""packs the lunches" and skimmons, please?"
disclaimed
...
the one with lunch packing
"Alright," Jemma sighs. "You can't just send her sweets." She nudges Skye with her hip, maneuvering her away from the counter so that she can arrange her own additions—tuna on whole wheat, carrot sticks, some other ridiculously healthy things—to the bag carefully.
"She's nine, it's fine," Skye snorts, reaching over her wife to toss in a bag of Lays.
"Doubt you'll be saying that when we're paying for her fillings," Jemma smirks, her tone gentle and her words bearing no real bite. She pokes Skye's side mischievously when she starts to reach for a mini Snickers. "I'm serious!"
"Like that'll ever happen—you make her brush, like, twelve times a day."
Jemma makes a face, swatting Skye away from the bag as she zips it up. "Her lunch is going to be odd enough as it is," she says. She fixes Skye with a look when she starts to reach for the lunch bag again.
"What?" Does she sound offended enough? "We haven't written her note yet."
Softening at that, Jemma turns, grabs the stationary set that Ada gave them for Mother's Day off the next counter and tosses it to Skye. "You first," she breathes, kissing her cheek swiftly. "I'm going to go get the little monster up."
Skye leans back to catch her in a real kiss before she walks away, reveling in the squeak of surprise that Jemma lets out before she responds. "I'll start breakfast?" Skye offers, pulling away.
"Yeah," Jemma nods, grinning as she starts for the stairs. "Just try and keep the M&M's to a minimum?"