#its called that because..brownies and fries.. sweet... fries.. yeah

Laughing, Patton opens the menu, and grins, remembering Virgil saying he's a vegetarian. "How about the veggie cheeseburger, I'm thinking you're a cheddar person… fries and a diet soda."

“That’s a good pick,” he says. “I’ve had it before, it’s good.” 

They order their food once the waiter comes around, Virgil putting in two milkshake orders. 

Patton blushes, tracing a small pattern on the table. "So, I'm guessing this is kinda under the radar for you, kiddo?"

Virgil’s eyes widen, and then he blushes. “Oh… I was hoping you didn’t recognize me. I guess that was stupid, though.”

Patton gently squeezes his hand. "You are fairly well known, darling… I don't mind it, though?" Smiling softly at him, he giggles self consciously. "I just hope to be able to do well by you?"

Virgil looks him over, smirking confidently. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” 

Laughing, he grins wide. "Thanks, baby girl! I mean, baby boy! Oopsie!" The mistake making him blush and groan as he drops his face into his hands.

Virgil bites his lip, and then bursts into laughter. His face red from embarrassment, but looking genuinely amused. 

Looking up, Patton offers a small smile, "Sorry, baby…"

“It’s fine,” he promises. He looks down at their hands. “Honestly, other than my friend, you’re the only one who’s, like, bothered to correct yourself. It doesn’t bother me if you mess up sometimes.” 

"I try to get it right…. pronouns are important, baby boy.” 

They pull their hands away as the server comes with their food and milkshakes. 

“So… what do you like to do for fun, hmm?” Patton asks. “Tell me what interests the lovely Virgil."

Virgil hums, sipping on his drink. “Well, I’m in school for creative writing. I don’t go to class much, though.” 

"Not as interesting as you'd thought, or not good teachers?" Tipping his head, he smiles, eating some fries.

He shrugs. “It’s just boring. I didn’t really want to go in the first place.” 

"You'd rather just write, then? Or is there another dream you'd like to pursue?" 

He shifts uncomfortably, taking a long sip of his milkshake before answering. “I don’t know. I’m in college because my parents told me I had to go. I’m not sure what I want to do yet.” 

Offering his hand again, Patton smiles. "That's okay, baby… you don't have to know yet! I only figured out that I wanted to cook things. I've been doing pastry for years, but I'm actually going to school for it now!" 

Virgil forces a little smile, running his thumb over Patton’s palm. “Thanks. What classes are you taking?” 

“Well, a lot of courses on food preparation and history of different cuisine. It's a bit hard to explain… Basically, we study the history and tradition and then how to make it! Then there's classes on english, math, and business, it's a fun combination!"

He nods. “That sounds a lot cooler than all my classes. The only ones I really enjoy are the business and finance classes.” 

As the waiter takes their plates, Patton orders some more fries before turning to Virgil with a soft hum, taking the smaller hand in his again.

"So maybe you'd like to go into business, baby? Make your own or invest in another's dream!" Lifting Virgil's hand, he smiles, kissing the palm.

Virgil can’t help but smile at the kiss. “Well, I’m supposed to inherit my parents’ business when they die. They want me to start up my own smaller one before that, though, for practice. I kind of want to make a publishing firm.” 

"Combining the two interests! I like it! Perhaps you should send an email to your advisor and see if there's a way to work the class schedule to make this more possible…" Gesturing happily as he talks, he kisses Virgil's hand again. "Oh, I'm so happy for you, baby boy!"

Virgil laughs. “It’s not that big of a deal, you dork!” He takes his hand back, rummaging around in a bag he brought. “Here. I have something for you.” 

Giggling, Patton grins before pulling in a little.  "Sorry… I get excited easily?" 

Virgil waves his hand dismissively. “It’s cute.” He pulls out an envelope, holding it nervously. “This might be hasty… But, well… I guess I have a good feeling. So here.” He thrusts the envelope in Patton’s direction, not meeting his eyes. 

Taking it, he tips his head in curiosity, eyes going wide as he gasps. Inside is a credit card and a small wad of cash. "Oh! Thank you, baby! I promise to treat you right and not betray this trust!" Kissing both palms, he grins, plans of dinners and quiet dates out dancing in his mind.

“So…” He blushes, squeezing Patton’s hands. “Is it official, then?”

Nodding, he grins. "I think it is, my baby boy! How about giving daddy a kiss to seal the deal, love?"

Virgil leans over, resting a hand on the side of Patton’s neck and giving him a soft, sweet kiss on the lips. The strawberry milkshake he was drinking is still on his tongue. 

Humming as it mixes with the chocolate, he slides a hand down the back of Virgil's head to hold him in place for a deeper kiss. "Mmm… delicious, baby boy~!"

Virgil pulls back as his back started aching from the awkward angle, blushing and rubbing his thighs together. 

Grinning, Patton nudges his plate closer. "Go ahead and eat more, baby, I think you might need your energy tonight~!"

Virgil grins back, happily finishing the fries. “So are you coming over tonight, then?” 

"If you'd like me to, I'd enjoy it a great deal, baby boy… that's a big thing for you, and for me. Being affectionate and loving with each other and caring for your needs!" Stroking Virgil's hand when he's finished, he grins and gives a small wink. "Repeated care if necessary!"

Virgil was grinning so wide it hurt. He pulled out his phone and typed for a minute. 

Anxious Kitten: 

I know your dorm sucks but i’m gonna need the apartment empty tonight. I sent u money for dinner

Astronomical Dork: 

That's fair. Date going well with your potential daddy? 

Anxious Kitten: 

So well. 

Virgil shoves his phone back into his pocket so he can focus on Patton. They finish up their food and Virgil covers the check and the tip, before pulling Patton out of the restaurant. 

“I’ll text you my address,” he says, taking Patton’s hand. “You’ll meet me there?”

Using the soft hold to swing Virgil into a tight hug, Patton grins. "I wouldn't miss it for all the world, baby boy!" 

Virgil hugs him back tight, staying there for a minute with his face buried in Patton’s neck. He was already so… comfortable. 

Nuzzling Virgil gently, Patton smiles. "Like being in my arms, baby? You feel so lovely there…"

“I love it,” he whispers. He forces himself to pull away, though, kissing Patton softly. “Come on. Let’s go back to my place.” 

Humming, Patton nods, "Let's, baby~ Did you have a ride?"

Virgil nods towards one of the cars, the nicest-looking one in the whole parking lot. “Yep. See you there.” 

"Lovely!" He kisses Virgil softly before walking towards a well kept but much older, light blue beetle, calling back, "I'll see you there soon, baby!" 

*** 

Virgil gets home- maybe breaking a speed limit law or two -and immediately sets down the tin before he rushes around the apartment, trying to get everything as clean as possible. 

He was already a pretty sloppy person, but now that he doesn’t have his parents reprimanding him every time he didn’t clean up after himself, his apartment was constantly a tornado. He was fine with it- but he wasn’t so sure Patton would be. He spent the next few minutes scooping up pizza boxes and dirty laundry and trying to shove everything back into its place. 

Whistling softly as he drives, Patton has a small, sappy smile on his face as he thinks about his new relationship. He's just so cute! Oh my goodness… I can't screw this up!! He seems, so okay with how bouncy and fidgety I am! Please, whoever, make this speed at which we're moving be a good sign? Stopping on a whim, he gets a flower for Virgil, having them wrap it in purple paper before continuing on to Virgil's address.

Soon pulling into the parking lot, he runs a hand through his hair and hides the sunflower behind him as he walks up and rings the buzzer for the apartment. Virgil lets him up, waiting at the door. 

Smiling, he presents the flower and offers Virgil a hug, "Hiya, sunshine!"

Virgil’s face turns bright red. He takes the flower with a big smile, staring down. “Th-thanks, Patton. Uh- Here, come in.” 

Virgil didn’t have a vase to put the flower in, so he found the tallest coffee mug he had and filled it with water. 

"I'm going to have to buy you a vase, aren't I, baby? Good surprise, then?" Toeing off his shoes, he follows Virgil, sliding his arms around him in another hug once the flower and mug are set down. 

Virgil leaned back against him, wrapping his arms over Patton’s. He laughed. “What, you don’t think that looks good?” The mug reached up to half of the sunflower, making it slouch over, the words “I’m a writer; I hate people” wrapped around the mug. 

"It does, but I think you'd like to use your mug sometimes?" Nuzzling Virgil, he grins happily. 

“I have other mugs.” He turned around in Patton’s arms, leaning back against the counter as he pulled Patton in for a kiss. 

Humming into the kiss, Patton presses Virgil into the counter more and tips his head to deepen it, hands settling on his hips as his eyes slide shut with a hum. Virgil draped his arms over Patton’s shoulders as he kissed him, his heart beating hard in his chest and his head feeling fuzzy. 

His fingers sliding around to caress Virgil's ass, he moans softly. Virgil bucks his hips into his touch, letting out a soft noise of surprise. 

Squeezing gently, he grins against Virgil's lips. "Too much, baby boy?"

“Not even close,” he mumbled. He was so turned on. 

"Mmm… good~!" Squeezing and rubbing more, he cups his ass and lifts Virgil a bit to sit on the counter. "Spread those sexy legs for daddy, baby boy~"

Virgil leaned back, moving the sunflower out of the way and spreading his legs with a grin. 

Sliding his hands up the spread legs, he hums softly, rubbing the soft thighs as he steps in closer. "Such a good boy~!"

Virgil wrapped his legs around Patton’s waist, pulling him closer and trapping him there. 

Chuckling, he nuzzles Virgil. "Needy, baby boy?" Virgil nodded, lightly grinding against Patton’s front. Moaning, Patton grinds back against him. "O-oh~! Keep doing that and I'll be getting the condom from my wallet to take you right here, baby… bed~?"

Virgil scooted forward and held onto Patton for him to pick him up. “Upstairs, first door on the left.” 

Easily lifting Virgil, Patton nuzzles his neck as he follows the directions, "Want to see your face as I mold you to me, baby~!" 

Virgil kissed along his neck, sucking and biting little marks as Patton walked. 

Gasping, Patton growls softly, pressing him against the wall at the top of the stairs and squeezing his ass, "Mmm~"

“Daddy,” Virgil groaned. “Daddy, need you.” 

Standing again, he claims Virgil's lips eagerly as he continues to the bedroom, "How do you want daddy, my sweet boy~?" 

Virgil settled back against the soft pillows and plush blankets, spreading his legs. “However you want me, daddy.”

Stroking up Virgil's body, Patton hums, sliding their clothes off slowly, "I think I want a taste of you and then sink inside you and see how loud you can scream for me, baby~!"

Virgil groaned, bucking his hips. “God, yes, please.”

As he strips them, he sets the condom aside, settling between the spread legs with a grin as he kisses down his chest. "Going to be such a sweet treat for daddy to eat, baby~?"

“Yes,” Virgil whined. “Please, please, get on with it!”

Giggling, he holds Virgil's legs open wider, sliding a pillow under his hips before lapping over his clit and slit lightly. "Mmm… good things take time, baby! Got to do this right~!"

Virgil shuddered, rubbing himself against Patton’s mouth. Licking inside, he hums softly, nibbling on his clit and holding him still. 

He whined. “Ah, daddy, Pat-” He moaned. 

"Going to cum for me, baby boy?" Stroking over the damp slit, he hums softly. 

 “Getting so close,” Virgil pants, gripping the sheets. 

Sliding his fingers inside, Pat rubs at the sensitive clit, licking deep inside along with them. "Cum~!"

Virgil came with a shout, his back arching.

Grinning, Patton kisses and licks him through the high as he slides a lubed finger over Virgil's hole. "So good for me, baby boy~!"  

Virgil pulled Patton up, giving him a hard kiss on the mouth. Kissing back with a moan, he lets Virgil taste himself on his lips, stroking over his hips and holding him close. Virgil grabs Patton by the arms and flips them over, grinding down over his cock and kissing down Patton’s neck. 

Gasping, Patton thrusts up. "Fuuuck~! C-condom, baby boy!" Pointing, he moans out as he grabs the slim hips.

Virgil scrambled to pull Patton’s wallet out of his pants, pulling out a condom and shoving it into Patton’s hands while gripping Patton’s shoulders and grinding down. 

Chuckling, Patton unwraps the condom and slides it on, grinding back. "Ride me, baby~!"

Virgil sunk himself down onto Patton’s cock, maybe a little too fast, groaning and pressing his forehead against Patton’s shoulder. Holding Virgil's hips, he hums, giving him a moment to recover before thrusting up into him with a moan. Virgil meets his thrusts, mewling and tipping his head back as pleasure races through his body. 

Kissing up the arched neck, Patton moans against his skin, fucking up into him hard. "Oh, oh fuuuck~! Too good, baby!"

“Daddy,” he panted, “harder!” Virgil was getting closer and closer, head fuzzy with pleasure as Patton brought him down hard on his cock, over and over again. 

Grinning at Virgil's reactions, he flips them, raising one of Virgil's legs to wrap around his waist so that he can slide in deeper and harder. "As you wish~!"

Virgil whimpered and came after a few minutes of this. Following soon after, Patton moans out, holding Virgil close and kissing him deeply. Virgil kissed him back, and then collapsed onto his chest, breathing heavily and looking him over with lidded eyes. 

Grinning, Patton catches him and rubs over his back. "Good, baby?"

“So good,” he sighed, realizing that was the best sex he’s had in a while. “Are you spending the night?” Thinking over his schedule just to make sure, Patton nods, stroking up the soft chest. "I had hoped to… give you all the cuddles and affection you deserve."

Blushing, Virgil rolled over to lay on the mattress, cuddling into Patton’s side. “Shh. Go to sleep.” 

Wrapping around Virgil with a grin after disposing of the condom carefully, Patton tugs blankets up around them. "After you, baby!"

Leaning over and giving Patton a soft kiss on the cheek, Virgil begins purring, “I made the right choice.” 

Rubbing softly behind his ears, Patton captures soft lips gently. "We both did, dearest…"

Virgil settles back against him, yawning and closing his eyes with a loud purr, quickly falling asleep. 

Humming, Patton gently pets him and yawns, slowly following Virgil into sleep after one last kiss to his forehead. "Goodnight, Virgil… My sweet baby boy."

Tag list:

For the first time all spring, instead of a damp gray sky and rain drizzling down the windows, there’s nothing but soft pink sky and sun peeking hesitantly through her curtains, unsure if it should show itself.

Brooke lets its glow warm her up. She’s used to rising before the sun does, armed with soothing British baking shows when she couldn’t get back to sleep in the early morning darkness. She takes the sun as a good sign this morning, that their picnic will be warm and happy and not filled with harsh winds or cold grass to soak their clothes.

Brooke jumps out of bed and starts making Vanessa’s lunch. She pushes fruit through her star cookie-cutter and layers chicken on crusty bread, nestling it all in her kitten-covered lunch bag along with chips and brownies she made last night. She takes even more time than she would on her own lunch, wanting everything to be perfect, for each piece of fruit and each bite of chewy brownie to show Vanessa how much Brooke cares for her.

She grabs a blanket and is on her way.

—

The kids are off the wall leading up to lunch, and Brooke can’t blame them. It’s been so rainy and cold, after a particularly harsh winter, that they’ve been having indoor recess since Halloween. The gym just doesn’t carry the same excitement as the big green field behind the school, with a playground and basketball hoops and the promise of good times and grass stains. Sneakers squeak on tile as everyone sprints to their cubbies, and Brooke runs with them, grabbing Vanessa’s lunch and meeting her as they lead the kids outside.

Sun warms their faces, a gentle breeze rustling bright green leaves above them. Brooke spreads her plaid blanket under a tree and gestures for Vanessa to sit.

“So.” Vanessa grins smugly. “What did Chef Brooke prepare for me today?”

“Well…” Brooke plays along, acting like a contestant on Chopped, “Today you will be dining on a roasted chicken sandwich featuring the finest bread from Shuga’s Bakery. You have triple-chocolate brownies, some potatoes thinly sliced and fried, and a fruit salad starring pineapple, mango, strawberries, and grapes.”

Vanessa’s eyes grow wider and wider as Brooke lists the items, until she bursts into applause and opens her lunch. “This looks so good, Brooke! Thank you.”

The heat in Brooke’s cheeks is enough to burn down a building.

The rocket ships on Vanessa’s lunch bag take flight as she glides it over to Brooke. “Now, I made you–hey, Joey, please don’t eat dirt!” Vanessa calls to one of her kids, who grumbles before leaving the dirt pile.

Brooke laughs and Vanessa nudges her shoulder playfully, the warmth of her touch burning through Brooke’s shirt.

“As I was saying, I made you a sandwich with the finest pureed strawberries and a peanut spread, cut into a flower for presentation purposes. You also have a rustic trail mix of raisins, granola, oats, dried apricots, and chocolate chips, with carrot sticks and peanut butter cookies.”

The thought of Vanessa making cookies just for her sends Brooke’s heart fluttering like a bird.

“Peanut butter and jelly is my favorite,” Brooke admits.

“I know. I mean, I’ve seen you eat it before,” Vanessa says quickly. Red bursts in her cheeks. “Shoot, don’t think I’m a stalker or something–”

“No, no. It’s sweet,” Brooke says truthfully. “I just–I didn’t think anyone really noticed me.”

“I’ve always noticed you,” Vanessa says.

Brooke looks down at the blanket. She remembers her very first day teaching here, worried the other teachers wouldn’t like her, that the students wouldn’t like her, that she’d do something wrong and get fired. The panic only grew when she couldn’t find her classroom, completely lost in the maze of hallways and room numbers that followed no conceivable order, breathless with fear that her job at this school was over before it began. And then Vanessa rounded the corner, stopping and asking if she was okay, like she could sense Brooke’s distress. Vanessa reassured her that everyone got lost here, easily leading Brooke to the right class and fighting her fears away all the while.  

“Yeah, you have,” Brooke says, taking a bite of her sandwich. She wonders if Vanessa’s smile or the way she scooches closer means what Brooke wants it to mean. Maybe later she can ask Vanessa if she wants to do something. Maybe Vanessa really does like her.

She and Vanessa talk about the “Welcome, Summer” decorations they’re planning–Vanessa’s thinking a beach theme and Brooke is planning ice cream–and apart from telling another student not to eat dirt, it’s almost romantic.

—

Vanessa helps Brooke bring some of the outdoor toys back to her room, her entire body buzzing from what she just did. I’ve always noticed you. Did she really say that to Brooke? Did Brooke smiling at her all through lunch mean what Vanessa wants it to mean?

She had been taken with Brooke the moment she saw her nervously roaming the hallways, hand tearing through her hair, looking utterly lost and confused. Brooke had tried to put on a good front, but Vanessa’s mom said she had a sixth sense with people’s emotions, and Vanessa knew Brooke was terrified. She made Brooke as comfortable as she could that day, and the warmth in her chest has only grown. Maybe she can ask Brooke out. Maybe Brooke would say yes.

Vanessa carries the toy basket to the back of Brooke’s room, past the crayon rug and tidy bookshelf and dinosaur posters reminding the class to clean up and be kind. The other corner of the room catches Vanessa’s eye, and she investigates.

Sitting on top of a tiny shelf is a cylinder—Vanessa’s no stranger to DIY, and she’s pretty sure it’s a repurposed coffee can—covered in red felt, with a plush red monster on top, jaws open to expose sharp white teeth. Pencils and small slips of paper lay next to it, meant to be put inside the monster’s mouth. According to the sign in Brooke’s neat handwriting, this is the Worry Monster.

“You made this?” She asks Brooke.

Brooke ducks her head. “Yeah. I tell the kids that if they’re worried about something, they can write it down and feed it to the monster, and then they don’t have to worry anymore.” She sighs. “I mean, I know it can’t work on everything, but if it helps them even a little, then it’s worth it, you know? I was always worried about stuff when I was a kid. Cried and got a lot of stomach aches. Something like this could’ve helped me.”

Vanessa’s glad she’s not the only one teaching to help a past version of herself. She works as much movement and activity as she can into her lessons, after so many years of being put in the corner because she just couldn’t sit still. It wasn’t until she was 13–after eight years of time-outs and missed recess and scolding and crying–that someone brought up ADHD and she got proper help.  

She can easily picture a nervous little Brooke, sniffling back tears or playing with her hair (like Brooke does now when she’s worried), struggling to focus through the worries in her mind that she didn’t know how to express. It warms her heart to know how much Brooke cares about her students, and that feeling of love for Brooke grows until she can’t fight it anymore.

“I definitely get it. I try to help as much as I can too.” Vanessa leans in closer. “It’s nice that you care so much. It’s sweet.”

“You too.” Brooke smiles. “You’re always so good with your kids. I can tell how much they all love you. You’re a great teacher, Vanessa.”

Vanessa blushes. Brooke’s one of the best teachers Vanessa’s ever seen, and for her to have noticed Vanessa that way, to think she’s great, makes her so warm she might combust.

“So are you.” She and Brooke huddle in closer. All she can see is Brooke, pale skin and blonde hair and summer-green eyes, and the question is out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Hey, Brooke? There’s this botanical garden in Smith Park, and I was wondering if you’d want to go with me tomorrow?”

She holds her breath as Brooke bites her lip, and Vanessa can see the wheels spinning in her mind.

“I’d love to, Vanessa. Should I meet you tomorrow at 11?”

(You'd just been laid off your job and it sucked balls, and he knew money was a bit short on your end and also knew you would never, in a gazillion years accept any money from him, so he started to come up with a bunch of lame ass excuses to make you feel a bit better.)

("It's cliché", he had snorted when you touched the subject "Exchanging Christmas gifts. Ugh. It was meaningful before but now it's just another "especial" date that lost it's core value to boost capitalism. I mean, you can be a crappy boyfriend all year round as long as you buy your girl an extra glittery Hallmark card and a Tiffany Bracelet, right?")

("Right." You had agreed, although not really, because as much as you found sexy as fuck when he used pretty words - core value, damn - you still flipping loved Christmas and looked forward to it all year long.)

        So no gift exchanging it was.

        You'd spend Christmas day with you family and he would spend it with his - you knew how rare it was for him to take some time to see them - but the day before, the 24th, you had him all to your own.

        Just "a casual dinner, the two of us" (his words, not yours) with some "classic Christmas movies, deal with it, loser" (your words, not his) at your place.

        Going out was a real pain nowadays, with the whole paps, fangirls, Snapchatters, etc thing, so to save yourself from the stress (how come he never failed to look like a Goddamn model on those candids whilst you looked like you were about to sneeze? Ugh.), staying in it was.

        In, with no gifts.

        Or at least you thought so, because mid afternoon on December 24th your iPhone seemed to gain a life of its own, all your social media accounts on a frenzy of notifications as, oh well, your famous as fuck of a boyfriend was spotted loading a box the size of a small poney into his car.

("She is so lucky!!!!!!")

("What did he get herrrrrrr i'd be happy just with his dick on box and by the size of it its prob that lol")

("Ugh i hope its a bomb")

(Insert other very sweet comments here.)

        You controlled the urge to text him (going against your über curious personality with all the strenghth your posessed), instead focusing on the fact that you were...

        Fucked.

        Because whilst your boyfriend was on the posession of a very big, flashy box (what you had no idea what was inside, Christ, what the hell was inside of it?!), you were in the posession of...

        "How The Grinch Stole Christmas", "Elf" and "The Polar Express".

(All masterpieces, in your humble opinion.)

        And the phone of the thai take out two blocks from your place.

(Best pad thai and sticky rice ever.)

(Plus it gave tons of free sriracha packets! Yay for free stuff!)

        But seriously, what the fuck were you supposed to give to a human being who seemed to have absolutely everything?!

        It'd be stupid to give him clothes - he got those for free -, you had no idea what his shoesize was (did that make you a horrible girlfriend? oops) and anything else you could think of was undoubtely lame. 

        What if you made him something?

        Okay so you didn't know how to draw or paint or knit or rhyme or write a song or do anything that required a minimum artistic vein slash handicraft talent but you could...

        Try?

        Throwing your body on the couch, your laptop literally on your lap, you sat on your ultimate comfy position - which he had lovingly nicknamed "Cirque Du Soleil's contortionist catching up on reality TV on it's free time" or "how you don't have a back problem is beyond me" (when he said that last one he totally reminded you of your mom) -, typing on the words that were responsible for many delayed papers at Uni and scurries off the house whilst almost tripping on your shoes as you were late as fuck.

        Pinterest dot com.

(A blessing and a curse to womankind, honestly.)

D. I. Y.

(Do it yourself.)

(Although you actually never did.)

        Scrolling down the screen - DIY baking soda shampoo! DIY mosaic tile birdbath using recycled DVD's! DIY Glittery Bath Bombs! - you noticed that all of them seemed to involve stuff everyone apparently had at home except you like glue guns or spray paint or Scrabble tile holders (...seriously) so after five minutes of Pinterest searching, you sighed in defeat.

(Hard effort wasn't your forte, you had to admit.)

        Even friendship bracelets are a hard task to accomplish when you have the skills of a three year old toddler and if you actually purchased a glue gun you could already picture yourself glueing nothing but your own fingers and spending Christmas Day at the ER.

        But you did have glitter glue, and that wasn't so dangerous was it?

        You also had an old, slightly crumpled piece of cardboard and a "DIY Easy Glittery Hallmark card tutorial!" (snort) at your screen, so you decided to give it a go.

        If it came out okay you'd be able to give him as an ironic gift?

("Oh hey, I know you gave me a super awesome/expensive/fancy/cool/thoughtful - insert whatever the hell could be inside that massive box here Christ the curiosity was killing you - but ha-ha-ha remember that snark you made about glittery Hallmark cards?! Instead of giving money to the greedy capitalist men I made one myself, how about that?! Aren't I the Best Girlfriend Ever?!?!?!")

        And if it came out like crap you could, y'know, throw it in the bin...

        ...So of course it came out like crap.

        Because you somehow managed to put more glitter glue on the tip of your fingers than on the goddamn cardboard, more glitter glue on your clothes as you absentmindedly rubbed your hands on it as you tried to think of what the hell you could do to save your "Merry Christmas" masterpiece.

(Trash.) (That was how you could save it, your dignity, your boyfriend's poor eyes and your dignity.)

(By throwing your masterpiece on the garbish.)

(Fuck ironic gifts.)

        Of course that instead of coming up with another idea after the Glittery-DIY-Hallmark-Card fiasco, your procrastinator side spoke louder, and click after click after click you found yourself going deeper and deeper of that pit called Pinterest, until you blazed on a section you'd never dared to venture on before.

        The recipe session.

        There were gooey chocolate chip bars, chocolate fudge brownies, kale and artichokes dip, quinoa fried "rice" (...why would someone all it fried "rice" if it had no rice in it only quinoa, you wondered...) and everything made your mouth water and stomach growl and you deeply wished there was someone who could make it for you.

        Everything sounded too tempting (and too hard and with too many fancy ingredients and kitchen appliances you'd never even heard of) until you found...

"Easy adaptable chocolate chip cookies with ingredients everyone has at home!!!!! Can be made vegan gluten/lactose/nut/anythying free paleo atkins insert random diet you'd never heard of before here"

        Well...

        Following a recipe wouldn't be that hard... Would it?

        Especially when you could sub eggs for oil if you didn't have any or oil for mashed banana or mashed banana for applesauce or applesauce for honey or honey for agave which were all obviously so much alike, right?

        Throwing everything you had into a single bowl - did you mention it was a single bowl recipe? Seriously, it could not get any better, your dishes-washing-hater-side thought - you frowned as you compared your final result to the one on the screen.

        Pinterest's batter: gooey but firm, looked so good you wouldn't mind spooning it raw directly into your mouth.

        Your batter: two year old's diarrhea, you wouldn't want to spoon it raw directly into your mouth not even if they paid you.

        You somehow managed to put little (balls, on Pinterest, blobs, sounded more accurate to your situation) blobs of the batter onto the baking sheet and onto the oven, too busy freaking out slash trying to understand what the hell you did wrong (ooh two american cups of flour? what were american cups? weren't your cups american? why america has to control everything for god's sake?!) to notice the door being unlocked, only realising you had company when you heard an amused chuckle behind you.

        Turning around so quick you almost broke your neck - fouet filled with sticky disgusting batter held in hand in a threatingly way - you found him staring, all long legs and perfect hair and mocking grin and...

        Empty hands?

        Where the hell was the box the size of a toddler he was seen loading into his car?!

        Goddamit, internet!

(And why did you feel a lil' bit disappointed I mean...)

(...you had him, hadn't you?)

(Best Christmas Gift Ever, am I right.)

        "Hi."

        "Hi. Were you..." A cute little frown appeared between his brows, pearly white teeth still on show as he asked "Baking?"

        Getting a bit defensive - why did he have to sound so confused/terrified? - you dropped the fouet on the sink, replying "Yes, why?"

        "Oh, for nothing! I mean, it smells..."

(Awful.)

        "Pretty good."

(Damn, he was a liar.)

        Leaning to check the oven temperature just one more time - I mean, better safe than sorry, you couldn't push your luck (any further) - you ignored your boyfriend's stare (a cute little smirk on his lips because well, he thought it was cute how you hadn't noticed the chocolate batter on your chin or how you wore an apron thrice your size), asking maybe a little too cheery "So, how's your Christmas eve going so far?"

( "...Loading too many big ass boxes onto your car?", you rhymed mentally.)

        "Well, not too good I mean, I only got to see my lovely lady today." He replied with a charming smile, expecting for you to giggle - alright, fine, he knew you weren't one to giggle, or at least give him love eyes.

        You squinted skeptically.

...Okay.

        "Empty handed, I see."

        "Yeah, kinda glad we decided to skip on that Christmas madness. Had to help a mate out with picking up a complete set of one of those fancy Le Creuset cooking things. Said his girlfriend would love it." He added with a scoff, rolling his eyes "I told him that if I gave you anything kitchen related you'd throw it in my head, but seeing you're apparently into cooking now..." He paused, pursing his lips "Should I write it down as a suggestion for your birthday?"

        Her mind went black.

        Kitchen appliances.

        His mate was giving his girlfriend freakin' casseroles and frying pans.

(Oh poor girl.)

(Poor, poor girl.)

(The disappointment when she opened that huge heavy box.)

(Damn.)

        And you had been freaking out the entire day thinking he'd gotten you something big and awesome and you'd look like the awful ungrateful girlfriend.

        Man, that ugly glittery card would look like heaven next yo, y'know... Nothing.

        "If you ever give me a damn casserole pan I shall rip off your little buddy of you, cut it into tiny little pieces, cook them in the freakin' thing and serve you for dinner." You stated, and he replying, giving you a kiss on the forehead  "Aw, see? I know you so well."

        God, you were glad he didn't get you anything.

        Because being with him was the best gift you could've ever asked for.

(Insert vomiting and cringing here.)

(Fuck you never thought you would be THIS gross and disgusting and loving about any human being in your life after your miserable string of awful break-ups.)

(Yet there you were, with your very own prince charming.)

(Yup, that was it, you guys would be watching The Christmas Prince on Netflix.)

        You showed your appreciation by getting on the tips of your toes and pecking him on the lips, the little wrinkle of confusion between his forehead making you want to kiss him even more.

(How was possible for someone to be so cute slash sexy at the same damn time?)

(Seriously.)

(Ugh.)

        But then, maybe you'd been too distracted by his pouty pink lips - no chapstick or anything, you wondered how the hell he managed to get them always so soft and puffy and kissable - to check the oven...

        And the whole room started to smell a bit smokey.

        And look a bit smokey.

        "Fuck, my Pinterest cookies!" You squealed, startling him.

        You were sort of thankful your fire alarm wasn't working so well, because if the firemen showed up because you almost burned your kitchen down, your landlord would have (even more) reasons to hate you.

        "It looks... Edible." Your boyfiend said matter of fact, poking one of your cookies at the tray with the tip of his fingers with brows furrowed.

        They looked like baby alien fetus.

(Edible, in some outer galaxy cultures, probably.)

        "Want to try them?" You knew by the raise of his eyebrow that it was a challenge, a thing you rarely passed.

        Daringly, you got one - dropping it back to the tray because damn they were hot -, trying it again after a few seconds of you two staring at each other with "Who Shall Quit First" eyes.

        Was he going to make you eat them first?

        By the fake tight ass smile he was giving you, he was...

        So with the biggest grin you could muster, you squeaked "Merry Christmas baby! I made these for you! Hope you like them!"

(Or at least don't get food poisoning and die! Please don't get food poisoning and die! I kinda really really really really really like you!)

(And if you die because of me slash my cookies your fans will murder me!)

        With a small gulp, he picked one of the alien fetus cookies, shaking it off so they wouldn't be "too hot and burn his tongue" for about three minutes.

        You kinda knew he was trying to make as many tiny pieces of it fall out so he'd eat as less of a cookie as possible, but you didn't call him out on it because oh well, he was at least going to eat a teeny bit of them.

        And in the end, after a bit of fake awing "Oh, tastes so good babe" and maybe spitting on a napkin when you turned around to throw the dirty dishes on the sink, he did eat your alien fetus cookies.

        What made him the best boyfriend slash Christmas present ever.

        And after drinking maybe a bit too much wine and watching The Christmas Prince, he drunkenly vowed to never ever give you anything cooking related - as the cookies now rested in peace in your trashcan, on top of your ugly ass glittery card -, and that vow would be proved to be a gift that kept on giving.

(I mean, it would give stomach aches and calls to the fire fighters and be a total waste of ingredients, so you were cool with that.)

(And even if he never gave you anything at all, he dealt with your craziness, your PMSing, you overreacting whenever you let your - very expensive - makeup fall onto the floor, never watched Game of Thrones episodes without you and always let you eat the biggest last slice of cheesecake.)

        And if that wasn't much of a proof of real, true love, you had no idea of what the hell it could be.

           And that was the greatest gift of all.

(Cue to cringing due to cheesyness again.)

-------

MERRY CHRISTMAS U GUYSSSSSSSSS!

Hope y’all have a fantastic one and find all you wanted under the tree! ooh and if you liked it pls don’t forget to click on that like button (i’ve been watching too many youtube vids send help)

lots lots of love

Gabe