well folks, we made it to fifty. here is some Hohenheim/Trisha fluff-fireun
There were some people too special for roses, or chocolates, or any of the trite little tokens young insincere lovers exchanged once a year in a display of social expectation. While he didn't approve of the unnecessarily amount of spending that this all seemed to encourage, he did in fact approve of doing something nice for his woman.
Which is, of course, how Hohenheim found himself in pants now grass stained on the knees and a plain white long sleeved dress shirt in the middle of a field picking wild flowers. There was just something far classier about clambering around and making a different sort of idiot of yourself, something that screamed love. There was only one person who could inspire a rather aloof man to such adolescent behavior, and she was currently preparing dinner for her husband.
Snagging a spattering of tiny purple flowers and adding them to the colorful bunch held delicately in deceptively large hands he decided the bouquet was complete. Perfect. Straightening with a slight wince (his back was not supposed to hurt like that…) he made his way back to home and wife.
Trisha was hanging laundry, dinner obviously settled down and cooking for the delightful smell of things. Hohenheim crept up behind her, planted a kiss on the nape of her neck and hauled her into a hug as she laughed. He ran one hand across her swelling stomach with a smile then raised the hand holding flowers so that it was in front of her face.
"Ifound you some flowers."
"They are beautiful!" Trisha leaned her head to the side just enough to nuzzle his scruffy cheek.
"There isn't any chocolate." His deep voice rumbled through her, due to the fact he was pressed as tightly against her as he could manage without causing any discomfort.
"That's alright. It would spoil dinner anyway."