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"For the last time, love, I don't need your bloody help!" Arthur Kirkland's bright green eyes met yours, narrowing, sending you a warning about the dangerous territory you were crossing.
You looked right back into his eyes with a cold glare of your own, hands on your hips. "Arthur, your cooking has hozpitalized ten men, nine women, and almost put poor Alfred into a coma!" The harsh truth in your haughty retort caused the Brit to flinch, but didn't seem to crack his iron resolve.
You groaned; while you loved most things about your boyfriend, his ability to be such a stubborn ass wasn't on the list. You wished he would just give up and let you teach him how to cook, though he still seemed to think his posinous cooking was edible.
You stepped closer to him, a sigh escaping your lips; you didn't want to pull this card, but he left you with no other choice. "Let me teach you how to cook or, so help me, I'll shave off your eyebrows!"
The Brit squeaked in horror, his hands flying to his abnormally bushy eyebrows. Despite what he said, Arthur actually rather liked his eyebrows. "You-You wouldn't!"
"I would."
Arthur took a moment to murmer a few choice curse words before waving the white flag. "Fine."
You grinned, grabbing the Brit's hand and dragging him into the kitchen. "Alright, let's start off simple." You grabbed a bowl as you spoke, running over to the pantry and grabbed a box of cereal.
Arthur eyed the box, his frown deepening. "Cereal?"
"Yes, cereal. Now, pour the cereal into the bowl." With a sigh, the Brit did as you asked. So far so good, you thought as you went to the fridge and got the milk. "Now, pour the milk."
Again, he did as you instructed, muttering under his breath about how no one appreciated good cooking. No sooner had he finished, the cereal suddenly burst into flames. With a shriek, you lunged for the sink, spraying water all over the cereal.
You groaned, allowing yourself a moment to facepalm. Maybe this would be harder than you thought.
***
After four hours, nine spills, five burns, and two explosions, you manged to teach the cooking disabled Brit to make something: scrambled eggs. It wasn't much, but it was a step into the cooking world, and you were lucky to get him that far.
You decided that he was eady to move onto cake. Not the homemade kind, mind you, the box kind. One reason you didn't come over to his house as often as you could is because of the sweets he was guranteed to serve when you DID come. You refused to make anymore trips to the toilet because of his crappy pastries. So, if you could teach him how to make some decent treats, you wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.
You showed him how to get started and, you would admit, for a guy who couldn't cook to save his life, he wasn't doing too bad. You suddenly felt something splatter on your cheek. Whipping it off with your finger, you licked it; chocolate.
"Arthur, hon, you're stirring too fast!" You scolded, grabbing the Brit's hand and forcing him to stir slower. "Do it like-." But you were cut off by Arthur, who grabbed your face with his free hand and pressed his lips to yours. He pulled away just as quickly, smirking as the blush covering your cheeks.
"Maybe you don't like my cooking, but I know you love my snogging."
"Shut up." You muttered, hitting him playfully on the shoulder.
You'd never admit it out loud, but some part of you wished his cooking never improved; you could stomach his crappy cooking if it gave you an excuse to do this more often.
You looked right back into his eyes with a cold glare of your own, hands on your hips. "Arthur, your cooking has hozpitalized ten men, nine women, and almost put poor Alfred into a coma!" The harsh truth in your haughty retort caused the Brit to flinch, but didn't seem to crack his iron resolve.
You groaned; while you loved most things about your boyfriend, his ability to be such a stubborn ass wasn't on the list. You wished he would just give up and let you teach him how to cook, though he still seemed to think his posinous cooking was edible.
You stepped closer to him, a sigh escaping your lips; you didn't want to pull this card, but he left you with no other choice. "Let me teach you how to cook or, so help me, I'll shave off your eyebrows!"
The Brit squeaked in horror, his hands flying to his abnormally bushy eyebrows. Despite what he said, Arthur actually rather liked his eyebrows. "You-You wouldn't!"
"I would."
Arthur took a moment to murmer a few choice curse words before waving the white flag. "Fine."
You grinned, grabbing the Brit's hand and dragging him into the kitchen. "Alright, let's start off simple." You grabbed a bowl as you spoke, running over to the pantry and grabbed a box of cereal.
Arthur eyed the box, his frown deepening. "Cereal?"
"Yes, cereal. Now, pour the cereal into the bowl." With a sigh, the Brit did as you asked. So far so good, you thought as you went to the fridge and got the milk. "Now, pour the milk."
Again, he did as you instructed, muttering under his breath about how no one appreciated good cooking. No sooner had he finished, the cereal suddenly burst into flames. With a shriek, you lunged for the sink, spraying water all over the cereal.
You groaned, allowing yourself a moment to facepalm. Maybe this would be harder than you thought.
***
After four hours, nine spills, five burns, and two explosions, you manged to teach the cooking disabled Brit to make something: scrambled eggs. It wasn't much, but it was a step into the cooking world, and you were lucky to get him that far.
You decided that he was eady to move onto cake. Not the homemade kind, mind you, the box kind. One reason you didn't come over to his house as often as you could is because of the sweets he was guranteed to serve when you DID come. You refused to make anymore trips to the toilet because of his crappy pastries. So, if you could teach him how to make some decent treats, you wouldn't have to worry about that anymore.
You showed him how to get started and, you would admit, for a guy who couldn't cook to save his life, he wasn't doing too bad. You suddenly felt something splatter on your cheek. Whipping it off with your finger, you licked it; chocolate.
"Arthur, hon, you're stirring too fast!" You scolded, grabbing the Brit's hand and forcing him to stir slower. "Do it like-." But you were cut off by Arthur, who grabbed your face with his free hand and pressed his lips to yours. He pulled away just as quickly, smirking as the blush covering your cheeks.
"Maybe you don't like my cooking, but I know you love my snogging."
"Shut up." You muttered, hitting him playfully on the shoulder.
You'd never admit it out loud, but some part of you wished his cooking never improved; you could stomach his crappy cooking if it gave you an excuse to do this more often.
Literature
Simple Arithmetic: Papa!EnglandxDead!Reader
"Mattie!" Alfred yelled out, calling the other soft spoken boy into the playroom.
Matthew walked over to his brother who had his head buried deep within a chest of their fathers. "Why are you looking at Dad's old clothes?" Mattie asked Alfred.
"Never mind that, would you look at some of this?" Alfred exclaimed, pulling out an old plaid detective hat and placing it on his head. "I'm going to be Sherlock Holmes, and you can be Watson!" he said, pulling out a bowler hat and sticking it on Matthew's head.
Arthur had stopped once he heard the conversation, and was about to tell them not to mess with his things, when he heard them talking about
Literature
Thailand x Reader ~The Simple Things~
~The Simple Things~
It was the simple things in life that kept your relationship together, not the gifts or the flowers or the promises of lavish gifts and treating one another out. There was nothing that needed to be touched on. Interestingly enough, knowing that someone would present you a gift made you feel bashful, embarrassed, like you had to owe that person another time and make your gift five times better. Such things troubled you.
It was the little things in your relationship that kept the conversations going: talking about the weather or that interesting tidbit you picked up somewhere along the course of your day. A smile exchanged
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Wishes - Englandxreader
She hasn't really thought about what would happen if he was gone.
Laying in bed with a cold, he was. Huffing and sniffling and complaining of headaches. It was happening more and more lately and however much she tries to pin it to her brain that it was after all winter, being the pessimist she is, she's jumping to hideous conclusions that send her heart rate up and brings sweat to her palms.
It scares her, so much more than she is willing to admit, knowing that perhaps one day she will have to let him go, whether it be his death or simply him realizing that she's not all that he makes her out to be. His constant compliments, his gentle ways
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I've started doing a fluff series called Simple Wishes. Second: England!
Other Simple Wish stories links:
America: [link]
France: Coming soon!
China: Coming soon!
Russia: Coming soon!
Canada: Coming soon!
Other Simple Wish stories links:
America: [link]
France: Coming soon!
China: Coming soon!
Russia: Coming soon!
Canada: Coming soon!
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he sucks than me a LOT lol