Ikemen Vampire One-Shots/Scenarios

A Writer Worn Thin {Arthur x MC/Reader}

Pairing -- Arthur x Reader (You)

Summary -- Writing is draining. Not writing is too. Add on the fact that you didn't take the best care of yourself that day either, it's no wonder you're worn out. So of course Arthur is worried when he finds out - but! He does have a piece of advice for you when he learns the truth

Warning(s) -- Skipped meals, one swear word (please tell me if I'm missing something!)

Note -- It's Arthur comfort hours (for writers specifically but it's still comfort)! After writing this though I think I have to work on comfort fics a little... plus I feel like this fic is a little all over the place so I'm sorry if it is/seems that way.

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You've been staring at them for hours now. The feather pen, the jar of ink, the unfinished drafts. Oh the unfinished drafts are what taunts you the most. Morning, afternoon, evening, night, it didn't matter, the moment you step into your room they're there, laying on the hardwood desk for all to see. You've tried hiding them, tucking the multitude of papers into a drawer - out of sight, out of mind they say - but your mind just wouldn't let it rest, constantly reminding you of their existence.

The ideas were there, so were the words and sometimes, while you were occupied with some other house chore, your fingers would twitch with an ache to pick up the pen and write.

So why couldn't you?

Every component one needs to sew a story together is there and yet the moment you sit down, ready to tackle the job with the means to make some progress, you always end up with none.

It's draining - no, that's an understatement really. Or, it feels like it at least.

Tonight was no different, you sat somewhat slouched at your chair, blank eyes seemingly staring holes into the few pieces of parchment. Between your fingers and thumb rested the soft and smooth material of an undipped feather. Somewhere in the halls of the mansion you can hear the echoes of Mozart's piano, the sound soothing and perhaps the only thing that's keeping you on the side of sanity.

"Maybe... later?" you whispered uncertainly, there was no guarantee that you'd try again at another time. The words having quickly faded into nothingness, you picked yourself up, your body simultaneously thanking and hating you for moving for the first time in forever. Briefly you wondered if it was best to get some water or simply crawl into bed. Though, seeing as it's been who-knows-how-long since your last glass of H2O you figured it couldn't hurt.

The moment you creaked open your bedroom door the melodic notes of the piano increased in volume, filling your ears the entire way down to the kitchen.

Hand unsteady you filled your glass and slowly sipped, taking the time to breathe the air outside of your stuffy, and frankly hot, room.

Lost in thought it greatly surprised you when you felt arms snake themselves around your waist, your back hitting a sturdy chest.

"Hello luv, I thought I'd never see you again!" Arthur joked, resting his head on your shoulder. Despite his best efforts you still caught the bit of his sadness and loneliness in his tone, the writer having greatly missed you after not seeing you for many hours of the day. The hint of a smile played at the corner of your lips, happy to see him yet still running low on energy.

"Hi Arthur..."

"What's wrong luv?" As always he was so in tune with your emotions, easily able to tell when something wasn't right.

"Nothing..."

"It's not 'nothing'" he insisted, pulling you back from the counter and into a chair, pulling out the one across from you. Doctor trained eyes roamed over you, taking note of things worth of concern.