#philindafic

[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)

-

“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]

Attention AOS Fandom: Fic Exchange Alert!

AOS Fic Net 2.0 is excited to announce its second fic exchange to ring out 2017 and ring in 2018!

Thanks to @the-nerdy-stjarna​ for the banner (strongly inspired by @whatlighttasteslike’s banner for our previous exchange).

Here’s how it’s going to work:

Sign up (using the instructions below) by midnight November 13th in your local timezone. This exchange is not member-exclusive!

Receive your partner by midnight November 15th in @theclaravoyant’s local timezone.

Posting will begin January 1st, potentially with staggering, depending on the number of participants. Watch this space!

It works just like a Secret Santa, only slightly later (or earlier?) in the year, so keep your partner a secret until you post your gift! You can interact with them if you wish (in fact, we encourage it!) but don’t give yourself away, surprises are more fun!

So of course the first step is to:

Sign up!

**This exchange is not member-exclusive** - that means anyone in the fandom is welcome to join, regardless of whether or not they are a member of the Net!

Email [email protected] with the following information:

Name (or nickname)

Tumblr URL

Prompt(s) - you can submit up to two if you’re bursting with ideas or want to give your partner some options. Please try not to be too specific, to give them some creative license.

Favourite relationship(s) - you can submit up to three, but we will of course do our best to match your first preference(s).

Favourite relationship(s) you wish to read about

Favourite relationship(s) you are comfortable writing about

Likes & Dislikes - a place for squicks & triggers (both as a reader and writer), as well as preferences regarding things like smut, violence, or any controversial events or characters eg. the potential 3rd party associated with your fave ships - are they good but just as friends, rather not think about them, ‘dear lord please no’? (Please try to be respectful and concise.)

Please have your askbox open in case your partner wants to reach you.

Please reblog this post to spread the word - the more the merrier!

-

Any other questions, queries, etc? Message or ask @aosficnet2. And remember: It’s easy to join our network, just see here.

Below the cut we have tagged some other pages and Networks that might want to get involved - feel free to check them out too, & tag more of your own! (@the pages/Nets, we are happy to promo back, especially if you have something going on for the holidays!)

@buskidsnetwork @bsquadbrigade @yoyomacknet @thefitzsimmonsnetwork @aospositivitynet @happymarvelnet @welovedaisyjohnson @yoyodaily @jemmasolo @mcu-femslash @fyskimmons

[shirilily]

Hi @mjae19! I am your secondary partner for the @aosficnet2 Exchange, and finally your gift is here. It is on the short side of short, but I tried my best and hope you like it!  

I want to escape (and believe that I got the strength)

[AO3]

Summary: While Coulson has been living for a while in a space station, Melinda May wakes up in a completely different place, with rather odd company. She doesn't know who took the rest of her team, or where or why, but it doesn't matter, because she is going to find out.  

Sneak Peak: 

But right now she can’t afford to think about him, where he is, what they might be doing to him, how she is unable to protect him. Much less about all the things that had been left unsaid for long years, about that bottle of Haig that they have been aging for as long as their friendship exists and that got stolen straight from their hands.

Phil is not with her, and if she obsesses over him, he would never be.

[anextraordinarymuse]

A Little R & R

I’m not feeling so hot tonight. So, this happened.

“Seriously,” Daisy whispers, “someone has to do something.”

She glances from Jemma to Fitz, who immediately throws both hands up in a gesture of submission.

“Don’t look at me,” he says quickly. “I tried to ask her if she was ...”

Fitz trails off as something behind Daisy and Jemma catches his eye. They turn to see what’s caught his attention: it’s Coulson virtually herding a reticent May through the corridor in the relative direction of their rooms. 

“Sir?” Jemma asks as they approach.

“Make sure she isn’t bothered for the next twelve hours, please.”

May’s face transforms like she’s about to protest, and a rare thing happens: Coulson places a hand on her bicep without more than a quick glance at her, and May swallows her reply. 

“Is anything the matter?” Fitz asks.

Coulson smiles. “Probably just a twenty-four hour bug.”

“If you need anything,” Jemma chimes in immediately, “let me know. If you’re not feeling better tomorrow I’d like to run ...”

May starts to glare and Coulson nudges her - nudges her! - into motion while keeping his attention on Daisy, Jemma, and Fitz. 

“Thanks, Simmons.”

Fitz waits until they’re farther down the hall and then whispers anyway, for good measure. “Don’t envy him.”

“I’ve never seen May get sick,” Daisy says.

“I hope she’s okay,” Jemma adds.

Melinda May is rarely ill, but Phil has known her for a long time. He’s familiar with sick May. 

They walk all the way to her room in silence. She never has been much for talking when she doesn’t feel well, and that’s okay. Phil opens the door for her when they arrive and tells her in a comforting, firm voice to get ready for bed. 

Never mind that it’s just after noon.

He leaves her to get comfortable and heads down the hall to the kitchen. May’s room is bigger than most - a reflection of her status - but it doesn’t have a kitchenette like Phil’s does. So, he starts for the kitchen and then has another day that makes him detour to his room. He retrieves all of the paperwork that he needs to catch up on, which is a substantial stack of mostly expense reports and supply requisitions, and then heads back to the kitchen. He finds the biggest coffee mug in the cupboard and brews a steaming cup of chamomile tea. 

When he’s done he heads back to May’s room. He knocks, waits a breath, and then lets himself in. May is sitting at the end of her bed in yoga pants and a black cotton t-shirt. 

“Chamomile,” Phil says as he hands her the mug. “Careful, it’s still hot.”

She takes the offering. “I feel fine.” Coulson arches a brow at her, so she gestures half-heartedly at the manila folder in his hands. “Something you want to go over?”

“Reports,” he answers. “So I have something to do between telling you to relax and rest. Drink your tea, it’ll make your throat feel better.”

There’s a small desk in May’s room. Phil tosses the folder down on top of it and then pulls out the chair. It’s oriented so that his back would be to the bed and that’s not gonna work for him, so he pulls it over to the other end so that the door is in front of him and he just has to turn his head a bit to see the bed.

He doesn’t miss the way Melinda rolls her eyes and then sips delicately from the hot tea. 

Several minutes pass in familiar silence. Phil hates reports, but he’s doing his best to focus on getting them done when the soft shuffling of feet distracts him. Melinda has crossed the room to place her now empty mug on the table. 

Phil raises his eyes to her face.

“I’m cold.”

He tries not to smile. The corner of his mouth starts to pull back, though, and then he gives her a knowing smile. A quirk of the lips is her response.

Reports forgotten, Phil stands and shucks his chin toward the bed. “C’mon,” he says softly. He unbuttons his shirt and hangs it over the back of the chair and kicks off his shoes. At least if his white undershirt is wrinkled no one will notice.

Melinda climbs into bed and settles onto her side. She’s facing the door (she usually does) and Phil climbs in under the blankets behind her. He’s pulling the blanket up over their shoulders when the moment of doubt threatens to smack him in the face.

Melinda curtails that by inching back until his chest is flush against her back. She bends her knees a little and sighs, and Phil goes out on a limb and drapes an arm around her waist. 

This is new territory for them. They’ve been taking their relationship in a new direction step by slow step, but this ... this is a learning experience. 

“Better?” he asks.

A heartbeat passes. Then, Melinda turns her back on the door without dislodging his arm and tucks her head up beneath his chin. Her forehead is too warm. If her fever hasn’t broken by tomorrow morning he’ll have Jemma check on her. 

He realizes that the lights are still on moments before Melinda’s breathing slows down and evens out. 

It’s just after noon on a Tuesday, and the lights are on, and he’s still in his slacks, but Phil is asleep in moments. 

They wake close to eleven at night starving and damp because May has sweat out her fever. They take separate showers - that’s not a step they’re ready for, yet - and Phil rummages them up some light food and returns to May’s room.

They’re asleep again in an hour; May skips Tai Chi in the morning. 

It’s the best night of sleep either of them has had in months. 

[josephinemarche]

Prompt for a short drabble where Coulson rescues May from the framework and saves her life after she stops breathing and they finally kiss for real after

a/n: so first, thank you for the prompt because it inspired a few days of delightful and angsty mulling, which I loved, and second I am sorry that this is in no way short. Oops. Also Daisy sort of saves her from the Framework and saves her life? But there’s kissing, I promise. So enjoy :)

ao3

She stops breathing.

It takes Phil a moment to realise the blur of movement out the corner of his eye is Daisy and Jemma pulling May to the ground, that the muffled sounds he can barely hear beyond the pressure building in his ears are their frantic voices calling out to Elena and Piper for assistance.  

He jerks his arm from the restraints holding him upright with a sharp groan – feels the crack as his bones and his body move with his brain for the first time in too many days, the ache down his spine as his legs try to push him forwards, stumbling from the rack and falling against the nearest wall.

Phil feels like he’s drowning, like he can’t blink past the burn of fluorescent lights at the top of his vision or breathe through the sickly sharp smell of sweat that lingers in the air. The rush of blood in his ears is deafening now that they’ve been flung back into their fragile, failing bodies.

“She’s not breathing,” Daisy shouts, and whatever fog he’s been caught in evaporates slightly. Fear floods his body and Phil pushes himself from the wall, stumbling towards the other end of the room where Daisy and Jemma are crouched over her body. She’s not breathing, his brain screams. She’s not alive.

“Melinda,” he murmurs.

Only moments ago he was kissing her goodbye.

Someone catches him by the shoulder as he stumbles across the room and his vision blinks, white spots dancing as he sags against them.

Everything goes black.

—

He kisses her right before Daisy rips them into reality.

He knows now that she’s not really Melinda May. That he’s not really Phil Coulson.

That they were never married. Never bought a house together and filled it with books and plants and photographs. Never visited Dublin or São Paulo or Lisbon or Sydney or Prague. Never spent a summer backpacking around Spain with only his vacation Spanish, or visited her father down in Sun City for Christmas and New Year.

He’s not a high school teacher. She’s not a Hydra agent working to destroy them from within.

Perhaps the only thing that’s remained the same is that they’re still trying to save the world together.

He takes her trembling hands as Daisy disappears and presses a soft kiss to her palm, his lips lingering over the underside of her wedding band like he has a thousand times since they were married.

Melinda curls into his arms and Phil wants to hold her this way forever, drag her from the room and away from this place. Keep them both running as far from reality as possible.

“It’s not real,” she tells him, and he wants to laugh even through the ache in his chest. Of course she knows what he’s thinking. Of course she’s the practical one tugging him back to shore.

“It’s real, Lin. We’re real.”

“Not like this.”

He can feel it, the ache of responsibility sitting in his chest, the phantom throbbing in his left arm and the echo of his real self at the back of his consciousness. Phillip J Coulson. Agent and former Director of SHIELD. Born in Manitowoc, Wisconsin. Recruited at the age of 17. Died May 4, 2012.

He’s not her husband. Not her lover. Not her partner.

Not a teacher. Not a baseball coach.

Not this man.

God, he wants to be.

“I love you,” he whispers, and presses his lips to her forehead, her nose. He kisses her cheeks and her lips and the corner of her mouth. She smiles against him and if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend that they’re not about to lose each other.

“I love you. That’s real,” she murmurs. “Please don’t forget that, Phil. Please.”

He kisses her, like he has a million times and never before and just as he’s beginning to feel something – the weight of her in his arms and the soft taste of her on his lips – they’re gone.

—

It takes her a day to wake up.

Phil is half asleep, curled in the armchair by her bedside despite prolonged protest from Simmons that he’s still recovering and in need of proper rest.  

Every part of his body aches like he’s growing back into his bones, but Melinda’s hand is warm in his and he can’t move through the panicked thought that if she wakes and he’s not there something delicate between them will have broken.

They’ve always had terrible timing, but he remembers her words from those last minutes in the Framework.

I love you. That’s real.

Even if it’s not, he needs her to wake up.

He’s dozing when he feels a tight squeeze of his hand; the warm, damp press of her fingers against his own. She’s turned on her side and facing him when Phil opens his eyes.

He feels something rise in his chest, a longing to move towards her and press his face to her neck until they’re breathing against each other. Something intense and intimate leftover from the coded memories of the Framework. He pushes it back down and instead moves the chair forwards, resting his arms along the side of the bed and his head pillowed on top of them.

“Hi,” she whispers, throat croaky with disuse.

He reaches up to brush her hair from her eyes, distracted by the way her pupils follow his fingers; the way her eyelashes flutter as he lets himself thumb gently at the smooth skin of her forehead.

“Welcome back,” he tells her.

She smiles wryly, “Hell of a trip.”

There are so many things he wants to tell her. How he’ll never forgive himself for not realising it wasn’t her. How he opened that bottle of Haig but there’s still enough left for them. How he’d known, when he realised she was missing, that no matter what boundaries they’d held themselves to before they meant nothing to him now, that nothing in the world could ever compare to her – that she was it for him. Everything to him.

That he remembers what she said in that other world that’s already starting to slip slowly from his memories, like a gossamer dream slips away when you wake.

That he loves her. Desperately. Achingly. Entirely.

“Phil,” she murmurs, and there’s something in her voice that tells him that she understands; the weight of his name on her tongue, like saying his name somehow brings them home.

They’ll have to talk about this later, but for now he lets himself slip closer to her until he can feel the warm weight of her breath against his cheek and the slide of her hair under his fingertips as he moves his palm to cup the back of her neck.

He kisses the corner of her mouth and lets her sink into him. Kisses her lips and lets the world fade away to her mouth and teeth and smile and the breathless noise she makes as his hand tightens gently in her hair. The way her heartbeat stutters at the dip of her clavicle as he sweeps his other hand down her neck; the soft skin under his fingertips.

The way their muscles move under their skin as he pulls himself closer to her, the ache in his joints and the curve of her body and the way she smiles into his mouth, her own fingers scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

And all he can think is that she’s alive. So brilliantly, wonderfully alive. Heart pounding, hands hot and sweaty, blood pulsing under her skin and tears catching on her eyelashes.

“This is real,” she murmurs, and Phil believes her.

“We’re real.”

[professortennant]

philinda + 52

52. things you said with my lips on your neck

They’re in his office--a spare few minutes between meetings suddenly an opportunity for his lips to become reacquainted with her skin. Melinda’s hands are wrapped around his neck, her long fingers stroking the column of his neck and playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck, nails scratching and teasing the skin. 

Phil, meanwhile, is busy pressing his mouth to her neck. Gentle, fluttering kisses up and down the length of her neck, tongue sweeping out and teasing the sensitive skin, flicking out in time with her erratic pulse. 

“Phil, please, l-leave a mark this time.”

Melinda’s broken gasp into the silent office has Phil pausing his ministrations, keeping her pinned between his body and his desk. They’ve been discreet until this point: no sloppy exits from bedrooms after late-night rendezvous and certainly no stray marks on their bodies. No hickeys, no scrapes, no bite marks, nothing. 

Phil’s nose nuzzles under her jaw. “You want me to mark you now, Mel? Why?”

She tilts her head down and nuzzles against him, keeping their heads close. In a way, it’s easier to make this request if he can’t look at her, can’t see the darkening flush of a blush on her cheeks. 

“I want them to know that...that I’m yours, Phil. I don’t want to hide this anymore.”

Phil is still beneath her hands and she’s afraid she’s overstepped, said too much too soon. They haven’t said I love you yet and she’s here asking him to mark her as his like some sort of--

And then Phil is shuddering and moving again, mouth hot and insistent on her neck, nipping and sucking and biting at the soft tendons in her neck. She throws her head back to give him more access and she groans, muttering out a throaty, “Fuck, Phil.” 

His hands are gripping her hips hard and the little growls and groans he lets out low in his throat are vibrating through her, heightening the sensations of his teeth and tongue on her skin. 

Later, when she admires the dark bruise at the junction of her neck and shoulder, it occurs to her that Phil was muttering, “Mine, mine, mine.” 

[melindacoulson4]

Our other life, Framework AU oneshot

“The one with holiday dinners and PTA meetings, recitals.”

She jogs down the aisle, trying to find him. She eyes the numbers on the armchairs carefully. 16….14….12…10…8. He had texted that he got great seats, but she couldn’t believe that they were this good. There he was, seated in aisle 2 seat 10. There’s an empty seat right next to him with his brown jacket draped across it. She shimmies her way into the aisle, apologizing profusely as she goes. She’s lucky that she has such a tiny figure or dodging all of these knees and feet would not be such an easy task.

Phil has already moved the jacket to rest on top of his knees once she reaches the empty seat. She plops down into it, accidentally bumping into his shoulder. Thankfully, she only hit into him and not anyone else. She doesn’t need to hear anymore grumbling about her unpunctuality from strangers.

As she adjusts herself in order to feel settled and comfortable, she leans over towards her husband. “Did I miss it?” she whispers into his ear.

She quickly turns to face the stage, double checking the performers. There are two girls who appear to be around 15 years old prancing around.

“No, you got here just in time,” Phil stage whispers back. And by stage whisper, she means yells. She makes a mental reminder to schedule him an appointment to get his hearing checked.

He glances down at the fluorescent purple pamphlet in his hand and adds, “she’s up next.”

She grins. Great, just in time. She was so afraid that she was going to be late. It would’ve broken her heart to miss this.

“Work was insane,” she whispers to Phil.

He leans over, his lips making contact with her ear and he says, “I’m glad you made it, my badass sexy ninja.”

His hot breath seems to spread throughout her whole body, sending shivers all the way to her toes. She missed him….so much.

She shakes her head slightly at the nickname, but can’t help it when her lips involuntarily curl into a grin.

“Shhhhhh!” an annoyed shush comes from somewhere behind them.

She watches as Phil’s head snaps towards the stage as if scolded by a teacher. She can’t help but laugh a little bit.

The music that had been playing fades away and the curtain is pulled across the stage.

Their girl was up next.

That’s when she feels his hand move from the armrest to her thigh and grab onto her left hand. He entwines their fingers and squeezes lightly, comfortingly.

She squeezes back.

Some type of classical ballet music begins playing overhead as the curtain is whisked open again. That was a quick transition.

That’s when she spots her, up on stage. Their 10 year old Daisy, posing gracefully on her tip toes waiting to begin. As the music speeds up, Daisy starts by moving her arms as if they were gliding on air. From there she spins, jumps, and twirls for ten minutes all by herself in her tutu.

Melinda can feel the telltale signs of tears forming in her eyes. It was a rare occurrence for the director of HYDRA to begin crying, but she can’t help it. Their daughter was beautiful and talented. She and Phil were beaming with joy. They were proud parents right now.

Once the curtain is pulled back again, much too quickly this time, in her opinion Phil leans over. “Ya know, she looked just like you did in those videos,” he teases.

Her eyes meet his and she sees that his are just as wet with unshed tears as hers are. She can feel her face growing warm at his words. Damn. She rarely became flustered, but whenever anyone brought up her ice skating days it somehow got to her. Thankfully, Phil, Daisy, and her parents were the only ones that knew about the skating.

“That’s the only time I get to see you blush,” he comments, smirking.

Oh, he is just so proud of himself right now. She tries glaring at him, but fails. She’s just too happy right now.

As they linger outside of the dressing room, waiting for Daisy, Phil grabs her hand and turns towards her. “I love you,” he says, eyes locking onto hers.

It takes her by surprise, the seriousness with which he says it. She knows that he loves her, but every time he says it her chest tightens in response.  “And I love you.” She leans up and presses her lips to his.

Neither one of them pull away. She tilts her head to the side as he opens his mouth, sucking on her bottom lip. They should not be doing this here, but she wasn’t going to stop him. Just as she’s about to bite playfully at his lips in response, a weight suddenly smashes against them.

They break apart only to find little arms wrapping around both of their legs.

“Did you see me?!?” Daisy asks, bursting with energy.

“Of course we did,” Phil tells her.

Daisy grins in response, a mirror image of Phil. Then, Daisy tilts her head up at her and asks, “How did I do, mommy?”

Melinda lets go of Phil’s waist and bends down in order to face Daisy. “You were amazing, honey. Really.” She cups Daisy’s cheek and smooths out a wayward piece of hair.

“Thanks!” Daisy smiles brightly then begins bouncing up and down. “Okay, let’s go! I’m hungry now.”

“Ohhhhhh. So mommy’s opinion is the only one that matters,” Phil comments.

Daisy rolls her eyes in the most pre-teen way possible. “Well, duhhhh. She was a dancer.”

Phil bends down and rests both of his knees on the ground in order to face Daisy. “But she only did ice skating. How do you know I didn’t do ballet when I was a little boy?” he asks, surprisingly able to keep a straight face.

Melinda snorts in response, her mind creating a hilarious image of Phil spinning around in a tutu at 50 years old.

Daisy giggles at his ridiculous question.

Phil wraps his arms around Daisy and squeezes her playfully. “How do you know?” he asks again.

The childish laughter that comes from Daisy is music to her ears, making her laugh too.

Phil relaxes his arms and Daisy flings her own around his neck. “Did you like it, daddy?”

“Of course I did. You were amaaaazing. Born to be a star,” he says dramatically.

“This is why she doesn’t ask you,” Melinda mumbles, while continuing to smile at the two of them.

Daisy pulls away from Phil. A moment passes and then she asks, “Can we get pizza?”

“Yes,” Melinda answers.

“Yay!!!” Daisy grabs Phil’s hand in her left and Melinda’s hand in her right then pulls them towards the exit.

They lift and swing their daughter out the door, resulting in a fit of laughter.

A joyful daughter and a loving husband. Perfect

Melinda never thought that she deserved this. 

It’s the happiest she’s ever been.

//end//

[flyingblackhawk]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

For the Cameras

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Phil Coulson/Melinda May Characters: Phil Coulson, Melinda May Summary:

The origins of the banter from 4x14 - What happened on that mission? Was Phil really as bad at playing a husband as Melinda remembers? And why the hell was he trying to take off her bra?