England x Reader: It's the Thought that counts

Full title: England x Reader: It's the Thought that counts (Drabble)

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The awfully obnoxious beeping of your alarm clock woke you from your sweet slumber and made you groan in an annoyed manner. You turned over and pushed several buttons of the clock, without effect. The piercing, headache-inducing noise persisted, even after you had smacked the clock from your bedside table.

Frowning, you opened your eyes and blinked a few times to focus on your surroundings. You sat up in your bed, rubbed the sleep out of your (colour) eyes and ran a hand through your (colour) hair to straighten it a bit. You then got out of bed – stepping right on the alarm clock which was still ringing, by the way – and yawned loudly.

You stretched yourself, trudged to the door of your bedroom, and just as you opened it, the beeping sound stopped. You scratched your head and left the room, yawning again, but you quickly fell silent as soon as you heard a muffled voice cursing and several, unsettling noises coming from the kitchen.

A burglar? The thought crossed your drowsy mind and dispersed every tiny bit of sleepiness in your body; it alerted you and made you grab the nearest object which turned out to be an empty vase from the bookcase next to the door.

Holding said vase like a club, you crept nearer to the door to the kitchen. With each step you took towards the kitchen, the voice and the noises got louder, until you recognized the voice as a male one with a thick British accent spluttering curses and swear words, and this realization calmed you down immediately, although it raised another question: What was he doing in your kitchen?

In your now calmed down state, you were able to put two and two together quickly. He was in your kitchen which meant that the beeping sound you had heard earlier indeed hadn't been your alarm clock, but the fire alarm he had set off because he was trying to cook something which hadn't been a good idea in the first place.

You hastily yanked the door to the kitchen open and burst inside, ready to put out the fire he had created with his not so good – who were you kidding – with his horrible cooking skills, but you stopped dead in your tracks shortly after you had entered the kitchen and began to laugh at the sight presented to you instead.

Your boyfriend of two years, the Briton Arthur Kirkland, was standing in front of the oven and wearing your (favourite colour) oven mitts as he took a baking tray with black smouldering … things from said oven. On the worktop next to the sink stood a cake pan with black mud (you guessed?) in it. What in the world had he tried to bake?

Arthur looked at you, then at the burnt things on the tray he was holding, then back at you. His emerald green eyes widened and his face flushed; a string of curse words flowed from his mouth before he bit his tongue and averted his gaze bashfully.

You managed to refrain from laughing and put the vase on the worktop nearest to you. „I'm sorry, darling.“ you said. „I couldn't help it.“ You cleared your throat and scratched your neck. „So, uh, what are you doing here? And how did you get into my flat?“

Arthur directed his green-eyed gaze back at you, smiling. „Today is your birthday, love.  And I persuaded your landlady to give me her spare key to your flat.“ He muttered the last part under his breath, but you caught it anyway, yet you didn't say anything to it. He had done this before, and you were far too surprised by the announcement that today was your birthday.

„Oh?“ Your gaze flew to the (favourite animal) calendar hanging on the wall above the small dining table. Today was indeed your birthday; you even had drawn a big red heart over today's date. I've forgotten my own bloody birthday. You thought. „Oh.“

„I wanted to surprise you with a cake and some biscuits, but, as you can see, I failed.“ He coughed awkwardly. „I should have listened to the Frog for once.“ he mumbled. „He advised me to not do it, but I did.“

You walked over to him and put your arms around his neck. „Don't worry, darling.“ you said and kissed his cheek as he clasped your waist. „It's the thought that counts, and it's really very sweet of you to come here and surprise me. How about we bake a cake and some biscuits together?“

Arthur leaned forward so that his forehead was touching yours and gazed into your eyes. The smile on his lips reached his eyes and made them glimmer. „I'd love to.“ he replied. His eyes flickered to the vase standing on the worktop. „What did you want to do with that vase?“

You giggled. „I thought you were a burglar because of the noise you made.“

„And you woke up from the fire alarm, didn't you?“

„Right. I needed a few minutes to realise that it wasn't my alarm clock.“ Snickering, you withdrew from Arthur. „Before we bake a cake, I need to change and freshen up a bit.“ You placed a chaste kiss on his mouth and ruffled his sandy, already messy hair. „See you in a minute, darling.“



After you had left the kitchen, the Briton reached for the tiny (favourite colour) velvet box in his waistcoat pocket and fiddled with it, contemplating whether to give it and its content to you before baking the cake or afterwards.