was just about sick with rage. Her instinct had been to barrel after Ward, if not physically, then online. Expose him. Send the full forces of Shield to hunt him down. But there were more important things for them all to be doing and surely one of those things was helping Fitz. He had not died, after all; simply had the life he’d known blown to shrapnel. The problem with that was, though, that nobody knew how to pick up the pieces. Not Fitz himself, certainly not Skye, and not even poor Jemma, who poured her heart and soul into trying to help him and found herself running up against brick wall after brick wall after brick wall. Everything she tried to do seemed to hurt or stress or betray him, and he was so frustrated with everything, including himself, that even if he could figure out how to do it better, he couldn’t articulate it to her. Skye could never have imagined them becoming so broken, and even when they did, she couldn’t imagine Jemma leaving.

Then Jemma did.

This had shattered what was left of Fitz. His life, his friends, his confidence in himself. All of it was awash in a mad storm and Skye knew all too well what it was like to be abandoned by somebody she was sure had loved her, in one way or another. She knew all to well what Fitz must be feeling: after all, Jemma had never given either of them a reason for leaving, had never even said goodbye. Skye had thought – and so had Fitz apparently – that she had just been headed off on a visit home, but then she’d dropped off the radar. Just like that. Fitz had torn himself up over it for weeks, and had come to the conclusion that she had given up on him, or been repulsed, or been scared off: that, for whatever reason, she had abandoned him. Skye had tried and tried to promise him that was not the case, but she couldn’t give him an alternative. If she were being honest, she was feeling quite abandoned too.

Unfortunately, this didn’t really help her reach out to Fitz as much as she might like. He was feeling lower than he’d ever felt, and he was bitter and angry and horrifically depressed and honestly, Skye was worried about him, but if Jemma couldn’t help him, how could she? And it didn’t help that he struggled to communicate back, too. He was different to how he was before, and it unnerved Skye – it unnerved all of them – and though she was more ashamed by the minute to admit it, she knew the team was starting to abandon him too. They ignored him when he got upset, instead of trying to figure out why. They didn’t stop the lab techs from gossiping, or from avoiding Fitz in the hallways. They even started to avoid him themselves. It was cowardly, Skye knew, but what else was there to do? She was busy, she told herself. She was just too busy.

But she loved her friend, and it hurt to see him, hear him, feel him in pain. She just needed a push in the right direction, to help her passion overcome her hesitation, and today was the day she received that push, in the form of a crashing sound. It could have been a mistake, she thought, but then it was followed by another, and a howl of anger and despair.

It was coming from Fitz’s room, of all places, and Skye’s first thought was that he must be in danger so she ran up to his door with her heart in her throat. The smashes and thuds continued in a fairly regular pattern, with the occasional cursing and muttering and wordless screeches in between. Then there was a break. Perhaps he’d run out of things to throw around, but he seemed to be breathing heavily. Running out of momentum? Skye took a deep breath. It was now or never.

She keyed in his code and the door slid open.

Fitz turned to her and for a brief, brief moment she saw his body light up as if he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was Jemma coming home. When he saw that it was Skye, he froze up. There were books and clothes and sheets and instruments and souvenirs scattered about the place, some more broken than others, and he standing amongst it all. Helpless. Distressed. He held a plastic model Tardis in one hand, clenching and unclenching his fingers around it as if waiting for the fury and pain to bubble back up and inspire him to throw it to the ground, but it did not. It hovered below the surface, quelled by that brief moment of hope that all was not lost, and by the fact that Skye hadn’t turned and left him yet.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Skye offered. “You don’t want to break that, Fitz. Maybe put it down?”

Fitz clenched his fist again, until he could feel the plastic straining against his fingers. Surely nothing would be such a satisfying cure to the tension beneath his skin, than to throw it into his dresser mirror, or similar. It probably wouldn’t break though, and his arm didn’t want to move anyway. Tension was turning to tears, overwhelmed by confusion and frustration and shame.

“It’s okay, Fitz, I’m not going to take it off you,” Skye assured him. “I just… I understand. I understand why you’re so hurt so angry, but this isn’t how you want to deal with it. I promise.”

He nodded. She waited a beat and asked,

“Can I come in?”

Fitz retreated and sat on the side of his bed. Skye stepped through the carnage to join him, and he realised as a bitter taste settled on his tongue, that she was right. Littered across the floor were Academy shirts and jackets and books he and Jemma had once studied together. A little carved monkey on a keychain, a gift she’d bought him from their first trip to the Central Park Zoo. An old copy of the Hobbit, with some of its pages scattered – it hadn’t been faring well before this onslaught, when Jemma had read it to Fitz at his bedside. Seeing it finally broken brought tears to his eyes, and all he could think of was how much Jemma loved that book. What had he done?

Skye inhaled slowly, heavily, as she took in the wreckage of the room. Beside her, Fitz whimpered with regret and heartache and Skye began to feel herself fill with the same. She’d been doing quite well with denying how much she missed Jemma, by hiding in the betrayal of it all just as well as Fitz did sometimes, but the loose ends still stung sometimes. Especially since she’d hoped to be putting those days behind her – which was part of the reason she had come in here. She took Fitz’s hand, the one not still half-heartedly clinging to the Tardis, and intertwined his fingers with hers. She leaned into him, until the warmth and pressure soothed them both.

“I don’t mean, like, you shouldn’t be angry,” she clarified solemnly. “I’m angry too, I get it. I know you loved her a lot and sometimes it feels like it was all some big joke and none of this is worth it anymore, right? It’s just- I’ve been there, and I wish somebody had stopped me.”

“…From what?” Fitz asked, after a moment.

Skye drew a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes. More came to take their place, but apparently it was going to be that kind of a moment, so she let them be this time.

“You know how I was… I was in the foster system when I was a kid. Some of the homes, they sucked, but some of them were great. They were really great. But even the great ones kicked me out. Sent me back. I mean, now I know it was Shield making them do it, to keep me safe or whatever, but it still- it still hurt, you know?” She sniffed again, suddenly feeling acutely like that little girl all over again. She squeezed Fitz’s hand and pushed on. It had been so long since she’d thought about this, and felt it all, that now she couldn’t stop.

“One family, they bought me this camera,” she recalled. “Oh, it was beautiful. Way fancier than I knew anything about, so I spent weeks reading the manual and watching these tutorial things, learning everything I could about it. Taking pictures of literally everything. We went on a camping trip, me and them and their son and daughter, and I documented it all on this camera and I was going to scrapbook it and everything. I finally thought I was part of something. But of course…”

“They sent you back.”

“Yeah.” Skye blinked. Closed her eyes for a moment, lost in the bittersweet memory of her last few moments of peace at that house. “As soon as we got home. I didn’t even get to unpack.

“So of course I was furious, and I smashed the camera and ripped the manual all up and everything and it wasn’t until way later, after I’d run away and was living alone in my van feeling sorry for myself one night, that I realised… I’d destroyed everything I had of the people that had loved me. That had taken me into their home, their family. I could have done photography for money, I could have even sold the parts, but that’s not what I missed. It was the photos. It was the whole thing, what it meant. It was gone. Forever. All because I’d been a bit too angry for a few too many seconds.

“I just- I didn’t want that to happen with you and Simmons. That’s all.”

She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes, and glanced at Fitz’s other hand – the one around the Tardis. He lifted it from his lap, and put the Tardis down on the bed-sheets beside him, safely away from impulsive hands. In silence, Fitz took a few moments to let Skye’s story sink in, and then squeezed her hand.

“Thank you,” he said. “I think- I think you’re right.”

“I hope I’m right,” Skye added.

“Me too.”

For a few more seconds, they sat in silence together, and then Fitz slid off the bed to the floor and began cleaning up the mess. As he cradled his precious copy of The Hobbit and tried to slip its fallen pages back into place, he had to wonder if – and if so, how – it might ever be the same again. Maybe it wouldn’t, he realised, but at least now, he had Skye kneeling beside him to help pick up the pieces. Perhaps this didn’t need to feel quite so much like an ending after all.

[theclaravoyant]

Daisy coming out to May fic?

AN ~ This fic does not meet any Bingo squares BUT it does fill a prompt for @marvelthismarvelthat who gave me the idea quite a while ago in a different ask, as well as requests from two Anons (or one super enthusiastic one!). I’m also going to mention @loved-the-stars-too-fondly who expressed some interest in this idea :D Enjoy!

I am still accepting prompts (platonic and otherwise), but will be prioritising those that help with my bingo squares.

This one works as a part II/sister ficlet to Ch.33 of my Platonic AOS collection, in which Daisy comes out to Coulson, but it can stand alone. All you need to really know is, Daisy crashed with a ladyfriend during her vigilante days, and now that she’s back at Shield she wants to make sure Hayley gets home safe.

Rated T. Hurt/comfort, mild angst with a happy ending. May & Daisy, with discussion of Daisy/OFC and hints of potential Daisy/Piper.

Read on AO3 (~1100wd)

Daisy hovered in the passageway by the hanger, flipping her phone anxiously s she paced. She’d technically said goodbye to Hayley this morning, but part of her still wanted to run over and grab her. Give her one last kiss. Then again, another part of her wanted to run away into the mountains and never be seen or heard from again, and yet another at wanted to induct Hayley into Shield and kick ass across the world together, so what did she know?

She knew that Hayley couldn’t stay, and this she repeated to herself firmly to drown out the daydreams. She knew that this was the right thing to do, and the safest. She’d already made up her mind on that – especially since she knew May had been put in charge of Hayley’s escort. Or so she’d thought.

Despite her mantras, a renewed sense of uncertainty coursed through Daisy’s veins as she watched May farewell the driver of the big black SUV, tap the window, and walk away. Resisting the urge to bounce on her feet, and struggling to modulate her voice as it strained with fear and anger, Daisy queried:

“You’re not going?”

“No,” May told her simply, turning to stand beside Daisy so that they could both watch as the hangar doors slowly opened. She could already anticipate the words about to leap out of Daisy’s throat, and pre-emptively cut them off.

“I’m the Assistant Director, Daisy,” she pointed out. “Shield doesn’t run itself.”

“So, what, you send my girlfriend off with Agent Number Five?”

“He’s Number 7-5, actually,” May corrected, “and you don’t need to worry. Davis is a good agent, and a sensitive man. He’ll make sure Hayley gets home safe. He’s already given her chocolate and tissues in the car.”

Daisy hung her head, listlessly turning her phone as the fire evaporated from her veins. Behind that lock screen was her last conversation with Hayley; she’d been meaning to delete it all day. And it was in that moment Daisy was forced to own up to the source of her explosiveness, her anger, even her fear. She was feeling like a coward, and taking it out on someone else.

“’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to get snappy before, I’m sure Davis is a good guy, I just want the best for Hayley. If anything happened to her…”

“I understand,” May promised.

“No, but I mean like-“

“I understand, Daisy,” May repeated, turning to face her at last. “Not least because you yelled it just now. You and Hayley were together, you felt safe, maybe even a little in love. You feel like, if nothing else, you owe it to her to keep her safe – even if that means making her leave. I understand that.”

Her eyes were heavy with ghosts and Daisy had a strong and sudden feeling she was talking about Andrew. There were still so many layers there that she had never unpacked, but what she did recognise was the pain of driving people away for fear of hurting them. She wondered if May regretted it. But if she regretted it, why was she letting Daisy do the exact same thing now? Was it the same, or was she just projecting? Or was May the one who was projecting? Did it even matter? After all, the deed was done. The car was gone. There was nothing and nobody there but May and Daisy and the moment of vulnerability they’d suddenly found themselves standing in.

Daisy swallowed hard.

“And- and the other part?” she ventured. “The part where… she’s a her?”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“I- I kind of want to, if that’s okay?”

May’s expression softened, the pain fading from her eyes. She gestured down the hall, and offered: “Come to my office, we’ll have a drink. You can tell me as much or as little as you want.”

“Sounds like a plan,��� Daisy agreed. She could use a drink, or two, or five, today. And as her feet began walking without needing direction toward May’s office, Daisy found that it was easier, much more of a relief than usual, to offload the weight of coming out from her chest.

“I’m bisexual,” she began. “I’ve known since I was, I dunno, probably twelve…”

She skipped through her life, picking and choosing moments that she hadn’t reflected on much before. With many more boyfriends than girlfriends, it had stopped coming up recently, but as she talked she reflected on more and more of the good times with Hayley. Not just the safety but the fun, and the love. Sharing ice-cream. Visiting the beach. Running for cover in the rain. Those were memories she could always cherish, not just the messy, heartbreaking, cowardly end. Maybe she’d never truly know in the end if she did the right thing, but that wasn’t exactly the same as having regrets: a bittersweet revelation, but one that left her smiling as she drained the last of her scotch.

This brought Daisy back to reality; to the fact that May, who didn’t particularly enjoy a lot of talking at the best of times, had sat through a winding and rambling highlight reel of her life story; and to the fact that she had almost definitely taken up enough of the Assistant Director of Shield’s valuable time. Daisy stood and cleared her throat, looking for a place to put her glass. May held out a hand to take it.

“Are you sure you’re ready to go?” she offered.

“Yeah,” Daisy assured her. “I’m fine. It was good to talk though. Thanks for listening.”

“Thank you for sharing,” May replied. “I won’t tell anybody, of course.”

“’s okay,” Daisy said with a shrug. “It’s not really a secret for me, and all the important people know now anyway.”

May nodded, and a smile touched Daisy’s lips. She waited for May to take a seat at the large oak desk in case there was something else, but it was not until just before she turned to leave, that May had one more thing to add.

“You asked me what I think about you loving girls,” she reminded Daisy, calling her back from moving toward the door. “Not that it matters, but what I have to say to that is, that I think you should meet Agent Piper, from Davis’ unit. It sounds to me like the two of you might have something to talk about.”

“Oh?” Daisy raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is that?”

“It means talk to her yourself, and figure it out.”

May gestured smugly to the door. Daisy scoffed, and rolled her eyes with a reluctant smile, and considered herself dismissed.

[theclaravoyant]

Sardines ~ [AOS Team, Rated T]

AN ~ for @mcubingo, and comprised of a few combined prompts for @liz-a-bell. Fluffy hurt/comfort, ft. Daisy & the Team. I hope you like it!

Relationships/Characters: Daisy & Team Prompt: “Under the Bleachers” for @mcubingo​ Rating: T Warnings: N/A Other Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Coarse Language, Mild References to Childhood Emotional Trauma

Summary: When a successful mission leaves Daisy unexpectedly reeling with feelings from her past, she needs somewhere to hide. And some friends, to help her through the darkness to the other side.

Read on AO3 (~2100wd) or below

Sardines

“Thank you so much, again!” Linda cried, pulling her daughter into a hug. Abby grinned and squeezed back, too overjoyed to bother with the politics of being a teenager. She’d had a long, hard, actually honest-to-goodness life-threatening day, and she wanted nothing more than Linda’s hugs and sappy music on the ride home, and Mark’s homemade pizza, and ice-cream in the lounge with the both of them. She couldn’t thank the Shield team enough.

Usually, Daisy would have been overjoyed watching such a reunion. Abby had performed bravely and her mother’s love was absolute and genuine – if nothing else, she could tell by Abby’s response to it. The pride and protectiveness and relief emanated from their embrace with a soft glow that Daisy would have thought would lift her spirits and help wash away the weight of fighting. Instead, and very much against her wish or will, she felt a rotting sort of feeling clawing at her heart.

“Ex- excuse me,” she stammered, waving her leave. “I’m just going to get some water. Long day, you know how it is. I’ll catch you later, hm?”

The rest of the team looked subtly thrown by her odd behaviour. Had she caught sight of another enemy, perhaps, and didn’t want to alarm Abby and mother before she took care of it? Was she overwhelmed, having saved not just Abby, but in doing so, her entire school? Or was she maybe even injured and trying not to let on? She had, after all, taken the brunt of the fighting. No, it was this terrible sickness, that seemed to get worse the more she tried to figure out where it was coming from. It clawed up her throat like a panic attack, and when she ran to the drink fountains and drowned it in cool, if coppery, liquid, she felt like she was choking.

Outside. She had to get outside.

But she couldn’t very well go back to where they were. Whatever this was, it was coming from them. Was it jealousy? Was it fear? Had she been poisoned? No, surely not, she could remember feeling like this before and not dying, but how? When?

Daisy staggered through the school and out the back, fortunately avoiding most people as it was long past home time. By the time she made it out to the other side, to the track field she felt like screaming. Like throwing herself into the air until pure suffocation lulled her anxiety into cloudy, dreamy, nothingness, and survival made all other thoughts into nothing. Unfortunately for her though, it seemed those who were not headed home had come out here for training. She saw the football team, running laps, and a couple of cheerleaders throwing each other into flips that turned her stomach. She couldn’t flee upwards with so many witnesses. Not least because it looked half like dying, unless she was to make a scene blasting herself out of the arena entirely and running off into the suburbs of this poor town for no reason other than a strange and sickening fear. Or was it loneliness? Or was it both?

And so, with nowhere else to go, Daisy’s body led her on autopilot to a very familiar place. A place where people had come to mourn and fear and skip and shoot up and cause mischief since the dawn of time. A place where you could hide even in a crowd; a place amidst some of the most everyday lives in the world, where anyone could take a time out, however small.

She sat under the bleachers, hugged her knees, and waited for the feeling to pass.

-

She was still waiting when a familiar set of footsteps approached. Stopped. She heard the crunch of the grass and grit and dirt, the hiccup in breath as her observer bent over to catch better sight of her, and made his way around. A few seconds later, Fitz knocked on one of the load-bearing pillars, with a soft but inquisitive expression. It wasn’t often, after all, that one found an agent – however newly minted – freaking out like this.

“Knock knock?” he posited, when he saw that Daisy didn’t seem to be entirely against his intrusion. At this, she rolled her eyes – and wiped at them, just in case, though she was not crying – and turned toward him, slowly uncurling from her ball as he came over and sat down beside her. A smile touched her lips as he glanced around himself uncertainly, afraid of gum or spider webs or who knows what, before turning back to her.

“How did you find me?” Daisy asked.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly check the girls toilets, could I?” Fitz returned. “You’ve been gone for a while, is all. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Daisy snorted, shrugging it off, though the stormy sickness was not yet quelled. Fitz, of course, saw straight through this, so she pushed on and tried to forge him a vague but convincing answer, and failed. After all, how could she be vague about this feeling when she didn’t know what it was to be vague about? The more she tried to circumvent the point, the more she realised what the point was, and it was like sinking a hot knife into her chest. Tears finally spilled over as she realised exactly what it was she was feeling.

“I don’t know what happened, I just- I saw Abby with Linda, how lovely they were, and it made me remember some… bad things. About growing up. I thought I’d forgotten what that rejection felt like, you know, I’m good now right? But something about that, it just reminded me, I’ve felt like this before. I had good parents, some of them, in the system. I had families I thought I would be with forever, and they thought I’d be with them too, and- and they sent me away anyway. Nobody told me anything. They rejected me over and over again, even the good ones, and it hurts so much...”

Fitz shuffled around in the dirt to sit beside her as she paused a moment in her speech to pull herself together. It wasn’t jealousy after all, or fear for Abby’s safety or her own. It was just a memory, buried for over a decade. The memory of an abandoned child.

“You know they did it to keep you safe,” Fitz reminded her, as gently as he could. He took her hand, and squeezed it reassuringly. “Some of them, anyway, right? They loved you very much. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that now,” Daisy promised. “Fifteen year old me didn’t know that. Twelve year old me didn’t know that. Eight year old me didn’t know that.”

Now Fitz was starting to tear up too. He, of course, had his own experiences with abandonment and rejection from his father, and with never feeling good enough. He hardly dared to imagine what it would have been like if, rather than helping him through it, his mother had turned on him too. If it had happened over and over…

“Damn it, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to bring the mood down," Daisy backtracked halfheartedly. “Let’s just go-“

“How many was it?” Fitz asked.

“What?”

“How many?” Fitz repeated, meeting her eyes. “Houses.” He re-thought his question, and dropped his gaze to where their hands still sat intertwined. “I mean, you don’t have to answer, I was just...”

“Nineteen,” Daisy said. “Yeah. I got kicked out of more houses than years I was alive. Then I got to thinking, fuck that noise, you know? I ran away when I was sixteen, moved into that van, lived there ever since.”

“Wow. That’s brave.”

“It was stupid. And really dangerous.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t brave.”

He squeezed his hand again, and smiled at her. She smiled back, but for all she wanted to, she just couldn’t quite let the moment sit.

“What about you, supergenius?” she teased, nudging him with their joined hands. “You moved countries at that age, didn’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I was technically fourteen,” Fitz pointed out. “But I had a support system. I called my Mum every week. She sent me biscuits in the mail. I got teased relentlessly o’ course, but I also had a PhD at fourteen, so, what did they know, eh?”

“What did who know?”

Fitz and Daisy glanced around for the voice, and found Jemma picking her way down the under-bleachers toward them. She sat promptly and primly, studying their tearful faces and sad smiles.

“Welcome to the pity party,” Daisy greeted. “I had a freak-out, Fitz came and found me, everything’s all good now but I still kinda feel like there’s concrete in my lungs. Just a quick update.”

“Have you had enough water? Since the fight?”

“No, Jemma, I haven’t had water. So unless you-”

“Well, here then.”

“- of course you do.”

And the concrete might have got a little lighter, as she took the water bottle from Jemma. Satisfied that her mother-hen duties were complete for the time being, Jemma shuffled around to sit on Daisy’s other side.

“Watch out for the spider webs,” Fitz warned.

“Oh, never mind that,” she assured him, brushing some aside with her hand. She contemplated wiping her hand on the ground, but a look at the ground warned her against it. Instead she cleared her throat, tucked her hand into her lap and asked; “What are we talking about?”

“Moving out at 16.”

“Oh, I was fourteen, actually, when I attended an American university,” Jemma corrected. “I got myself into some rather sticky situations under bleachers like these. I found I quite preferred the library, though it’s not as good for crying.”

“I wasn’t crying-“ Daisy protested.

“Having a panic attack, then,” Jemma corrected. “You don’t have to give me the gory details, I’m just glad to know you’re okay. I’ve messaged May. She thought you might have taken off and done a runner somewhere in the suburbs.”

“I was close,” Daisy confessed. “I didn’t want you guys to have to go running around after me, that’s all.” She snorted at the irony.

Above them, the bleachers creaked and thudded under the weight of someone’s footsteps. The three of them huddled together a little on instinct, unsure where their current threat level fell, between imminent mortal danger, and children who had stayed up past curfew at a sleepover. But their fear was, fortunately, unfounded, as the head that shortly found its way to glance down between the gaps was none other than Coulson’s. He smiled at the unexpectedly cozy image.

“Hey guys,” he greeted. They blinked up at him, bewildered, and he had to ask; “Watcha doing?”

“Hiding under the bleachers while we wait for May to come get us?” Daisy offered in much the same tone. There wasn’t much left to explain by now, anyway, and when nothing more was forthcoming, Coulson nodded to himself.

“Cool,” he said. “Mind if I join?”

Upon their affirmative, he trotted down the stairs and jogged around the back, watching his head and glancing around at the things people had written, scratched, tied, and otherwise left under here. Eventually he sat, flicking the tails of his jacket out of the way and then pulling out a packet of Red Vines. Fitz’s eyes widened.

“Did you have that in there the whole time?”

He was quite sure, at one point, Coulson had flipped over a table. What kind of magical pockets did he have?

“Yeah. Want some?”

“Uh, yes,” Daisy answered for him, reaching out with enthusiasm. “I was the first one here, I get first pick of the Red Vines.”

When Fitz did not protest, Coulson moved the packet to offer them to her first.

“Why are we here?” he asked.

She ripped the top off a Vine with her teeth and gestured to her mouth as she vigorously chewed. Coulson glanced at the others, but in true high school clique fashion, they were taking Daisy’s lead and refusing to talk. He looked to her once more, studying her expression to check whether or not he should be worried. Perhaps the issue was resolved, or perhaps she simply didn’t want to talk about it any more, but either way he was glad to note that the sense of crisis that had been in her eyes when she’d left them, was there no longer. He nodded his appreciation to the three of them, for having worked out whatever it was, and bit into his own Red Vine at last.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ for the Anon who prompted “Skitz + ‘Don’t Cry’ by Guns and Roses. I was tossing up a couple of ideas, but after 5x22 this is what came to mind. MAJOR SPOILERS for 5x22. Works as a coda/missing scene of sorts near the end.

Daisy deals with recent events, and the question of where to go from here.

Established Skitz, but I don’t mind if you’d prefer to interpret as brotp. Rated T. Angst with a Happy/Hopeful Ending.

Read on AO3 (~1200wd)

don’t you cry tonight

Daisy took a deep breath and carefully unfolded the postcard. It was dusty, discoloured and ancient and as she ran her finger along the side, it felt like it could collapse and blow away in the wind at any moment.

Her limbs felt a lot like that too, with exhaustion and the buzz of the Centipede serum warring in her veins and her heart too heavy to give it an outlet. She wanted to run, scream. She wanted to curl up on her bed and cry and cry and cry. But when tears filled her eyes enough to blur Fitz’s handwriting, she just wiped them away. Took another deep breath. The world was still turning, after all. They’d had a great victory today and it had never felt so hollow.

Her arms were still burning with the weight of throwing Talbot into the sky.

Her lungs dragged breath in and out of her chest with the knowledge that she had only been able to win because Coulson had volunteered to die.

Her heart. Her heart ached because after all this it was a freak accident that had taken Fitz away. It was a sudden, violent, incomplete death. He’d saved Polly and Mack. The day had been won. Yet still, the cosmos had demanded its price.

And maybe she shouldn’t have cared so much. Maybe it shouldn’t have hurt like this. There were still a lot of wounds between them that needed stitching, after all. But she’d always believed they’d get there eventually: that, bad as it was, it would not be forever. It seemed impossible that she’d be mad at him forever. She only wished she’d had more time, to get there naturally - or at least, to be there when he died. To hear him plead for the others’ lives as the world collapsed and he couldn’t stop it. To hear his true heart bleeding through: good even in his final moments. The man she knew. Maybe then, she’d cry.

Then again, cruelest of ironies, he would be the one that she would want to go to. Mack was having a hard enough time with his friend dying in front of him, dying clutching his hand, dying under his watch. Simmons had just lost her best friend and partner of almost half her life. And May, well, as kind and helpful as May could be at times, she just wasn’t any good at grasping that all consuming need to scream and cry and rage against the dark. Daisy had no doubt she’d felt it in her past, but it was not something she dared revisit. It was buried too deep. The only one left who might get it was Coulson, but the thought of going to him – even the thought of him, at all, at the moment - sent a spike of pain through her chest, seared her lungs like the Gravitonium had.

She was alone.

Not as alone as she once had been, not as alone as she could have been. As mixed and matched and patched up as her family was, she knew they’d come back together after all this. Because of all this. But still, there was something that she and Fitz had always shared, something they had never quite defined but something that she needed in this moment, and she missed him acutely. She longed to feel his warm body cradle hers. For the coldness and distance that had plagued them to disappear. She longed for the intimacy between hearts that she had stumbled across in him; the very same one they had lost, and never had the chance to get back.

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have him hold her like he had that night when everything had gone wrong. To wrap his arms around her and anchor her like a ship lost in a storm. To tell her exactly what she need to hear. To fix it, fix her, fix everything between them. Somehow, it didn’t make it better to know this hadn’t been his way of trying.

That, she could have handled, Daisy thought. It was not as though Fitz had not tried – even succeeded – at dramatic sacrifices in the past. If Mack had come back saying, he died saving me, maybe that would have been a different story. If he’d died having an impact. Fixing the future. Saving the world. If he’d died with a purpose – even if it had been for her, Daisy thought, she could have handled that. It wouldn’t have seemed quite so cruel. Perhaps it even could have been a little noble; a man looking back on his life, his choices – realising he’s strayed from who he wanted to be – choosing to right the ship even if it meant dying in the end. Dying right.

But not like this.

None of us saw it coming, May had said. We’re lucky he even made it as long as he did. But there was no way he was ever getting out of there alive. We stayed with him, though. We did the best we could.

It wasn’t enough, Daisy had said. And left. And ended up here.

It wasn’t enough to save the world. How could that not be enough? How could all their fighting, all their circular arguments about whether or not time was fixed – all their hoarse-throated bickering about destiny and choice – all the tough, violent, barely tenable decisions they’d made - how could all that feel so fruitless? Even now, Daisy was not sure of the answers. She felt as baffled by it all as she had the very first time she’d looked down at that postcard.

Working on it. Fitz.

It felt like such a Fitz thing to say, too. She’d sometimes imagined the tone with which he’d written it. Reassuring them, knowing they’d be scared? Making a promise to himself? Or, perhaps, a little bitter, with the kind of grumpiness they had always mocked him about, as if he could imagine them haranguing him already. Daisy smiled a little at that, and a tear splashed down onto the paper. She hurried to wipe it away but all of a sudden revelation hit her.

The postcard, the original question, was the answer all along.

The original postcard was somewhere on this base.

The original Fitz was still somewhere in space. Frozen. Waiting for the world to end.

Daisy bolted from her room, holding her breath in case she was somehow mistaken. Clutching the postcard to her chest because as long as she had it, they had answers. They had hope. She bolted into the lab where Jemma was packing away some things and only then did she share this precious hope.

Jemma’s eyes lit up.

Their sense of mission bloomed and, bittersweet as it was, it gave them a direction. Undoubtedly, it was a direction that was hard to read; it was pointing at the horizon and saying first star on your left and straight on til morning. But it was something. It was closing the loop. It was snatching Fitz’s life back from the jaws of fate – again.

It was Daisy, sticking her long-suffering hula girl to the sill of the cockpit and watching it tremor, and thinking of Fitz. She remembered the line, last time he’d remarked upon it, when Jemma had salvaged it from the Bus and returned it to her – something like, get it? she shakes, just like you. More than that, she remembered the smile on his face. The pride and joy. He must have been thinking up that one for hours, the nerd.

She still didn’t cry though. Not really.

This time, she smiled.

[theclaravoyant]

bi!daisy + coming out to someone on the team

While I’m stuck in assignment land unable to get to the fic itself I thought I’d give you some options!

- Daisy comes out to Jemma (and vice versa) - fluffy, S1 or AU, Skimmons- Daisy comes out to Coulson - S4, mentions of Daisy x OFC / not ship specific- Daisy comes out to Fitz (and vice versa) - late S1, Ward mentions & mentions of past SW/FW but not (future/endgame) ship specific

If you have an idea for who else you’d like to see her come out to, and/or the circumstances surrounding it (could be the same person as above or someone different, I don’t mind), fire away! 

(otherwise, it’s still on the list, so I’ll just surprise you :P)

-

currently accepting: pride aesthetics, hc & fic prompts

[theclaravoyant]

If you’re still doing FitzSkimmons prompts where Daisy keeps falling asleep on the other two so they’re unable to move

AN ~ with pleasure my friend, with pleasure! three fluffy drabbles for the price of one bc it’s What She Deserves(TM). Fluff, romantic FSK, Rated G.

Read on AO3 (~1600wd)

-

One of the things FitzSimmons admired most about their mutual girlfriend was her tenacity. It was an inspirational quality that each of them had taken quite to heart – and, not to mention, it was probably a large part of the reason they had ended up together in the first place – but the downside of it was that burning the candle at both ends left Daisy very tired, at very inconvenient times.

Take for example this particular Monday.

Jemma woke with a start when her alarm began to chirp; usually, she beat its rise, but tonight she was tired too, and had been lulled into a particularly deep sleep. She was not unaccustomed to waking up with the weight of the others crushing her chest – somehow she’d simply learnt to breathe through it – but with Daisy sprawled across her like this she had no chance of turning that damned alarm off, let alone getting up. She could barely even reach her glass of water, stuck fumbling across the bedside table without being able to lift her head high enough to look.

For a moment, Jemma thought she might as well just give up and bask in the extra warmth and the excuse to lie in. But her phone continued to chirp and buzz on the desk across the other side of the room, her mouth was dry, her chest was starting to hurt, and Daisy was unresponsive to her prods and pleading whispers. She was cute though, don’t get Jemma wrong; she was like a sleeping cat – and besides, it was a rare moment she got to treasure like this – but said moments were rare for a reason. Aside from anything else, Jemma had to get to a conference this morning. And Daisy could sleep. It was time to call in reinforcements. Somehow.

Jemma patted her hand across the bedside table again. Book. Bottle of medication. Glass of water. Wrapper of something. Phone – Daisy’s phone.

“Yes!”

Lifting the phone as high as she could manage and arching her back to try and look over Daisy’s head, she tapped out a text and sent it. It wasn’t long before Fitz appeared in the doorway – looking worried for a moment, and then, calm and adoring. He smiled sympathetically at Jemma as he approached.

“Okay, how are we going to do this?” he asked. “I’d throw the water on her but… I just can’t. Look at her, Jemma.”

“I know,” Jemma agreed. “And I’ve tried waking her and I’ve tried rolling her off me, but you know how she is. I wouldn’t even mind, but I’ve got a conference…”

“Okay, okay.” Fitz took a deep breath. “I have one more idea. One that won’t mean waking her up.”

Jemma gasped theatrically. “No, Fitz, you can’t!”

“It’s too late Jemma. I’m coming in.”

With a moment to mock-salute, Fitz dove into the covers and took up the space in the bed that Daisy had left free by sleeping on top of Jemma. Carefully, between the two of them, they rolled and lifted Daisy’s sleeping form until she had been transplanted onto Fitz’s chest instead. She curled up contentedly, and Fitz didn’t argue when she elbowed him in the gut to resettle.

Jemma extricated herself from the tumble of limbs and reached across the bed back to Fitz. One of his arms was trapped and the other couldn’t reach her across the whole bed, but their fingertips hovered inches apart.

“I’ll never forget you!” Jemma cried, her chest heaving like a damsel in an old film.

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” Fitz promised. “Go on without me!”

Jemma carried on the act with a grin as she swept herself away to collect her clothes and head to the showers. In truth it was hard to pull herself away from the thought of a quiet morning in spent with her lovers, so the ridiculous over-dramatisation actually did help a little, even in its bitter-sweetness hitting close to home.

When she was gone, Fitz turned his attention back to Daisy, and stroked her hair gently. She was so animated and full of character even when she was asleep. Or – not so asleep.She smirked against his chest, without opening her eyes. “You two nerds are so dramatic.”

“It’s why you love us.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Fitz kissed the top of Daisy’s head and she fell silent again, for a long while, letting the steady rise and fall of Fitz’s breathing and the warmth of his hand on her back lull her back to sleep.

-

There was another time, on the Quinjet, after a messy but unfortunately, not all that unusual mission. Daisy had exhausted her body, her powers, and her emotions, and had cried on Fitz’s shoulder until she’d fallen asleep in his lap. He had worked the straps and belts as much as he could to protect her, but most of all he just made sure to wrap her firmly in his arms. (And, after the day they’d just had, he was a little too proud of this fact – he had no doubt Jemma would have poked fun at him and his peacock expression had she not been busy in the medbay helping patch a few people up. Perhaps he’d tell her about it later. It would make her smile.)

For now though, Fitz was content to embrace the opportunity to protect one who often resisted the notion of being protected. It was an honour to cradle Daisy’s vulnerability in his arms, and not one he took lightly. Fortunately, it seemed that the cosmos shared this sense of protectiveness – as did May at the wheel, guiding them, and everybody else on the plane, who mercifully chose to leave Daisy undisturbed and to solve their problems amongst themselves instead. The journey passed without turbulence, except for a couple of jolts from Daisy’s fitful sleep. It was only once they docked on the Zephyr that Fitz realised they’d have a problem.

More specifically, it was when Jemma came up from the medbay and caught sight of them both, and smiled.

“All’s well here then?” she checked.

“Nothing a little tea and some comforting films won’t fix,” Fitz promised. “Unless you count the fact that somebody’s going to have to chop off my leg. Haven’t felt it for a few hours now. It seems Daisy and I have fused into one being. You’re going to have to cart us around on a stretcher for the rest of our days. Or at least, until Daisy sleeps this off.”

“Or,” Jemma countered. “I could leave you here with her, to wait like the gentleman you are, until she wakes of her own accord, and your stomach can simply wait its turn.”

Fitz gasped, scandalized. “Jemma. If my stomach has to wait much longer it’s going to eat Daisy. I’m warning you now. Also, the leg. Seriously. Now that I’m thinking about it it’s started feeling things again and that thing is the thing where it’s on fire.”

“Noble sacrifices, my love,” Jemma reminded him, leaning over Daisy to steal a kiss from him. “I’d take over, but I have to shower. I’ll help you wake her up?”

“No, leave her,” Fitz agreed. “But, uh, maybe bring us up a sandwich when you get a chance? Ooh, and some crisps. And some of those – Little Debbie things.”

Jemma’s sweet smile turned into a sardonic expression, eyebrow raised.

“What?” Fitz suggested, looking as innocent as possible. “Not for me, they’re for Daisy. She specifically asked for them. Just before she drifted off. You weren’t here but it’s true, I swear.”He heard a sound from Daisy, and covered her face with her hair and then her hair with his hand, in case she gave him away. Jemma’s eyes shifted between them skeptically, and she eventually agreed.

“You’re lucky I love you,” she said. “Both of you. I’ll be back.”

“Thanks, babe!” Fitz called after her as she left. It seemed like something Daisy would say.

-

“Come on babes,” Jemma beckoned, elbowing Daisy. “May texted. The shuttle’s leaving. If we don’t go now we’re going to miss the film.”

Daisy curled up: perfectly content just where she was. Perfectly content to never open her eyes again, to just listen to the voices and the breaths of Fitz and Simmons, who cradled her as she hovered on the edge of sleep. Deep voices of something dramatic on Neflix warbled in the background, and she could feel the pipes humming all around them pumping water and air as if the base were a body. It was loud, too loud for some, but it was familiar. It was alive. It was Fitz’s hand absently stroking the short hair at the nape of her neck. It was Jemma’s hand resting tenderly on her thigh, even as her other hand tried to prod Daisy awake. Even as sleep eluded her, this was rest. It was home.

Fitz hummed, and Daisy felt the rumble of it in his chest.

“Maybe we should let her be,” he suggested. “We can catch it next time.”

“She’s the one who wanted to see it,” Jemma reminded him, “and our next R&R roster, such as it is, all together isn’t for weeks.”

“Then maybe we should do what R&R was invented for. Rest and relaxation.”

“It’s recreation, Fitz. Rest and recreation.”

“I am recreating!” Fitz insisted. “It’s not our fault you get your jollies from a full schedule. Me, I’d be happy to just sleep all weekend.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“I would, if it meant I got to spend it with you.”

Daisy smiled. She could picture the look Jemma was giving Fitz right now; a fond sort of irritation at her sappy romantic man. Then, ever the planner, Jemma returned her attention to the problem at hand. She and Fitz settled into a familiar rhythm of banter as they tossed dinner options back and forth between them. Their voices lulled Daisy, until she eventually lost track of the argument, then the words, and then even consciousness itself; asleep at last in the arms of her loves.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ some Daisy & Coulson fluff! with a healthy serving of background Philinda. for @marvelthismarvelthat, who prompted “Daisy & Coulson + ‘my hands are shaking’”, along with some other prompts I’ve filled previously. I went an angsty/hurt/comforty route with the first prompt and now - and especially after the recent Daisy Coulson feels </3 - I couldn’t help but go fluffy with this one. Hope you like it!

Rshps: Daisy & Coulson, background Philinda, also some background team and background Quakerider. (And a Special Guest!) Rated G. Set in the distant/indistinct future. Fluff with a little cheese. Enjoy!

Read on AO3 (~1000wd)

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“Knock knock!” Daisy called, more of a formality than anything as she pressed the door open with her shoulder and entered the room. Coulson was over by the mirror, intently focused on arranging and rearranging his tie, and muttering under his breath. Daisy could feel the tension radiating off him from the doorway. She smiled: it was unusual to see him so flustered, and though most of it was probably due to frustration and nerves she was still determined to chalk it up to love.

“Daisy!” Coulson cheered when she entered, glad to have an excuse to momentarily abandon the uncooperative strip of material. He waved her over instead. “Could you get this please? My hands – well my hand – is shaking, and my prosthetic doesn’t seem to be much good for this.”

Daisy clicked her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head for the theatrics. “That Fitz. It’s just not good enough. Never know when you might need to tie a Windsor to military precision in the middle of a battlefield, do you?”

“Exactly,” Coulson agreed, playing along. “You get it.”

Daisy bit her lip, grinning as she pulled the tie into shape. His problem now addressed, Coulson relaxed and the smile soon returned to his face too; dreamier and more hopeful than Daisy could ever remember seeing him. She stepped out of the way so that he could give a final check over his appearance: a fine grey suit, with red features in the tie and pocket-square to match May’s dress. He tugged it so the lines sat more flatteringly, tried undoing the button and then doing it again, fixed his cuffs – his anxiousness was so adorably boyish, like he was waiting for his prom date, that Daisy almost laughed, but she bit it back.

She bit it back, and watched in fond adoration as Coulson’s expression once again became wrapped up in thought. Thought of today, thought of May. How often had Coulson dreamed of it, Daisy wondered. She’d never seen him and May as the type for getting married, but maybe that’s just because they were older and more understated in their affection than she was used to. How many chances like this had Coulson given up in his life? May, Daisy knew, had had Andrew and lost him, not once but twice over. Coulson, too, had had a sweetheart – not a fiancée, she didn’t think, but a possibility. A cello player, that’s all Daisy remembered, and he’d had to leave her too. Shield had taken so much from each of them – taken their chance at this sort of life – and yet still they pursued it. They circled back to each other. Or, rather, they’d never left each other. Maybe that’s why Daisy had never seen today on the cards, because it seemed so much like icing on the cake.

(That said, of course, Daisy was never one to turn her nose up at cake.)

Expected or not though, the day was upon them, and the rising hubbub outside Coulson’s dressing room reminded Daisy why she had come to fetch him in the first place. The door swung open and Mack stuck his head inside, and ordered them to get a wriggle on. Daisy waved him off and when he left, Coulson took a deep breath.

“Hoo, boy,” he breathed. “This is happening, isn’t it?”

“I know you are not telling me you’re having second thoughts,” Daisy warned. He shook his head.

“The opposite,” he assured her. “Actually, I kind of felt like I was dreaming ‘til just now.”

It was not hard to see why. A well-planned, if small wedding, in a beautiful if small church, where their names would be officially registered – all charges cleared – and photos would be taken and their lives would be interwoven, romantically, irrevocably, forever… It had never been on the cards before; at least, not since a man named ‘Agent’ had once died and ended up saving the world.

“It says something about our lives that this is a weird day, huh,” Daisy remarked.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Coulson reminded her. He shook his head, smiling fondly – it didn’t take much to turn his mind back to the task at hand. He gestured Daisy’s way toward the door. “So, how does this work? Are you going to give me away?”

“No, I’m flower girl, remember?”

Coulson shrugged. “Worth a shot. To be honest I’m not sure how this works, now that I’m an old man ‘n all.”

“How’s this,” Daisy offered, “I’ll walk you to the doorway. And I promise I’ll call an ambulance if you have a heart attack when you see her.”

“Do you really think that’s likely?”

“Oh, I’m not talking about May,” Daisy baited, letting the air of mystery linger a moment before she went on. “I mean, May is stunning, so look out, but actually I’m talking about another special little lady. A friend of mine tracked her down. Polished her up…”

Coulson’s jaw dropped. “No.”

“… a girl who looks even better in red than I do?” Daisy continued, teasing.

“No!” Coulson gasped, realisation clicking into place. Daisy pulled out her phone and showed him the picture: Robbie Reyes gesturing somewhat smugly to the car. His beloved Lola. Reyes was sitting on the bonnet but at this point Coulson didn’t even care. He could have cried, just from looking at it. So many memories of that damned car, and all he could think about was taking it down a desert highway with May at his side and silence and no-one and no responsibilities around them for days.

“She’s here, she’s outside,” Daisy explained. “When the ceremony is over she’s ready to take you guys on your honeymoon!”

“Daisy,” Coulson choked tearfully – “this is-“

“The least I could do,” she insisted, just as tearful herself. “The least we could do, me and Robbie and the whole team, for all you’ve done for us. Congratulations. I love you. All that. Now- let’s get out there before I ruin my make-up!”

Waving, she herded him toward the door, and Coulson was only too happy to oblige.

[aosficnet2]

Skye (beginning of Season 1) gets pulled forward through time and meets the current team, and develops a massive crush on Daisy (end of Season 5)

Thanks for the prompt, Anon! We hope somebody picks it up.

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Find out more about our prompts for adoption program (including the rewards available for filling them!) here.

[theclaravoyant]

daisy & hunter/fitz + “i’ll hold you as long as you need.”

AN ~ I have written like, 1 Daisy & Hunter thing ever, so I decided to go with that, but never let it be said that I’ve passed up an opportunity for Bus Kids Feels! I set this during the S2/3 hiatus because apparently I love dying and being dead. Have some bonus Bus Kids feels with your Daisy & Hunter :D Yay angst (but it’s hurt-comforty I swear #allthehugsfordaisy2k18)

Rshps: Daisy & Hunter, + refs to Daisy & Jemma, Daisy & FitzRated G/T. Angst hurt/comfort.

Read on AO3 (~800wd)

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The day Daisy decides to stop looking, it takes a long time for her to finish crying.

It feels like it will never stop, until it does – probably because she’s run out of tears. She’s run out of the energy to cry. She’s run out of hope to give up on, and so the howling grief has passed and now she feels numb. Drifting. Raw.

There’s a knock at her door and she makes a sound. Somewhere between ‘yes’ and ‘come in’ and ‘go away’.

Hunter decides to come in. He waves his hands a bit, unsure what to do with them as Daisy wipes her cheeks and pulls herself to the edge of her bed. The pages of a letter she wrote herself – to help herself, or so she’d thought, when this day finally came – lie scattered across her sheets and across the floor, some of them balled up and cried on and torn. Hunter begins to pick his way through them and Daisy offers him a pitiful smile.

“How’s Fitz?” she asks, and her voice is low and hoarse and ragged.

“Mad as hell,” Hunter replies. Daisy nods. This is not unexpected.

Then Hunter asks: “How are you?”

Daisy finds there’s no answer to that. There are no words to express the pain, the grief, the guilt to be giving up, the sense of betrayal – against Jemma, against Fitz – and worse, the sick sort of relief she finds coming over her, from finally being able to let go. There is no way she can think of, to describe how much she misses Jemma’s smile and her eye-rolls and her encouraging, stiff-upper-lip advice – even if Daisy never listened to it. There is a hollow place in her heart that words cannot reach, and the only person she thinks might ever understand the depth of it is, if possible, in even more pain over it than she is.

“Yeah.” Hunter nods, in response to her silence, and moves a lost page aside to sit down on the bed. “I’ve been there.”

“Are you gonna give me some… motivational speech or something?”

“Did you want one?”

“No.” Daisy shakes her head, and blinks. Her body has, apparently, found more tears, and they’re welling up faster than she can stop them. “I – I think I just want a hug.”

“I gotcha,” Hunter promises, shuffling his seat so that he can wrap his arms around her. “This good?”

“…Yeah.”

“Not as good as Fitz’s though, right?”

Daisy snorts, but it’s tearful and snotty because she’s thinking of how much pain she’s left Fitz in and how much anger. He’s prickly and sharp around the edges now and he might never hug her, let alone anyone else, ever again. She was one of the last to give up and she hates that she’s done that to him. It feels like it’s her fault. Everything does.

And then she’s thinking of Jemma again, and Jemma’s embrace; somehow more vibrant and joyful than Fitz’s bone-deep comfort, but no less reassuring. It had always been so good at conveying the gentle love she never seemed to manage with her words. It’s yet another thing, Daisy realises, she’ll never feel again.

“It’s alright,” Hunter promises, rubbing her back slowly and unobtrusively. “Snot it up. I know you can do better than that.”

Daisy is still too exhausted to sob and howl and carry on, but tears are streaming so she rubs her face on Hunter’s shirt, and smiles when he laughs a little.

“That’s more like it,” he praises. “Have a good cry, it’s alright.”

But Daisy doesn’t have much crying left in her. The tears still flow, but her whole chest is aching and there’s no pressure to sob with. Instead, she takes a deep breath – well, tries – and tries again until it feels like there’s actually some oxygen reaching her brain. Her lips quiver around all the things she wants to say, but her mind hasn’t even finished sorting through it all yet. She feels a strange need to explain to Hunter why she’s suck a wreck, but she cannot speak the words. My best friend is gone.

“I miss her so much,” she whispers instead.

“I know,” Hunter whispers back, in a voice that soothes the anxious explanations tumbling around inside her. It’s a voice that makes her heart beat a little slower and her throat feel just a little less raw. A voice that might just truly know what this kind of loss is like.

She holds him tighter, until long after the tears cease to fall.

[theclaravoyant]

Daisy comes out to May fic?

Thanks for the prompt. This was a popular one! I posted it last night, but it’s here if you missed it. Hope you like it!

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currently accepting pride prompts and (fic) prompts for my mcu bingo cards