#this isn't as much a ficlet as it is a silly joke.

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Ficlet: "Having a Blast"

 “Are you sure you don’t want to stop into that bakehouse, Graham?” Cedric hooted, tangling and untangling his talons in the king’s greying beard absently. He took an enormous sniff (somehow,) and Graham couldn’t help breathing in with him. The air wafted with spices – nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves – all riding on a hot, fruity smell that even the running river couldn’t carry away.  “I’ve heard their pies are second to none, and only a silver coin each!”

In spite of the wonderful smells, Graham tried to round on the spectacled owl. Easier said than done to a creature sitting on his shoulder. “Are you crazy?” he barked. “We haven’t got a second to lose! There’s no telling where that scum of a sorcerer’s apprentice might have taken my family. Or what he could be doing to them right this moment.”

“Ooooh, that’s so. That’s so,” said Cedric mournfully, only to perk up a moment later. “But it would only take a moment. The pies are readymade. If I waited out here for you, it would only –“

Graham brushed him off, literally, so that the owl had to flap his wings to keep up. “No. How could I hold my head up when I face my wife and kids if I dilly-dallied while they were… well, let’s not dwell on that. Besides, I’m too spoiled to enjoy them, after Wente’s pies. And I’ve only got shiny gold coins, so I’d have to find a money changer, and that would take time too.”

Somehow, Cedric managed a shrug. “Ooooh, there’s a money changer in the town, and you’re heading that way anyhow, so -”

“That’s –“

What Graham’s rebuke might have been is anyone’s guess, for his words were drowned out a blasting wall of sound that nearly threw Graham off his footing. He clapped his hands over his ears, falling to one knee, gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes. He was uncomfortably aware of his eardrums – he hoped the pain was all in his mind, and that nothing had ruptured! And still the unbearable blare went on. Was it… supposed to be… music?

“WHAT’S THAT?” he shouted, only hoping that Cedric could hear him above it all. If the bird replied, he was entirely drowned out.

Graham looked about wildly for the source of the deafening sound. But all that lay before him was the town, which looked much like any town, with its water mill, red shingled roofs, and quaint chimney pots. A few townsfolk came and went up and down the main thoroughfare that led into the town’s midst. They smiled cheerfully, and someone even waved. They seemed completely untroubled by the assault of sound.

The king bunched his cape up around his ears. “Maybe I do need to track down that money changer, so I can buy some earmuffs,” he murmured to himself. “Or, you know what? That desert looked promising. I bet you anything I could find something useful in that desert. Yeah. Definitely way, way more pressing than going to town just now. Yep.”

And he turned on his heel, and was off.

[sordidmusings]

jealousy headcanons and scenarios r my kryptonite! especially for emotionally constipated characters lol. for shanks, mihawk, and crocodile seeing their crush interacting with someone that turns out to be said crush's ex? there's chemistry between the exes and are those lingering looks he's seeing?! 🫢

OOOOOOOO GOOD CHOICES GOOD CHOICES 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 I must say I am weak for some jealousy too 💀 why does it have to be so hot in fiction huh??? Or make me feel wanted????? Rude 😤

Three jealous DILFs coming right up 🫡

Jealousy from Shanks, Mihawk, and Sir Crocodile

Your ex comes back into your life and stirs up some feelings - How are these men taking it?

Form this took: started as a bulleted headcanons but then became a scenario/ficlet for each ahsdjajskdajs

Word count: Shanks - 1.1 k, Mihawk - 1.2 k, Croc - 1.2 k

Shanks

The clinging and diverting type

This mf tries to be covert about it

Key word: tries

It’s no secret that Shanks is the jovial sort and that his welcome and cheer extend easily to newcomers. However, something curious happens when the next one joins your large table.

You always have at least a part of Shanks’ attention, so the way you shift uncomfortably and curl slightly in on yourself is not going to go unnoticed. You catch yourself and relax back into your usual posture, but Shanks knows you well enough to see there’s a posed touch to all your expressions. It tames them from the genuine displays of your thoughts and emotions that Shanks so loves into something more suited to a diplomat seeking favor. Now that had him wary.

It took no genius to notice that each time a great laugh broke out your eyes would sweep to that newcomer to take them in, or how your would flicker your gaze over to them every time you had the spotlight, as if seeking approval.

Gods Shanks hopes that isn’t the case

Driven to seek comfort in your presence, Shanks leans into his affectionate nature to keep close to you. You can’t think too long on someone else with him constantly leaning into your space to whisper dumb jokes and silly observations. He made those laughs and he gets to enjoy them up close and personal. You may look to others but you always look back to him when he ventures to lay his hand on your shoulder or hand or thigh and give a happy, hearty squeeze before retreating. He relishes in the fact that you had been uncertain of his touch when you first met yet now you trust and even welcome his hand on you.

Shanks is burst right out of his bubble of avoidance when you suddenly jolt and sit straight, separating yourself from his side.

The cause of his sudden and very dire lack of you is that very same newcomer. The newcomer, who is leaning in so close to you. The newcomer, who now has all of your attention. The newcomer, who is giving you a smile that Shanks very much does not like. It’s very charming and holds a twinge of remorse that Shanks knows from experience would strike straight and true right to your heart

“I’m glad to see you in happier times. You look good,” they have the audacity to say, the words even seeping with honesty. Shanks isn't sure he focused on anything in his life as hard as he does on your reaction in this moment.

Your smile is breathtaking, one he isn't sure he’s seen before, all affection and understanding and a dusting of yearning. It turns his heart to goo right before it clamps it tight and squeezes, because that smile isn't for him. He needs that smile to be for him. His mouth is moving before the thought even sinks in.

“We do like to keep things cheerful here!” Shanks chuckles to the newcomer. He turns to you, making sure to catch your eye. “Life’s too short to anchor yourself to your sorrows.” Now back to the newcomer. “And this one-” an arm slips around your shoulders, hugging you to his warm side, “-helps keep it that way.”

The smile you give him isn’t quite as overflowing with emotion as the one you gave the newcomer, but he loves it all the same.

Unfortunately, that’s not the end of it and the newcomer actually sits down on your other side and insists on catching up. Shanks is a damn charmer though, and he knows it, so he’s not one to give up on keeping your attention through the night.

He stays in the conversation easily, not deterred by the newcomer outsider bringing up shared memories with you, even though they squeeze at his heart and lungs tighter and tighter. He uses it to get to know more of you, a part of him truly enjoying the new insights. However, a much larger part is simply set on keeping the reminiscing light instead of romantically charged.

As the time and drinks flow, his and the outsider's tactics get more obvious yet you get more oblivious, simply cruising on the comfy fuzz everything had taken on and enjoying the company. Your unintentional refusal to pick a favorite has both of them getting desperate and daring.

Try as they might, the outsider is clearly outmatched

By the end of the night you’re wearing Shanks like a perfume, he’s stuck to your skin at the heart of your body, chest always tight to your back or side, chin often hooked over your shoulder or on top of your head. His slight scruff tickling at your ear when he moves and talks is exceedingly distracting. So is the softness of his hair on your neck when he turns his head to bed his cheek into your shoulder and pull you a little tighter to him, saying its just 'cause he's a little sleepy and trying to get comfy. He unearths himself from his resting place only to seek it again every few minutes.

His arm is always around you when he wasn’t using it to drink (of course) or toy with you - tugging at your clothes for attention, tickling your sides to interrupt you, sweetly scratching your scalp to derail your train of thought, teasingly rubbing a thumb into your hip or thigh to feel you squirm.

Shanks is a handsy motherfucker (ironic right-), so you don’t take any of this as a proclamation of his love. The most you think is that it has just hit that point in your journey together where his vast appetite for partners has finally swept its way to focus on you.

You end the night giggling the whole stumbling way back to the ship, tucked into Shanks’ side. You manage to stay there despite being at the mercy of both of your swaying, constantly blending who’s supporting and who’s slipping. Your ex is far from your mind when Shanks tucks you in sweetly (well… sweetly to a drunk; in all reality you kinda flopped in, but he did make sure you were shoeless and properly under the blankets, and he even shuffled back in to put water, crackers, and medicine where you could reach).

Shanks does however have a flash of your ex in his mind when he's happily gloating to himself that he had won.

His last blurry thoughts are of how to make sure you and everyone else unquestionably knows that you are off limits. The unspoken claim understood by the crew while he works at winning you over doesn't seem to be enough anymore. Especially if that pesky ex comes sniffing around again. Maybe they just need a lesson in what staring down Conqueror’s Haki truly feels like.

Mihawk

The intimidating and biting type

Mihawk would likely be the most covert of these three, at least as far as your notice goes

Your ex has no questions about Mihawk’s dislike for them. With his reputation as emotionless and solitary, it’s not guaranteed that your ex will put two and two together to realize that Mihawk's dislike stems from their previous relationship with you. Even if Mihawk hints at it, they'll tell themselves that they're imagining things. It’s much more likely that they’ll think it’s because Mihawk is that way with all but the Few Exceptions, and they have definitely not made the cut.

It definitely didn’t help that they were a marine

Mihawk is already unhappy to see a marine on his doorstep, no doubt sent to yip at him about some nonsense or other that the admirals were in a twist over. That unhappiness quadruples when he hears you tentatively call to this marine by name, and then it multiplies again when the marine responds by breathing out your own name with shock and hope

This pest needs to be out of his castle quickly

Yet he can't bring himself to simply throw them out when you come over so disgustingly happy to see them. There were a few times where he'd interrupted or snuffed out your joy while adjusting to you joining his home, and he found the feeling it gave him insufferable. That's what forces him to let the pest in and guide them with you to the smaller dining room.

He’d simply have to find what the pest needs fast and expedite whatever catching up you two apparently must do.

That's easier said than done; you and the pest are insistent on taking time between flustered pleasantries to share uncertain smiles and lingering looks of longing in charged silence.

It's giving him the worst mood he'd had in years.

At first he tries to discourage this lingering with his mere presence. He knows he's capable of pumping out enough sheer displeasure into the air to knock out a squadron, so he keeps it to his other tools: body language that makes him feel larger than the room and a glare sharp enough to split hair. Both make the pest cringe and shy away, but the chance to gain your favor makes them push through it. Even though he hates it, Mihawk can't blame them.

Mihawk can tell that his mood is setting you on edge too - almost anyone would with the perturbed looks you've been sending his way - but that isn't technically taking your joy, so he doesn't back off.

In fact, he decides it's time to push even more.

He begins interjecting in your conversation, mostly with little insults to take the wind out of the pest's sails.

You aren't yet tipped off that there's something hiding behind his mood; he was never fond of braggarts so it isn't so out of the ordinary for him to humble someone. Of course, you wouldn't exactly call what your ex is doing "bragging" so much as filling you in on their growing career. They are actually relatively humble about it, clearly just excited to fill you in and not phrasing things to seek your praise.

Then Mihawk starts complimenting you.

Mihawk is not one to dish out praise. You've had to fight tooth and nail to get the mere drops of it you'd tasted so far, so his sudden highlighting of your positive traits trips your sensors. It isn't exactly alarm bells ringing, more it makes you feel like there's something you're missing. You figure it's the sudden disruption and old instincts from his Marine Hunter days cropping up.

You would have never guessed that his aim with his nitpicking and praising is to make sure your ex knows for a fact that you are out of their league. They don't deserve you. But he could.

No matter the reason though, you certainly relish in Mihawk calling you things such as "necessary for [his] castle", "smarter than those inane marine trials", "finally proficient and needing no distractions to ruin that", and "better company than a bunch of sea monkeys". Sure, from most anyone else they'd feel slightly insulting, but from everything you've so far seen of Mihawk that's a glowing review.

The uncanny nature of this whole interaction, from Mihawk's tank in mood to the sudden praise, keeps your focus away from your ever shrinking ex.

Mihawk is simply delighted to see your attention going to its rightful place, on him. You should be looking at him with such interest and joy. You should be seeking his approval; not some simpering swine's.

He figures he's been patient enough (it's been almost a whole ten minutes after all) and it is time to end this farce.

Mihawk stands from his spot and goes to sift through the wine rack. He returns with an above average vintage (even by his tastes) and two glasses. He sets them at the corner of the table so he can deftly open the wine. The silence as you both watch him work elates him.

The first glass is placed in front of his seat and swiftly filled. You watch the action with admiration for his fluid and confident motions. The pest watches with growing envy.

The second glass is filled while still sat in the corner, keeping its owner ambiguous.

The bottle leaves one hand and that glass enters the other, coming with Mihawk as he moves to stand behind your chair.

His full height set strongly in sharp shoulders and straight spine cuts a devilish figure behind you. Your ex's first impression was that he is haunting you, but there's some little whisper in their mind that, no, Mihawk is protecting you.

That whisper gets stronger as Mihawk leans forward over you, getting much too close to be polite while he places the wine glass down directly in front of you. His eyes hold the pest's with an air of warning the whole time.

Mihawk settles back upright, placing a hand on both carved corners decorating the back of your chair. The act seems clearly possessive. But surely Mihawk couldn't have found some special fondness for you?

You are none the wiser to Mihawk's antics behind you, too enraptured by the closeness of his reaching arm then too distracted checking out the color and aroma of your gifted wine.

Having at least enough pieces of a functional brain to pick up on that cue, the pest begins rushing out some excuses and makes to leave.

Kind as you are, you tell them they don't have to rush off, but they're adamant. You're a bit sad to see this chance meeting end so quickly, but your mind quickly settles on thinking it's for the best. Your memories of them are distant enough to be cherry picked and seeing them scamper off so easily reminds you that there are reasons you parted.

Mihawk chases escorts them out and returns to you looking much less belligerent and much more at ease. You figure it best to not risk ruining the positive turn by questioning it, yet you can't help but ask one thing.

"I usually have to pour my own wine from the kitchen's rack. What's the occasion?"

Mihawk takes a sip and the comfort of one of his favored wines coming over his senses coerces him into loosening his tongue.

"You've been good." Another sip and he thoughtfully adds, "I could give you more rewards."

Sir Crocodile

The assertive and analytical type

Despite Croc being a plotter, I see him as being quite direct in this situation

Ok yeah maybe he insists it’s because you can do better and you’re definitely above crawling back to an ex (“you broke up for a reason didn’t you?”)

But maybe he also takes this as his opportune moment to get you into his clutches.

Who could blame him when he feels the threat of such an unworthy little nobody working so hard to catch your eye.

Croc always keeps an eye on you, no matter what else demands his attention. Sure, there's an obsessive edge to it, but he just needs to know what you're up to - has to know you're safe near for when he needs you. You are the best assistant he's ever seen after all, and he's been through an army's worth. He's sure his new organization would've crumbled if you weren't there to balance out the clown and his circus monkeys constantly shooting themselves in the foot (sometimes literally).

Many of those circus monkeys were even stupid enough to try and approach you themselves. Luckily for him, you seem about as enthused on the idea of you having a partner as he is.

Which brings us back to his irritation that you haven't swatted that bug away from you. No, instead you seem to be rather tolerant of their buzzing. Maybe even fond.

That just won't do.

The crowds at this schmooze-fest, thrown to entice more pirates and criminals alike, part easily for his beeline to you.

It only irritates him even more that you don't notice him until you're swallowed by his shadow. You even have the audacity to look surprised when you turn to him.

And you truly are surprised - as far as you know there's no reason for Croc's usual grimace to turn into something so stormy, especially directed at you. It quickly jumps to your ex however and focuses that torrent there.

"I don't know you," Croc states gruffly.

"I'm-"

"Your name doesn't matter," Croc interrupts. "What do you do? Why are you here?"

And thus begins the interrogation. You can only watch perplexed as Sir Croc tugs every bit of information he could want out of your ex, making sure to cut off anything he didn't care to hear. That frustrated look and tone become more bored by the second. Every tone tells your ex that they're barely worth the breath to speak, causing them to shrink even faster than Sir Croc's anger did.

You catch their eye and send them a sympathetic smile, and then Croc moves on to you.

"And you," he starts roughly. He lets you sit in suspense while he drags those hooded purple eyes from the crown of your head to the toes of your shoes and back. "Why are you here?"

You're taken absolutely aback by the question, mouth flapping from a mix of shock and offense. You have quite a list of things you keep your eye on at these parties; did he want you to go down the whole thing? After a deep breath, you try, "To gather informationof and from possible allies and help build relationships?"

"Wrong."

Well, at least he let you finish your sentence. Time to try again.

"To make sure the night runs smoothly," you say much more surely. It's an apt description of your overall job.

"Wrong again." Yep, that grimace is now definitely a smirk. One that only widens when you purse your lips and stare him down. You notice the genuine amusement shining in Croc's eyes and relax a touch, content to let him guide this to whatever destination he has planned.

"Then please, Sir, tell me," you relent. "Why am I here?"

He takes a deep puff of his cigar before pulling it from his lips and watching the smoke swirl out with his exhale. You watch it too - admire how handsome he looks reappearing through the haze. Enjoying how small you feel as he leans over you through its last remnants.

He rarely touches you with his golden hook, always using his hand (you've yet to realize it's because he prefers to feel you on his skin). Now, though, he raises it towards you. You're surprised yet again when the curve touches beneath your chin to tilt your face just a little higher; the metal isn't cold like you thought it would be. It must be warmed from resting on his thigh. You shake away the thought of warming it further.

He takes his time assessing you, giving you your own time to look over his breathtakingly chiseled face, admire his striking scar, forget everything else but his eyes on you.

Without intention, you gravitate towards him, leaning forward enough into him and that golden hook drawing you that you have to catch yourself with a stumbling step. The fond chuckle he gives in response resonates deep and rich and feels like a reward flowing over you.

"You, my dear," Sir Crocodile says with unfamiliar mirth, "are here to keep me happy."

"And how would you like me to do that, Sir?" you whisper back.

At first, that just earns you a smile. Then he's drawing his hook along your jaw, tickling the tip around your ear, drawing it gently across your cheek. It ends its journey on your lips, ever so gently pulling your bottom lip down before letting it flick back up when he draws his arm away. You watch the glimmering gold retreat. He's greedy for more of the longing he sees in your eyes. He leans slightly lower and gives you back that hook, this time in the form of an offered arm.

"With your company, of course," He finally answers. The warmth you hear in the drawl of his voice is beautiful.

You slip your hand into the crook of his arm, happy you can feel his body heat through the soft fabric of his shirt.

Halfway back to his previous spot, you realize that you'd become so distracted that you hadn't even said goodbye to your ex. You had wanted to exchange numbers, maybe truly get back in touch and feel out if things would be better this time. Noting how deep your draw to Croc is, you already feel that that would be a dead end. Well, maybe some time rekindling things would help your daydreaming and wishing for Sir Croc finally start ebbing away.

"Did you see where they went?"

Croc has to hold in his smile at your question. "They scurried off on you. It's for the best though; they were exceedingly unimpressive."

You couldn't help but snort at his assessment.

After guiding you to your chair and pushing it in, Croc settles down himself. When he reaches for his awaiting drink, he notices Daz Bonez come back into the room, wiping his hands off on his pants. Their eyes meet and Daz Bones gives a firm nod before heading back to his other duties for the night.

Sir Croc smirks and takes a heavy sip of scotch.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

There you are sweet anon, I hope you enjoyed and that it properly scratched the itch❣️ Thank you for the ask 🤍 Sending much love!!!

Part of a little celebration

[claudiajcregg]

1, 7, 14 💜💜💜

Thank you for asking, Ally! This might be Too Much, and it definitely sent me down a rabbit hole (even if I tried not to go too far into it). I've forgotten half the stuff I've written this year, is the tl;dr.

1. favorite fic you wrote this year

I don't know! I don't know if it's this weird slump I've been in lately, or just my default mood made worse, but I cannot choose any – none of them are my favorite! All of them are! I've written too much!

From the stuff I've posted – I definitely have a soft spot for press fic, for sure, but also memoir fic. I was blown away by the response to the ITSOTG missing scene, too.

Out of the unposted stuff… I started looking around and had forgotten how many I meant to either polish or finish to post, dammit. I cannot keep up. I'll say that I really do like the silly Jan 21st fic I am hoping to post in (you guessed it) January 21st, and another silly, sweet “short” oneshot I wrote that goes between IM and Tomorrow, and involves a present. And also, obviously, the s5 pregnancy AU. It's not the most realistic but I enjoy writing it. (Once again, begging the muse to return. Let's finish that bad boy.)

7. longest completed fic you wrote this year

The famous (?) S5 Pregnancy AU isn't complete, or even posted, so it doesn't count. So… my exchange fic is an overly long 16k oneshot. I want to write one of those director's cut/commentary things about it. I have so many things to say.

14. a fic you didn’t expect to write

Short answer: most of them! I think that, as it usually happens, my own writing begets more stories/writing.

But the true answer: two full explicit fics????? not just scenes in unposted fics (+ the ficlet, which I don't count) WHO AM I. The first one was a joke, a whole 'let me write something terrible and convince myself it isn't for me' and then my enablers liked it.

More end of year fic asks here!

[allwaswell16]

—Fics by allwaswell16—

[ Ficlets ~1k ]

Charity Ficlets (series) [NR, 10k, fic post]

Chapter 1: Shiny Objects: Louis isn't so sure about Professor Styles, but when he must save him from a loose niffler, things change between them. Chapter 2: 500 Miles: Louis hates being ignored, and he knows just how to get his roommates attention. Chapter 3: Smitten: Louis hates winter. Then he begins receiving anonymous gifts to keep him warm, and maybe winter isn't so bad after all. Chapter 4: Grease Lightning: Louis' cat likes to give out his phone number. Chapter 5: The Duke's Diamond: The Duke of Yorkshire must find a mate, and the omega he finds hiding from his country ball intrigues him. Chapter 6: Baby, All I Want For Christmas: When Louis shops for his siblings’ Christmas gifts, he finds a good reason to keep returning to the same shop–a very cute boy.

OT 4/5 Very Silly Chat/Email Chain Ficlets [M, 7k, group chat, fic post]

Part One: Danger in the Produce Aisle [NR, 844 words, fic post] Louis finds a frightening piece of produce at the grocery store. The group chat comes to his rescue. Part Two: Caramel Apple Peeps [NR, 1k, fic post] Louis is out of milk for his early morning cuppa tea. He sets out to the store to pick some up, but he gets distracted by Niall's love for caramel apples in the group chat. Or another 1D whatsapp chat drabble. Part Three: The OT4 Email Chain [NR, 1k, fic post] Three emails in the 1D OT4 email chain: Hack this ya arseholes, The Nialler's 'do, and Liam Chain. A series of emails sent in a group email chain between donnysoldier28@gmail.com, randysdonuts @ savethewhales.org, CraicDirection @ hotmail, and TheRealBatMan @ aol.com Part Four: Email Chain OT4 Part 4 (I think) [NR, 600 words, fic post] Another installment of the OT4 email chain. Louis brings up the fateful night of Liam's diarrhoea leading to their only canceled concert. Part Five: Screaming [M, 1k, fic post] Another installment of the ot4 email chain. Three emails where Niall screams about: being jealous of Steve Aoki's friendship with Louis, the beautiful black and white photo of Louis on his Instagram clearly taken by Harry, and Louis' dog. Also includes: jokes about dog poo (obviously), Harry's red coat, dogs Liam doesn't Instagram, and much more! Part Six: The Brits & Always You [M, 1k, fic post] Two more OT4 email chains: The Brits and Always You Featuring: Harry's floofy hair, Liam as a superhero in a Gucci sweatshirt, nervous Niall, Donald Duck jumpers, Louis tweeting about Harry, and everyone crying about Harry's songwriting (as one does). Part Seven: Is Neil Available? [NR, 1k, fic post] Another OT4 email chain: Is Neil Available? Featuring: Niall's new email address, stealing Harry's hat and Louis' jacket, Liam's growing and multiple chains, Instagram aesthetics, jealousy, and Niall's devotion to OT4

All This Time [T, 1k, omegaverse, fic post]

Louis Tomlinson had been best friends with flower shop owner Gemma Styles for years. It wasn't until she suggested he date her alpha brother that he ever thought of Harry that way. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea...

Netflix Original [T, 1k, neighbors, fic post]

Harry's hot neighbor overhears that he doesn't have Netflix.

Walk of Shame [T, 1k, meet cute, fic post]

On a cold, rainy autumn morning Louis meets someone else doing the walk of shame.

A Deal [T, 898 words, Potter Direction, fic post]

Slytherin Harry Styles spends his free time drawing down by the lake. Unfortunately, he can't show anyone what he's drawing because they're all of Gryffindor Louis Tomlinson.

[Back to masterpost]

[the-diabolist]

Hello!! Kikuo Anon here!!

Could I request Any BTD & BTD2 characters you have in mind With a GN!S/O who makes the same music as Kikuo??

(Here’s his channel link so you can listen to his songs, also if you need any details about him I’ll be happy to tell you @kikuo-coffeehouse )

Thank you!! Have a great rest of your day :)

I think you're probably looking for headcanons with a hyperspecific reader type here, which isn't something that I do. So I used your concept for a ficlet instead and just picked the character I thought would appreciate it the most. Which means this will be my first (and probably only) Ren fic xD

c.w: none! ~600w

"Aww, you changed the lines I gave you?" He frowns when he looks over your shoulder at the notebook page, and you can hear the inevitable pout beginning to creep into his tone.

"Only a little! Look, it's mostly the same, I just changed a few words to fit the flow better," you reply, turning to look up at him. Sure enough, his eyebrows knit together and his lower lip juts out. You grab it between your thumb and forefinger and tug lightly. "Don't sulk, it's not as cute as you think it is."

He nips lightly at your finger, which you barely manage to yank away in time with a playful yelp. He sticks his tongue out at you.

He's not bad at helping with lyrics, actually. You've taken to consulting him when you get stuck; his fresh perspective is useful, and it turns out he's a decent poet. The only issue is how particular he gets about it - he likes it when you use what he comes up with, but if you change anything about it, he gets offended.

When it's time to put the melody together, he's less useful but more fun.

"Ooo, that looks great!" He beams, scanning the bars you've got thus far.

"He says, as if he has any idea how to read it," you tease, gaze focused on the computer screen.

"I don't have to understand it to know it looks cool," he says confidently, almost snobbishly, as if he can't believe you'd doubt his exemplary eye for quality. "Which vocaloid are you using?"

"Hmm, well, if you must know..." you begin, tone conspiratorial. His ears perk up eagerly and he leans in close, as if you're about to disclose state secrets. "It'll have to be... M.Y.O.B."

His face falls into a mildly annoyed deadpan. He is clearly unimpressed with your joke.

"Aw, c'mon. At least let me hear it? I need to know which playlist it's going into."

He reaches toward the mouse before you can tell him no. Used to those grabby hands of his, you manage to play a successful game of keep-away with the device.

"Patience, silly," you scold him. He grins toothily in response, which is concerning.

"Please?" He purrs slyly, before practically climbing into your lap and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "Don't you love me?"

His hair and his ears tickle so much that you begin to reflexively jerk around, giggling, but he just follows, pinning you to the chair with his slight and aggressively affectionate frame. You're going to slide to the floor, dragging him with you like an anchor, if this continues - but, luckily(?), he manages to swipe the mouse away as you squeak with laughter, clicking buttons on the screen before you can react.

The fifteen seconds of music you've put together play as you catch your breath.

When it's over, there's a beat of silence before he says: "Hm. Needs more work, honestly."

You tackle him to the floor, fully intending to tickle him until he cries.