when her father dies, jemma simmons meets her long-forgotten step brother, who came to their family searching for his relatives. while being with jemma and her mother, fitz acts as the best step brother in the whole world. after all, he missed his sister. times passes and jemma starts having doubts about leo fitz being her step-brother. because the way he looks at her doesn’t seem like he’s a brother to her. what kind of secrets leo fitz hides and how did jemma simmons manage to fall for him? and how her absolutely-not-step-brother turned into her lover and crime partner? (listen // insp.)
We’d like to take a moment to extend a huge THANK YOU to every single fanfiction writer in the Fitzsimmons fandom!
We know that your job is not easy: churning out quality writing for free while balancing your personal lives, adapting to the quickly-changing AoS plotline while keeping everyone in character, delivering the Fitzsimmons scenarios we’re all craving - phew! What a feat of labor! We know that you usually don’t get the love you deserve for your works of art, yet you still come back and keep writing. It’s remarkable and we appreciate the hell out of you guys.
We’d like to give a special thank you to our challenge and exchange participants who always take on anything we throw at you. Word limit challenges, genre challenges - all with a deadline - and you rise to the occasion and create truly fantastic works. We’re always so impressed with the ingenuity, creativity and overwhelming generosity of this fandom when creating gifts for their fellow writers.
So, a big thank you to all the Fitzsimmons fanfiction writers, both new and old, from beginners to published writers, all who come together to provide us with excellent quality content while being so supportive of one another! We don’t know how you manage to come up with the canon compliant scenarios that you do, or how so many times we read something and think: “Wow, this could have totally happened in the show!”. We’re in awe of the complicated worlds you create in your AUs, how you manage to make every character, especially Fitz and Simmons, live entirely believable existences in totally new worlds. With the overwhelming amount of research, fact-checking, thought and care that gets put into each work, we’re pretty sure you do more than the AoS writers themselves. And how you manage to make us laugh, to make us cry - often all in one work - we just can’t take it!
We think you’re the bee’s knees, and we’re going to continue doing what we can to support you and provide as much of a community as possible to help inspire the amazing works you all create. Thank you so much for what you do. We’re forever grateful ♥
is the cold sweat caused by a) aftereffects of a nightmare b) actual sickness c) coffee or d) anxiety?
d, of course
very good! bonus question: which other symptoms does this person experience and what is your unprofessional diagnosis?
a desire to tear out her own intestines, extreme anxiety, stretches of apathy interrupted by brief bouts of panic, avoiding of responsibilities and that gives us - depression!
very good! it seems we have a winner, jerry. your prize: a whole nothing at all because you don’t deserve anything
why thank you
or: yay. biochem.
today i need to buy toothpaste and learn the leaf stuff and go through the presentation slides
cont. of the learning tomorrow. i want to be able to take a look at the old tests tomorrow evening and then learn the insect stuff for anibio
thursday: more learning and vacuuming my apartment. i hope i don’t have to work through the night…
at least i’ve got the amino acids down, thanks to mordin’s song. it’s pretty unclear which structures we have to learn. like. all of them or just tyr & ala? who knows? appearently we have to know which ones are polar and which ones aren’t :/
plus i should try and finish mea this week so i can spend the next one planning my fic or at least gauge if i’ve got the balls and discipline to go through with it. i’d love to participate in the big bang but i haven’t written in so long
anyway. thanks, bioware. you’re the best. thank you for andromeda and thank you for mordin’s amino acid song
For your drabble giveaway (Congrats!): "things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear"
this prompt is also related to the one @showme-love sent, which involved Jemma reading romance novels. thank you both for sending them in! Anniversary Ficlet 10/10. Rated PG-13, for sex mentions. FitzSimmons. Post-3x22, canon-compliant.
Fitz peered into the darkened secure comms room, following the voice he’d thought he’d heard from around the corner. The base was supposed to be on a low-level shutdown while they recovered from their most recent heavy losses, so no one should be using the comms equipment at all. More strangely than that, he was pretty sure now that the voice belonged to Jemma.
“… I swear, it’s never been like that before. I didn’t even know he could be so… so….” She let out a breathless little laugh, her chair squeaking as she moved. “Yes, hot. But not just on an attractiveness level – which, really Bobbi, I wish engineers had more reasons to wear suits. It wasn’t just that, though, it was….” He inched closer, careful not to make any noise louder than the sigh she made. “Exactly. The connection. That’s exactly it. And the two orgasms didn’t hurt either.” Chuckling, Jemma paused again as she listened, her head barely visible where it was silhouetted against the dimmed screens.
“congratulations! one of your dreams has finally come true. let me give you a big hug and wow, you’re warm…”
She looks astonishingly pretty tonight. Maybe it’s because of the make-up and the elegant dress or the twist in her hair, but privately Fitz thinks she looks just as pretty in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. No, it’s the smile that does it. She’s glowing, humming in excitement, but the way she bites her lip also has him knowing that she’s scared. His hand reaches down to twist around hers automatically.
“Hey. You’ve been waiting for this moment your whole life. You’ll be okay.”
She smiles, tearing her gaze away from their hands. “You think so?”
“I know so. You’re more worthy of this than anyone I know,” he tells her, leaning forward to drop a kiss on her forehead before he can stop himself. And suddenly, the announcer is calling out the names of nominees, and he gives her a gentle shove onto the stage. “Don’t drop your cue cards.”
Fitz watches as Jemma delivers her speech with eloquence, and, more inevitably, and with a sense of pride that he’s not even sure how to describe, as she wins the award and other nominees clap politely for her. Her eyes are shining with emotion as she accepts the award, but her eyes meet his and her smile seems to grow even wider as she begins her acceptance speech. She is grateful and gracious and effortlessly charming as she almost drops the microphone, and when she finishes her thank yous she clutches the mic closer and glances at him with a shy smile.
“But above all, thank you to Leopold Fitz, who’s going to hate that I shared his full name.” There’s a ripple of laughter, and Fitz can’t help but smile fondly. His heart is thumping, but he’s not sure why. “Fitz. Thank you for the late night studying. Thank you for letting me know that cat dissections aren’t a good conversation starter. And most of all, thank you for being my best friend.” Her voice cracks, and she abruptly shoves the microphone into the presenter’s hands, drops the bouquet of flowers, picks up her skirts and runs into the stage wings and throws herself into his arms.
“What—” But she’s kissing him, so he forgets the human language and instead circles his arms around her shoulders and pulls her closer to him. And when they pull away for air, her eyes are sparkling as she plays with his bow tie.
“I promised myself,” she says, a little breathlessly, “that if I could win a global award, I could kiss this boy I really liked.” A little shyly, she blinks up at him through her eyelashes. “Was I right?”
“Jemma,” he laughs, leaning down again, “You’re always right.”
Would you be able to write a prompt where fitzsimmons accidentally reveals their relationship to the team, but not in the way they imagine? :) heard you were taking prompts and couldn't not hop on that opportunity
set in a canon-divergence where lincoln is still alive and daisy was never overtaken by hive and bobbi + hunter never left and everything is happy and fluffy and cute as hell <3 is it really that much to ask, writers
“Fitz? Fitz, open up!”
Fitz jolts up from the bed, exchanging a wide-eyed look with Jemma. She wraps the bed sheet firmly around her and shoves him.
“Answer the door,” she hisses, and Fitz stumbles out of bed obediently. He widens the door a fraction, peering through the crack with one blue eye to see Daisy, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, in that no nonsense way that, strangely, reminds him of Jemma.
“Can I come in?” she asks.
Fitz swallows nervously. “Um
— I don’t know.”
But Daisy’s pushing open the door anyway. He turns around, ready to explain
— only to see that the bed is empty. Jemma must have crept into the bathroom. He deflates in relief, before suddenly widening his eyes as he spies Jemma’s blouse on the floor.
Oh, no, oh no, oh no, “So,” says Fitz loudly, kicking the blouse under the bird when Daisy isn’t looking, “how have you been?”
“Oh, you know, the usual,” says Daisy airily, sinking onto the bed and sighing easily. She doesn’t seem to notice the dodgy way Fitz is darting around the room, trying to clear away random articles of Jemma’s clothing before Daisy can spot them. “Fighting bad guys, solving crime, trying to convince Coulson to get that puppy we talked about. You?”
Fitz is so busy panicking that he can’t even spiel off into a ramble about dogs (and inevitably, monkeys). Instead, he shoves Jemma’s trousers into a drawer and slips her earrings into his pocket, while Daisy flips through a book, apparently oblivious.
“Oh, I’m great. I mean, fine. I mean, more than fine, but not anymore fine than usual
— which is to say, I am perfectly normal. Nothing new has happened, not at all. Definitely not.”
“Mmm,” nods Daisy. Fitz frantically tries to think of a way to get rid of her. “Jemma’s very vocal during sex, isn’t she?”
“Oh yeah, she is
— ” he’s agreeing before he can think, and there’s a loud, exasperated groan of ‘Oh, Fitz!’ from the bathroom. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “I just gave it away, didn’t I?”
“You totally did,” Daisy cheers, eyes glinting brightly. She leaps off the bed and throws herself at Fitz in a colossal hug. “I knew it! I am so happy for you
— I bags dibs on godmother.”
“No way,” says a new voice as the door slams open. Bobbi, Hunter, Mack and Elena, Joey and Lincoln spill into the room. Bobbi shakes her head vehemently. “I’m clearly godmother. Jemma and I already agreed this, right?”
“I make no promises,” says Jemma, emerging sheepishly from the bathroom, still covered in his bed sheets, hair mussed up. She presses a kiss to Fitz’s cheek, who is, unfortunately, still struggling to catch up.
“Wait,” he gapes, “you were all listening in? And you all knew?”
“We guessed,” Mack corrects.
“Not that you made it very hard,” snorts Elena.
“Bucharest, really?” Hunter grins. “I’m proud of you. You have no idea how many wagers we had on this.”
“My shower’s broken but I’ve got a date tonight could I possibly use your shower please?” “Oh sure (neighbour that I’ve been crushing on for the past six months) of course you can use my shower to get ready for your date (fuck fuck fuck)” For the drabble thing
Whatever Leo Fitz had expected to see on the other side of his door at five in the afternoon on a Friday, it had certainly not been Jemma Simmons wearing only a bathrobe. A pink satin bathrobe that clung all too appealingly to curves that he was definitely not supposed to be admiring. A good person did not lust after their best friend, or lab partner, or neighbor. As she smiled up at him, she shifted her crossed arms just enough that there was a slight gap in the top of the robe, revealing a particularly enticing smattering of freckles.
Fitz sighed. Clearly, he was not a good person.
“Sorry to barge in on you Fitz, but could I use your shower? Mine’s knackered, and if I have my way, I’ve got a date this evening.” She gave him a cross between a cringe and a pout, raising her towel between her hands in a cute, faux-prayer. “Pretty please with pesto aioli on top?”
He rolled his eyes and threw his door wide open, making an exaggeratedly grand gesture to usher her inside. “Course you can, don’t be ridiculous.”
Congrats on your fanniversary! My two years'll be in the fall-- crazy how time flies! Prompt for ya: Fitz and Jemma at a fancy pants dinner "somewhere nice" (in Seychelles or otherwise) but they just can't seem to keep their hands off each other.
awww fanniversary! what a perfect word for it! and I remember when you joined us - we’ve been so lucky to have you. <3 Anniversary Drabble 4/10. Rated light M. FitzSimmons. 3x22 canon-compliant, Seychelles.
The restaurant at the sand’s edge was lit with muted strings of electric lanterns, a live band and singer serenading the guests. Most of the women were wearing dresses and bejeweled flip-flops, with some men in blazers and others only in their shirtsleeves, in keeping with the beach-adjacent atmosphere. Guests were encouraged to meander onto the sand after their meals, although most just enjoyed the tranquil view from their seats.
Jemma held daintily onto Fitz’s arm as their waiter led them to their table, her buzz from their afternoon imbibing having long since worn off, and felt rather like she’d stepped into a fairytale. Having always wanted to be swept off her feet had been something that occasionally warred with her own inherently practical nature. When she was younger she used to fight against it, but as an adult, she’d long since learned that it was perfectly acceptable to be both analytical and romantic. Fortunately for her, she’d also found both qualities in her best friend, although she hadn’t realized quite the degree that he embodied the latter until recently. His own proclivity towards literal thinking notwithstanding, Fitz was excellent in sweeping Jemma off her feet - both literally and figuratively.
A recent study shows that the lights on fireflies may not be for mating purposes as previously thought. This study stated that male fireflies have a certain chemical that makes predators avoid them. The females will flash their light to attack the male, and then eat the male so that she then has the protective chemical.
“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma breathed, dropping her carryon to the mahogany floor. “It’s perfect!”
Closing the door to their beach-adjacent cabin behind himself, Fitz had to agree. The main room was small on floor space but the furnishings were luxurious in reds and golds, and the four-poster bed was hung with mosquito netting, making the room look fit for royalty. Which Jemma might as well be, in his personal opinion. His eyes wandered from the supplied Bluetooth stereo to where Jemma was trailing her fingers over the freshly shined wooden dresser and peeking through the curtains. She let out a small squeal of excitement and hopped over to the wall-length windows.
“Fitz, the hot tub!”
Coming up behind her, he rested one hand on the small of her back as he peered through the curtains at what was, indeed, a private hot tub. The fence seemed to have hinges, probably to allow guests to open it should they wish to overlook the ocean while lounging in the steaming water. Impressed, Fitz nodded.
“Nice?” Jemma twisted up to look at him, aghast. “Nice?! That’s all you can say?!”
He tried to think of something more descriptive, but kept getting distracted by wanting to kiss her. “D’you think monkeys will play in the hot tub? Or will the chlorine chase ‘em off?”
Congratulations on two years of fic!!! We're very lucky to have you in the fandom! :) As for a prompt, 1920's AU with bootlegger Fitz, if that inspires you?
thank you so much! and right back atcha - I know you’ve been writing lovely FS fic yourself for nearly as long as I have, at least! <3 thank you for the prompt, it’s fabulous. (and I may just have to continue it, lol, because… bruh. I’m way too excited about this idea, and I keep saying how much I’ve been dying to do something period.) Anniversary Drabble 2/10. Rated G. FitzSimmons.
Smoky dens and buxom babes had never been Fitz’s milieu, and yet he found himself spending every night around such things anyway. His engineering degree didn’t come cheap, and, as his mum liked to point out, if he wanted to become the next James Watt, he had to pay his dues. So Fitz worked nights and days, tinkering in the storeroom of Coulson’s speakeasy when he could spare a moment, and practically every second of his life ran together in a blur of feathers, grease, and jazz music. Until the girl with the notebook began following him, that is.