Sick Soup - EnglandXReader

“A-Achoo!” Came the loud noise as you sneezed, sitting up and holding a tissue to your nose as you sniffed. You groaned and crumpled up the paper napkin, tossing it at the trashcan against the wall, and as per usual, missing. You glared at it with red eyes from your place in the bed, the white tissue seeming to defy you as it landed on the carpet.

“….Arthuuuuuuur!” You whined, turning to face the open bedroom door, wiggling around and sitting up so that your back was against the frame of the bed. Tucking your blankets in at your waist and wrapping up in your house-robe again, you pouted at the doorway until your blonde companion showed up in it.

“(Y/N), what.” He grumbled, crossing his arms and giving you a half-hearted, disappointed look with those pretty green eyes. You crossed your arms and looked back with your (E/C) ones, mimicking him in a childish way.

“Arthur, what.”

“(Y/N).”

“Arthur.”

“Are you we really going to do this? Today?”

“Are we really going to do this? Today?” You copied, sticking your nose in the air. Your Brit played along, pointing his nose to the ceiling as well. There was a moment of silence before you gave in, and turned to face him once more. He blinked in surprise, not saying anything; not disturbing the little moment of peace and quiet that he so rarely got with you around.

After a moment you uncrossed your arms to point over at the tissue on the ground, “I missed. Again. Can you throw it away for me?” Arthur gave a bewildered look, standing up straight.

“Right bloody now? That’s what you called me in here for? (Y/N), I’m trying to do my papers--!” He protested, the back of his neck growing red. You groaned loudly, talking over him, as you flopped back down onto the bed.

“Arrrrrthur! You’re the one who got me in this mess in the first place!”

“I did not!”

“Yes you did! You don’t fucking know how to cook--!”

“That was not my fault! And it doesn’t mean I have to pick up your bloody tissue!”

“Sod off!”

“Make me!”

“Just pick up the damn tissue!” You yelled, your voices increasing as you pointed at him, then the tissue, and then back and forth. After a moment of you two glaring at each other he gave in, walking over near the end of the bed, and bending over to pick it up.

You let out a low whistle as he bent over, opening admiring his rear, and his face heated up to his ears. He quickly stood back up and tossed it in the rubbish bin, turning around and looking at you. You quickly flopped over to the side of the bed nearer him, holding out your arms. “I wanna piece of fine British ass to snuggle with.”

He blinked and turned a shade darker, but followed your orders. He hovered next to you before sitting down on the edge of the bed, your arms promptly wrapping around his torso.

“S-Sorry you’re sick, love…” He grumbled, looking away and trying to forge another excuse as to why his cooking had made you ill.

“Mmm. It’s okay. Like you said. Not your fault. Hey, now you can take care of me.” You purred, nuzzling into him and kissing his stomach, the closest area.

“Yeah… You want some soup or something? I heard that’s supposed to help.”

“Just as long as it’s not more of yours.”