My Boyfriend, the Writer [England x Reader]

It was a Friday afternoon, and like usual during the afternoons (Friday or otherwise), you were all cuddled up on the couch in your living room, waiting for your lovely (and sexy) British boyfriend to come home from work. Sadly you already knew he was going to be late, just by the fact it was already nearing 7 and he came home late anyway. Sighing, you eyed one of the bookshelves in the room. As it was the living room- a.k.a. the room with the most space- there was a good five bookcases. A small smile curled your lips as you got up to browse one of the shelves. Since you were dating a writer, you were sure to find a least a few books that Artie wrote hidden among the spines of countless literary masterpieces; only the best were on these shelves (or so Arthur told you. Really, you knew about his guilty pleasure of cheesy romance novels, he didn't have to lie.).

Letting your fingers brush against the worn spines, you roamed around the room a few times, looking for a good distraction. Sadly you couldn't just pull one of Arthur's as he uses a pseudonym and still refuses to tell you. You personally think he sometimes writes sex scenes and that's why he won't show you, but you'll apparently never know. Coming upon a rough cover instead of a smooth one, you stopped your wondering fingers. Peering at it, you gently slid the book out of it's hiding place between Wuthering Heights and Pride and Prejudice. The name was emboldened on the front, but was quite faded and so you couldn't tell exactly what it said. Opening it, the text instead was crisp and the pages a pure white; unlike the dingy yellow you were expecting. Why on Earth was the title so faded and the cover so rough while the inside looked absolutely perfect?!

Mystified, you picked at the edges of the cover and watched horrified as some came off. Staring at the corner you picked at, your horror quickly became confusion. Is this... a cover for a different book? Lo and behold, once your curiosity took over and you peeled the sweater off, it revealed to you a pristine dark blue hardback. Did Arthur switch sweaters? Why? Creasing your eyebrows, you skimmed over the first two pages. Catching your interest immediately, you slowly made your way back to the couch and continued to read.

It was for quite some time, perhaps an hour later, that the door finally opened. In came a tired Englishman named Arthur Kirkland, whom just so happened to be your loving boyfriend. At the present moment, he was listening for any signs of you being home and finding none lead him to look for you. It was not common for you to be out later than he was, and if you were you'd usually text or call in advance. Even he knew how he gets when left alone with nothing to do.

Walking under the arch to the living room, he noticed you slumped on the couch... glaring at a book in your hands. Spotting the torn cover on the floor near the bookshelf it was on- if the leaning and uneven books in said bookshelf was any indication-, Arthur took a wild guess and felt his heart sink when he realized that you were holding a book he made. Oh the joy.

Clearing his throat, Arthur stumbled back a step once you directed your attention, and therefore your glare, unto him. Mentally preparing himself, Arthur asks shakily, "So... how is it?" Jumping up from your place, you not-so gently threw the book on the coffee table in front of you, growling, "I absolutely hate it! How dare she act that way?! The characters are fucking nightmares!" Deflating, Arthur rubbed the back of his head. He guessed this is why he never showed you his work... he had a feeling you'd act this way. Feeling his eyes water, he hurriedly nodded before racing up the stairs.

You blinked at the blur that was your boyfriend and facepalmed. He was like a co-worker at your work place named Roderich. The only times they ever moved quickly was when they were either sad or angry. Giving another growl at the book and offending characters within it, you made your way up the stairs and to the room you and Arthur shared. Knocking on the closed door, you could hear a sniffle inside and inwardly groaned. It wasn't that Arthur was all that sensitive- you did love him partly for his wit and biting sarcasm- so you know someone had to have brought up a sore topic. Rubbing the back of your neck, you grimaced at the fact that you didn't know if he was feeling this way when he came home or not.

Knocking again, you called out, "Arthur, what's wrong?" Yelling back at you, he said, "Nothing at all, dear! I'm just a bit under the weather is all!" Huffing, you crossed your arms. "Arthur Kirkland, you will tell me what is wrong this instance! This is not Romeo and Juliet for God's sake, we will not have a failure to communicate! So you either tell me right now, or I bust down this door and make you tell me!" Hearing a hiccuped laugh, you smiled a little. You knew mentioning Romeo and Juliet like that always made him laugh, usually accompanied by a shake of his head. Sadly you couldn't tell as there was still a door in your face and if he doesn't open it, it is going to fly off the damn-!

In the middle of your inner rant, Arthur called back, albeit softly, "That was a book I wrote, love. I know because I remember placing a few in older covers, hoping no one would look through them." Bemused, you leaned your shoulder against the trim of the door. "Artie, dear, first off: If you didn't want people to look through your books, next time don't put them of the bookshelf. And secondly; I don't hate the book." Hearing a creak and a groan, you knew Arthur had gotten up and was now on the other side of the door. Before he had time to question himself or your answer, you told him, "I hated the characters because they were good! For me to hate someone that doesn't exist? Artie, what you wrote was wonderful; you brought words to life and made me feel. I loved it... and I love you~."

Hearing him splutter, you giggled. An idea popped in your mind, and not wasting a second, you raced downstairs. Grabbing the book, you flipped back to the page you left off at and again knocked on the door in a little tapping rhythm. This time, Arthur opened the door; but it was swiftly shut once you launched yourself inside. Dragging him by the arm, you lead him to the bed. Pushing him in the chair beside it, you jumped on the bed, bouncing for a few seconds before snuggling in, your body facing your crazy boyfriend.

Handing him the book, you firmly told him, "That's where I left off: Read." Blinking in confusion, Arthur simply looked at you. Rolling your eyes, you leaned forward to give him a motivational peck on the cheek and said, "Well, what's better than having my wonderful boyfriend read me something he wrote?" Arthur blinked once more before giving a slow smile and moved to return your peck. "Well love, how could I ever say no?"