Simpsons Oneshots

Me And My Husband

*Plot: Patty and Selma have always been vocal about their disapproval of Homer. They constantly criticize him for being lazy, overweight, and lacking ambition. Marge defends her husband.*

A thick silence hung in the air as Marge cleared the dinner plates, the remains of Marge's famous pot roast a distant memory. Patty and Selma, perched on the Simpsons' worn-out couch, sipped their lukewarm coffee, their disapproval practically radiating off them.

"So, Marge," Patty began, her voice dripping with skepticism, "we still haven't figured out what you see in that oaf."

Selma snorted. "Seriously. All he does is eat donuts, strangle the TV remote, and belch the alphabet."

Marge paused, a small smile playing on her lips. "Homer's... unique," she admitted, "but that's part of what I love about him."

"Unique?" Patty scoffed. "He's a walking disaster zone!"

"He may not be refined," Marge continued, her voice firm but loving, "but he has a huge heart. He'd do anything for his family."

Selma scoffed again. "Yeah, after he accidentally creates a mess that needs fixing."

Marge sighed. Her sisters, bless their pointed fingers, would never understand the quirky charm that drew her to Homer all those years ago. They craved stability, a life meticulously planned. Homer was the antithesis of that, a whirlwind of chaos that somehow, inexplicably, fits perfectly with her.

The front door slammed shut, announcing Homer's arrival. He shuffled in, a defeated slump to his shoulders.

"Hey Marge," he mumbled, barely making eye contact with Patty and Selma.

"Hi honey," Marge replied, her voice warm. "Rough day?"

Homer grunted in response, heading straight for the fridge. Marge exchanged a helpless look with her sisters.

"Well," Patty announced, standing up with a flourish, "we best be off. Don't want to witness any more domestic... bliss."

Selma followed suit, throwing a pointed look at Homer, who was now drowning his sorrows in a carton of Duff.

The silence returned, thicker this time and laced with a heavy dose of melancholy. Marge watched Homer, her heart aching for him. With a sigh, she walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"They don't get it, do they?" she said softly.

Homer shook his head, a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Nope. Guess I'm just a walking donut to them."

Marge pulled him into a hug. "You're so much more than that, Homer," she whispered. "You're the goofball who makes me laugh until my sides hurt. You're the one who builds crazy forts with the kids and reads them bedtime stories in a goofy voice. You're the one who holds me tight when I'm scared and cheers me on when I'm down."

Homer sniffled, his gruff exterior melting away under her touch. "Really?" he mumbled.

Marge squeezed him tighter. "Absolutely. You're my Homer, and I wouldn't trade you for all the refinement in the world."

Homer chuckled, a genuine, rumbling laugh. He pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Thanks, Marge. You're alright too, even if you do burn the occasional roast."

Marge swatted him playfully on the arm. "Just admit you like it crispy."

They stood there for a moment, a comfortable silence settling between them. The awkwardness caused by Patty and Selma was gone, replaced by the warmth of their love. Marge and Homer shared a passionate kiss. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, they had each other, and that was all that mattered.

*Sorry that it's short! I use ai to make this because I don't feel like writing.*