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bulletproofscales · 5 months ago

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🥺 no cause being able to connect with you made me so increadibly happy (i admit i had a writting spree afterwards too 😭💜 all writers are the same)

yoonmins dynamic was simply lovely, and so heartwarming. 💜

Letting Go

So, I kind of disappeared mid-Chubtober, sorry about that! Work and life just got kind of wild these past few months and writing was on the back burner. I had plenty of ideas, but the motivation to put those into complete fics just wasn't happening.

But exciting times - I made a new friend! @bulletproofscales is a great writer and we recently connected, it was lovely. I've been reading his fics for a while and just wanted to appreciate his writing.

He was so kind and made me feel a renewed sense of confidence and motivation in my writing. So consider this a little new friend gift and encouragement to send the message to those writers you appreciate!

Read here or on AO3!

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The house was quiet aside from the rustle of Yoongi unpacking his takeout order on the coffee table. He had been craving fried chicken and hoped that ordering extra would finally encourage his boyfriend to eat more than his typical protein, veggies, and rice for dinner.

Yoongi loved Jimin with everything he had and would never ask him to change if Jimin truly didn’t want to, but deep down, Yoongi felt that Jimin’s strict discipline and bland diet were more forced than desired.

Jimin had a hard-earned physique which Yoongi could appreciate. However, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly why Jimin’s appearance held so much of his mental and physical space.

Yoongi saw the way Jimin stopped himself from indulging as if he were internally scolding himself for even considering. He would literally stop halfway as he reached a hand or a utensil for any food outside of his tracked and planned regimen.

Most people would be angry with the thought of someone just grabbing food off their plate, but Yoongi wished Jimin would steal bites as often as it looked like he wanted to.

Jimin entered the room carrying a small bowl of rice topped with some veggies and tofu. It looked entirely unappetizing, admittedly even more so than Jimin’s typical food that at least had decent seasoning.

As he sat down, Jimin glanced at the containers of fried chicken that smelled incredible. He stared at his bowl and just felt his stomach turn. Even though he was hungry, the thought of eating his perfectly weighed and prepped meal felt more disappointing than ever.

Yoongi looked over at Jimin with a bit of a sad smile, seeming to pick up on Jimin’s hesitation to eat. “You don’t have to eat any of this, but I got your favorite flavor and some beer I know you like. Just have as much as you want - you know, if you want any at all, no pressure.”

The words hung in the air, like a permission slip Jimin didn’t need but admittedly wanted. He wasn’t sure if it was hunger or the way Yoongi had phrased it, but the next thing he knew, he was reaching for a piece of chicken, and then the beer Yoongi opened for him.

Jimin didn’t know how Yoongi managed to spontaneously flip the mental switch or if he was just so tired of monitoring his diet so closely, but something about tonight sent all of Jimin’s hesitation out the window.

Without letting himself turn back on his moment of diet rebellion, Jimin pushed the small bowl away and watched with anticipation as Yoongi slid a full container of chicken in front of him. The spicy sauce looked more appetizing than anything Jimin had eaten in months.

Yoongi made a sound of appreciation as he saw Jimin pick up another piece of chicken and sip on the beer. He wasn’t about to question a thing that was happening. To see his boyfriend enjoy his meal for the first time since they moved in together was more satisfying than any food could be for Yoongi.

Jimin continued to reach for piece after piece of chicken, almost mindlessly as he tried to stop himself from thinking too much about calories. The spice was perfect, heat masking his fullness in between sips of the chilled beer.

It didn’t take long before Jimin was full, more full than he had been in a long time. The chicken and beer went down with ease, warm and filling in a way that his veggies and rice never could be.

As he sat back against the couch, rubbing his already bloated stomach, Jimin couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed. The reality of the situation came crashing down quick as he looked over at the still-full bowl of his meal-prepped dinner.

What have I done?

Jimin had lost track of how many pieces he’d eaten, no possible clue how to track this slip-up of a meal in his calorie app. There were only crumbs and leftover sauce in the bottom of his empty container, and he felt completely stuffed.

Jimin was feeling a bit dejected because he had worked so hard his whole life to stay in shape and maintain his physique, resisting college weight and the temptations of having his own finances to spend however he liked. Suddenly a stable relationship steals all his willpower?

Yoongi, on the other hand, was still happily munching away on his chicken. Jimin wasn’t upset that his boyfriend was on the chubbier side by any means. Yoongi had been a bit pudgy when they met in college, and the weight continued with indulgent choices and a settled relationship. Jimin had always told himself not to fall into bad habits when they started dating, even more so once they shared a home.

Choosing to ignore Jimin’s silent spiral in hopes of pulling his boyfriend back out of it, Yoongi sent him a warm, satisfied smile. “It’s nice to see you relaxing a bit. It’s okay to indulge and eat what you like sometimes. I promise.”

Jimin nodded, but there was a small, nagging voice in his head telling him he’d overdone it. But Yoongi was right, it was just food. It was just a moment of indulgence. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

As they settled into the couch, both of them full and happy, Jimin realized something. Maybe he hadn’t eaten to enjoy the food, maybe he’d been eating to enjoy the way it felt to share a meal with Yoongi, to relax and let go.

It wasn’t about the food itself; it was about the moment, the connection getting stronger with Yoongi. Still, Jimin couldn’t ignore the tightness in his jeans as he reclined, the way his stomach stretched uncomfortably against the fabric.

Next time, I’ll say no.

But for now, he couldn’t help but wonder: was Yoongi’s influence stronger than his own self-control? Jimin was inclined to believe it was and no matter what his insecurities were telling him, he loved Yoongi way more than counting calories.

Jimin's thoughts were interrupted by Yoongi's gentle touch on his arm. "Hey, you okay? You seem a little lost in thought there."

Jimin forced a smile, trying to push away his worries. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit full."

Yoongi chuckled, patting his own stomach trying to ease the tension growing. "I know the feeling. But isn't it nice sometimes? To just let go and enjoy?"

Jimin nodded, not entirely convinced. He glanced down at his stomach, noticing the slight roundness that hadn't been there before. It was barely noticeable and entirely bloating that would go down with time, but to him, it felt like a glaring reminder of his lack of control.

"You know," Yoongi continued, oblivious to Jimin's internal struggle, "I've always admired how disciplined you are with your diet and exercise, but I worry sometimes that you're too hard on yourself."

Jimin finally cracked a bit of a sad smile. The words rang true and he knew where Yoongi was coming from. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ve seen the way you look sometimes when it gets…bad.”

Yoongi sighed and placed his hand on Jimin’s thigh, rubbing soothingly. “You don’t get bad, Jiminie. Your anxiety and insecurity may ebb and flow, but nothing about you is bad.”

Looking down at Yoongi’s hand gently caressing his leg, Jimin felt a rush of warmth return, almost physically feeling it overpower that little voice constantly in his head. He simply nodded as he realized Yoongi had more to share.

“And it’s okay if you gain a little weight. If you get settled and relax a bit more. Relationship weight is so normal, expected even and I would love you the same. I mean, I admit that I would even enjoy seeing you fill out a bit more.”

Jimin felt his face heat up at Yoongi's words, mixed with a flutter of anxiety. He hadn't expected Yoongi to be so direct about it even though he knew better than to underestimate his hyung. "You would?" he asked hesitantly.

Yoongi nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Of course. You're gorgeous no matter what, but I love the idea of you being more comfortable, more relaxed. Plus," he added with a playful wink, "I think you'd look incredibly cute with a little extra padding. I mean, your ass is great already, Min, but imagine it with a bit more weight. Damn…"

Jimin felt his cheeks flush, torn between embarrassment and a strange sense of excitement. He'd never considered that Yoongi might actually prefer him a bit heavier. It was a jarring thought, but not entirely unpleasant.

"I don't know," Jimin mumbled, his hand unconsciously moving to his bloated stomach. "I worked so hard for so long to maintain…everything. It feels like I’m giving up on myself if I just throw in the towel.”

“And I understand that, but I’m just saying that you don’t need to stop enjoying food just for the sake of staying thinner. I’d love to take you out for dinner dates or spoil you with your favorite sweets. Sometimes it would be nice to know that my Jiminie has eaten well because of me.”

Jimin was caught off guard, feeling himself get a little bit teary-eyed from the confession. He hadn’t realized that he was limiting his and Yoongi’s quality time for the sake of dieting. “I would love that too. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize-”

Yoongi leaned over, giving Jimin a gentle kiss to cut off the impending ramble of misplaced guilt. “Don’t apologize. I know you better than anyone so I know you would never do it intentionally. Just promise me that you will talk to me if you are feeling insecure or having those internal struggles. I’m not saying you have to start or stop anything food and body-related. All I’m asking is for a bit more communication about those things.”

Jimin nodded slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside him. "I'll try," he said softly, leaning into Yoongi's touch. "It's just hard to let go of old habits, you know?"

Yoongi smiled understandingly. "I know, baby. And I'm not asking you to change overnight. Maybe you can be a little kinder to yourself. Allow yourself to enjoy things without guilt?"

Jimin took a deep breath, considering Yoongi's words. He had to admit, something was appealing about the idea of relaxing his strict regimen, of allowing himself to indulge without constantly worrying about the consequences.

"Okay," he said finally, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I mean, dinner was really good tonight. I can’t remember the last time I ate as much as I wanted without counting the calories or restricting myself.”

“I know, and I just want you to know that you can do that more often. I’m glad you enjoyed dinner tonight,” Yoongi replied with a warm smile, leaning in for another kiss. “How about dessert?”

Jimin laughed and rolled his eyes. “That was quick. You just wanted an excuse to feed me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” Yoongi chuckled with a small shrug. “Or maybe I just want to spoil my darling boyfriend who I love so much.”

“You already take care of me so well,” Jimin responded genuinely, wanting Yoongi to know that he had not been lacking just because Jimin wasn’t always eating as much as he should.

Yoongi patted Jimin’s thigh as he stood up. “And now I can do it even better. So, ice cream?”

Jimin laughed and felt a weight lift from his shoulders as if his insecurities floated away with Yoongi’s reassurance. “Yes, I suppose I could make room for some ice cream.”

As Yoongi headed to the kitchen, Jimin leaned back onto the couch, his mind still processing their conversation. He couldn't deny the pleasant feeling that spread through him at the thought of Yoongi wanting to care for him, to spoil him. It was a stark contrast to his usual self-imposed restrictions.

The sound of cabinets opening and closing drifted from the kitchen, followed by the clink of bowls and spoons. Jimin found himself smiling, anticipation building despite his already full stomach.

Yoongi returned, balancing two generous bowls of ice cream. "I hope you don't mind, but I may have gone a little overboard with the toppings," he said with a shy smile.

Jimin's eyes widened as he took the bowl from his boyfriend - multiple scoops of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce, sprinkled with chocolate chips, and topped with whipped cream.

“Damn, you were serious about wanting me to soften up, huh?” Jimin joked as he carved out his first spoonful.

Yoongi paused for a moment and looked over Jimin’s thin and lean body. He had always thought his boyfriend was too small, but it was also a little selfish. Yoongi loved the idea of a softer, curvier Jimin and he told him as such.

"Well, I can't deny that the thought of you with a bit more cushion is appealing," Yoongi admitted with a playful smirk. "But more than that, I just want you to be happy and comfortable. If that means indulging in dessert, then so be it. I hate the thought of you sitting around inside your head thinking you can enjoy a meal. In my eyes, you always look beautiful so why worry?"

Jimin felt a flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with the sweet treat in his hands. Yoongi was so open and honest in a way that was healing Jimin in unexpected ways. How could he possibly deny his boyfriend’s words when they were spoken without a moment of hesitation?

“Thank you, hyung. Really, that means more than you could ever know,” Jimin replied, trying to keep his tears at bay by focusing his eyes firmly on his spoon in hand.

Yoongi hummed, clearly pleased that Jimin was accepting such a bold compliment and implication. "Of course, Min-ah."

As they ate, Jimin found himself relaxing more and more. The initial guilt he'd felt earlier was fading, replaced with the satisfaction of a delicious dessert and his boyfriend’s care for him. He expected some resistance from his stomach to eat the bigger-than-expected portion of dessert, but the sugar seemed to be a fresh start and it went down easily.

They ate their ice cream in comfortable silence, watching the movie playing. Yoongi finished his first and cuddled up with Jimin who was still working through his bowl. Yoongi admittedly put extra ice cream in Jimin’s bowl, purely because of the excitement of his boyfriend's agreement to dessert.

Yoongi started to softly rub Jimin’s stomach, trying to settle his full stomach considering he never ate this much. Jimin let out a little laugh at his boyfriend’s touch but also melted a bit under the sweet affection. He also was a bit thankful for the comforting touch considering how full his stomach was.

When Jimin finished his bowl, he set it aside and leaned back into the couch cushions with a relaxed sigh. Yoongi’s hand found his midsection again, and Jimin let his stomach fully expand into his touch.

"Mmm, that feels nice," Jimin murmured, his eyes half-closed as he savored the gentle pressure of Yoongi's hand on his overfull stomach. The combination of the hearty dinner and decadent dessert had left him feeling pleasantly stuffed, a sensation he hadn't allowed himself to experience in a long time, if ever.

Yoongi smiled, continuing his soothing circular motions. "I'm glad. You look so relaxed right now. It's a good look on you."

Jimin hummed in agreement, surprising himself with how content he felt. The nagging voice of guilt that had plagued him earlier was now just a distant whisper, drowned out by the comfort of Yoongi's touch and the satisfaction of a good meal.

"You know," Jimin said softly, "I think I could get used to this."

Yoongi looked over at Jimin, his soft smile growing with a more prideful beam. “Good, hyung’s really proud of you, Jiminie. I know that may sound silly over something like dessert, but I mean it.”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed as he let out a little whine, feeling exposed under Yoongi’s warm touch and even warmer smile. “I’m honestly proud of me too, hyung. Also, I kind of forgot how good food could be.”

“Well, don’t worry, you have me to remind you as often as you need.”

#eeep!!!!#im already starting my day on a high note

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tetzoro · 1 month ago

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˖˙ ꔫ — ELEMENT OF SURPRISE ˚

꒰ synopsis : another day, another celebration with the straw hats but this time, the truth begins to creep out as zoro begins to let loose. ꒱

꒰ content : zoro roronoa x reader ; alcohol use (zoro is drinking a cup of sake), use of the term “pretty girl”, fluff — WC : 1.9k ꒱

꒰ Whispers of the Wind anthology ꒱

The wispy chill of the fading twilight’s salty breeze brushes across your face, along the cheeks that were warm with the glow of celebration — another party amongst the Straw Hats that left your heart feeling full.

There was no telling exactly what they were celebrating this time around but judging by the spread on the table, it was because someone had caught a huge fish.

Which of course meant Sanji had to pull out all the stops — heaping trays full of colorful appetizers and bottomless cups of booze flitting around the deck of the Sunny that was drumming with a buzz of joy and laughter only the captain could summon up.

It was quite the sight to see.

Soundlessly stalking up beside you with the quiet lethality of a tiger, Zoro’s arm lazily wraps around your shoulders. It was a welcomed weight, a subtle show of how comfortable the swordsman was by your side and the notion made your heart swell.

“Hey.” His voice is gruff but his chest is warm as he mindlessly pulls you closer to it. A homey hearth with a tiny flame of affection that would spark to life whenever he had just a mere drop of alcohol in his system.

The liquid courage made the walls around his heart wobbly, his actions becoming more fluid than they normally would be on a regular basis.

You lived for leisurely times like these.

“Hi, Zo,” You smile sweetly, looking up at him. Your breath almost hitches at the heavenly sight. His unfairly long lashes sweep across his cheek as he blinked down at you with his steely eye. Involuntarily, you touch his chiseled jaw, tracing along the sharp lines as his pointed gaze stays on you. He remains unmoving but you swore you heard the slightest hitch in his breath. Maybe the alcohol affected you in the same way. “Having fun?”

“Now I am.” A satisfied smirk droops across his face before he takes a sip of his drink. It was always easy to see the love that Zoro held in his heart if you knew where to look.

His eye always gave him away.

The sparkle of joy that twinkled like the north star in the otherwise dark and cloudy sky, one filled with the hope of tomorrow and a contentment that is only brought on by being surrounded with the people you can truly let your guard down around.

Zoro didn’t give his feelings up freely, but after a while, he didn’t really need to. Not only were you an expert at reading the stoic swordsman, but the others also became more attune to him as well. Something you’re almost sure he’s never had before he joined Luffy on the journey that changed the trajectory of his life.

“Why don’t we go join them?” You nod over to where Luffy and Usopp are playing a game on the deck, laughing and goofing off together. You wince as Lufffy shoved sticks in his mouth to resemble a walrus and started running circles around a scrambling Usopp — Chopper now in tow and squealing after them.

“Those idiots?” He raises an eyebrow but the glint in his eye tells you everything you need to know. Zoro gives your shoulders an extra squeeze. “Nah, I'm right where I want to be.”

The honest words strike your heart, something said so effortlessly yet leaves you with warming cheeks that rivals the sake that burns down your throat.

“You’re an idiot too, you know.” You can’t help but poke back at him, trying to calm your ever racing heart. But there was no way he didn’t notice the sudden uptick in its beat.

“We all are.” He scoffs amused, “Why else would we join this crew?”

“Fair." The wind picks up and you find yourself burrowing into Zoro's strong side a little more, his arm tightening around you protectively. “We might as well enjoy the show then.”

“Now you’re talkin’.”

The warmth of Zoro’s palm ghosts along your lower back as he leads you to the nearby bench, settling in next to you as you take a seat. The laughter and music from the deck fades away into something softer as you two tuck yourselves away on the outskirts of the celebrations.

Wordlessly, he shifts even closer, so close that the distinct whiff of sea, steel, and sake greets your nose, a scent that never failed to ground you in this ever changing world.

With a subtle, yet almost teasing smile, Zoro glances down at you for a brief moment before covering the delicate curl of his lip with his trusty cup of sake, using it to veil the deep effect you undoubtedly had on him. The hand that kissed your back finds your hip after sliding around your waist and pulling you until you’re flush against him.

The fleeting glance turns away from you, dousing you with a chill from the loss of his warmth. Even though he watches the crew with his everwatchful eye, it’s clear by the firm grip on your side that his attention is here with you.

And you couldn’t stop staring at him.

Something must’ve happened because in the next moment, Zoro barked out a laugh. The kind that takes your whole body to enforce, bubbling and bursting from somewhere deep inside, after having been choked down for so long, finally free to meld into the night air and ease a hidden weight off of his sturdy shoulders.

The usual sharp lines of his features grew dreamlike as a wide smile stretched along his face and you swore you could count all of his teeth. The force of the laugh shook you slightly, encouraging you to join him even though you didn’t really have a clue on what he was laughing at.

But it didn’t matter.

“What?” Zoro’s attention flits back to you, looking down and raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk resting on his handsome features.

“Nothing.” You pause, letting the words marinate in the sweetness of your tongue just a little bit longer, letting it melt into honey before it effortlessly spills from your lips. “I just missed seeing you smile.”

“Oi, don’t give me that crap.” His cheeks dusted pink, blooming all the way to the tips of his ears, leaving a speckle of warmth that you can’t help but find endearing. Even as he scowled, he still managed to leave you breathless.

“Well, you asked.” You fire back, trying to maintain some semblance of control in the exchange that you were quickly falling victim to.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d get all sappy on me.” Zoro takes another swig, some of the sake dribbling down his chin. Transfixed, you watch as the droplet flows down his skin, clinging along his cheek. The sight ushers in a sense of envy as the liquid kisses in places you could only hope to.

“You must not know me very well then.” You tease, fingers twitching to clean it up but his tongue beats you to the punch. The motion has you licking your own lips, a single swipe that does not go unnoticed by the swordsman.

“No, I know you.” The seriousness in his voice almost stopped your heart. The previous banter subsided into a distant dream as reality washed all over you. Now, it was your turn to be flustered.

“Oh stop.” You dismissively wave your hand in the air and he’s quick to catch it, the glass of sake he was holding in his hand was now resting beside him on the bench, the motion happening so quickly you didn't even see.

“I'm serious.” Zoro pauses for a moment, his grip loosening. Instinctively, your hold tightens as your body tenses, your breath trapped in your lungs as you listen intently. “I know you better than anyone else on this ship. Hell, maybe even the world.”

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure?”

“Because I don't forget anything when it comes to you. Everything you say or do stays in my brain. I've known you long enough that I know your tells for whenever you’re not feeling well. How your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes or when you nervously play with your fingers as you try to find a way to speak up.” The pads of his fingers touch yours, spreading them out before they slide along them, interlocking with yours. “I know you.”

“I didn't know you paid that much attention to me.” You murmur as he drops your hand, the loss feeling too great as your own retreats back into your lap. Zoro takes his glass and polishes off the rest of the sake that was responsible for his loose lips. For a man who said he never had a way with words, he’d have his moments where time seemed to stop, that every word he uttered had a gravitational pull that lured you in.

“You’re hard to miss.” He sighed a bit, muttering under his breath. “Impossible to ignore.”

The tidal wave of shock passes over you, leaving you drenched in his honesty. Was it a trick of fate that had your faces pulling together, gazes set on the others lips? Or was it a whirlwind of desire that pushed you forward, the universe begging for the collision that would become a catalyst against the world?

“Ma bien-aimée!” Sanji interrupted with a smile on his face and hearts in his eyes. The sudden emergence of the chef had you jumping back and away from the swordsman, your heart threatening to thump out of your chest and spill out onto the wooden deck floor. “Can I get you another drink? Or perhaps a snack?”

Before you have a chance to catch your breath and answer, Zoro lets out a low huff beside you, muscles tensing under the strain of his annoyance with the cook that never failed to drive him up the wall.

“Oi, eyebrows.” Zoro leveled a glare, one that Sanji quickly matched, his eye narrowing at the man before him. The energy around the three of you grew tense in a heartbeat, an effect you’re used to whenever these two were in close proximity to each other. “Don’t you have something better to do than bother us?”

“I wasn't talking to you.” Sanji snapped back, his attention on you never wavering. “I was talking to the one who is always happy to see me.”

Zoro grumbled something under his breath, no doubt another insult resting at the tip of his tongue, tainted by a swirl of jealousy that not even the booze could wash down.

“It's okay, Sanji. I don't need anything right now but thank you.” You smile, trying to diffuse the tension that was steadily building like a ticking time bomb ready to implode.

“Anything for you my sweet, but don’t let this big green oaf squander your desires.” Sanji moved a little closer, causing Zoro's eye to twitch. “What would you like?”

The swordsman couldn’t hold back anymore, his swords drawn with the speed that only Sanji could pull from him whenever they quarrel. The cook was more than ready, countering with a kick of his own.

The two continued to fight, a flurry of limbs in front of you. Across the deck, you make eye contact with Nami and give her an exasperated look before getting up and making your way over to her.

There was no way you were going to entertain one of their spats, the two lost in their own world for a little while as you mourn the lost moment you could’ve had with the swordsman who’s been steadily claiming your heart.

thank you for reading !!! :3

#feeling a lil rusty eeep !! enjoy :3 #◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#zoro x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #zoro x you #one piece x you

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wakebymoonsleepbysun · 18 days ago

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Untitled Mr. Ring-a-Ding x Reader - Chapter 1

EDIT: Now on ao3, new chapters will be added there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65905306/chapters/169777987

Oh boy me and my poor impulse control again. I do plan on continuing this but it'll be more of a side project until I finish one of the fics I'm actively posting on ao3 atm. But have it anyway, cuz why not.

Reader will be gender-neutral, but a lot of Ring-a-Ding's nicknames will lean to what a lot of people would consider feminine. Doll, Sweetiepie, etc, and the word pretty will probably be used in later chapters. I mean all of this CAN be gender-neutral but if it's not your cup of tea please handle with care. :) Chapter 1 - Palazzo

The light of creation…

Lux had been everything, and yet nothing. It had lasted an eternity, yet had been over in a second. Eventually, he meets the fate that all immortal gods meet after achieving their machinations.

Boredom.

Boredom, boredom, boredom. The one true enemy of all immortals. Sure, sometimes they’ll play dead or sulk in some other realm for a time and let the mortals think they’ve won. Sometimes their power is so depleted it’s even necessary to do so, but those are temporary setbacks. In reality, the only real threat to those with infinite time is running out of things to fill it with.

So what to do?

He’ll have to start small, obviously. Nothing that would be worth recording, nothing that would become legend. Little more than a warm up--a simple dalliance.

He’ll start at the last place he’d been, in the only form he’s ever taken. The familiar is simple and as good a starting point as any for his little excursion.

Slowly, he gathers himself, pulling himself back to a singular point in space and time--where and when the Palazzo next plays the Mr. Ring-a-Ding reel.

Back to Miami, back to the Palazzo…and back to being Mr. Ring-a-Ding.

Cleaning out the projection booth isn’t supposed to be part of your job. Yet here you are, sweeping the dirt and grime that’s piled up after 73 years of the theater being abandoned. At least it’s winter, and a fairly cool winter at that, making the inside of the unairconditioned theater “muggy” rather than “unbearably hot and stuffy”.

The power itself is on, so there’s some lighting, though the majority of the light bulbs have long since burned out, leaving the place fairly dark, especially now that the sun has set.

You’ve been told to try to salvage whatever old equipment or “antiques” you might find. Your boss has even offered to split any proceeds 70/30 in your favor--your his “magnanimous” way of compensating you for the extra responsibilities.

Never mind that hauling the equipment, restoring it, and finding a buyer would probably be a part-time job in and of itself…one which, like your current job, won’t pay much, especially after the split.

But you can’t turn up your nose at it, either. So you go through the old books, papers, and machinery that lay scattered on the floors and shelves. Whatever antiques may have been worth anything probably are too ruined to sell at this point. The massive hole in the side of the building from the film closet exploding all those years ago had never been repaired, so the theater hadn’t exactly been shielded from the elements. Even the door to the projection room had eventually rotted and fallen away, leaving the room open to critters and even more dirt and leaves and detritus carried in by the wind.

You guess the projectors themselves are the only thing in the room that may be worth the effort of hauling anywhere but the dumpster. But they’re so covered in dirt and grime you can’t imagine that any of the interior mechanisms could possibly work.

…Do collectors of antique projectors even care if said projectors actually work? You suppose you’ll have to research that later. In any case, you’re sure anything worth anything would have been stolen by looters long ago.

So far you’ve been more focused on clearing away the obvious trash to clear a path to the projectors. Sweeping dirt, mud, and leaves off the floor, then clearing the broken bits of wood from the rotted shelves and what you guess used to be some kind of desk. Finally, there’s space to stand alongside the projectors so you can look them over.

They’re covered in grime, of course, but as you begin to wipe that away, you see they actually look to be in decent shape beneath it all. No sign of rusting or warping on the metal casing, which is surprising. You’d half expected the old things to go to pieces as soon as you’d touched them, but it seems--like a lot of old tech--they’re built fairly sturdy.

Though that doesn’t mean their inner workings are still operational, you remind yourself.

As you move to the second projector, your brow knits as you notice something.

There’s still a roll of film loaded into it. That’s not so surprising on its own--from what you’ve heard this place had been abandoned pretty hastily back in the 50s--but what is odd is just how pristine the celluloid looks.

The bits you’d found scattered about while cleaning had been dirty, crumpled and curled from age, and trying to load it into a projector would have just made it fall apart.

But the roll in the projector now looks brand new. You adjust your glasses, leaning close and squinting. It looks like a cartoon, but the images are too small and the room too dim for you to tell much more than that.

An old reel like this might be worth something if it’s still playable. Maybe it’s even a piece of lost media? Though you doubt you’d be so lucky. You push your glasses back into place, trying to find the mechanism to unload the reel. Your hand brushes a switch on the back of the machine, and despite you barely touching it, the projector suddenly springs to life.

The light flickers on and you hear the familiar whirring and clicking of the old film projector starting up.

You glance to the theater below, where an odd image is displayed on the tattered remains of the movie screen.

Some kind of cartoon character, a blue-skinned bug with a pig-like nose and straw boater hat, grinning widely. The title card which follows reads: “Mr. Ring-a-Ding Goes to Town!”

Not a character or show you’re familiar with, and you like to think you’re pretty versed in old cartoons.

“Oh it’s such a beautiful day! I think I’ll go to town! Yes sirree!” the titular character says as he strolls down the road with the sort of jauntiness that can only be captured by old rubber hose animations.

You only watch for a moment before turning your gaze back to the projector. As much as you’re curious about this old cartoon you’ve found, you don’t want to risk potentially damaging the film. So you’d rather get the reel out and back into its case before something goes wrong.

You have no idea how you even turned the projector on. After a moment of searching, you find a labeled ON/OFF switch and press it.

Nothing happens. The film keeps rolling.

“...What did I just turn off, then?” you mumble to yourself. After a moment of searching, your eyes happen to drift back to the screen, and you do a double take.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding is gone. The camera’s just holding on an empty shot, showing only the pathway and the sign pointing to town. It looks like the show’s been paused, but the film’s still rolling.

Why had the cartoon hung on this long shot of the background? Some kind of joke you’d missed the setup for?

As you’re staring, the projector abruptly switches off…despite the reel not having ended. You glance sharply at it, wincing. It’d be just your luck if you find a working pre-1950’s projector and film reel only to immediately break it…

Before you can think too much on that, though, you hear a rustle of fabric from the theater, and peering through the darkness, you see the heavy curtains that cover the screen are being pulled shut.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer.

You quickly leave the projection room, jogging down the short hallway and entering the back of the theater. “Hello?” you call again. “Brent? Brent, is that you?” you ask, guessing--and hoping-- your boss had come by to check on your progress for some reason.

You keep your gaze on the closed curtain, slowly walking down the stairs of the center aisle towards it. The few lights that are on are mostly towards the back, leaving the front of the theater fairly dark.

You’re just reaching the third row of seats and getting ready to call out again when the curtains suddenly fly open.

“TADAAAA!!!” shouts none other than Mr. Ring-a-Ding himself.

You scream, scrambling back, your heel catching on one of the steps and causing you to fall on hard on your rear.

Ring-a-Ding laughs, though it’s not a particularly mean-spirited laugh. “Whoopsie daisy! That’s why we don’t walk backwards on stairs!” he says with a teasing wink.

“W-W-Who are you?” you stammer out, your eyes wide.

He smirks. “Glad you asked, my dear!” A jaunty tune begins playing out of nowhere, and Mr. Ring-a-Ding begins a lively dance. “I’m Mr. Ring-a-Ding, I’ll make your heart bells sing!”

Your mouth hangs open even further as you simply stare at him, agape, as he sings. And sings. And sings. For well over a minute, which may not be that long as songs go but is certainly a long time for him to sing and dance unprompted while you can only stare on in shock.

“I’m Mr. Ring-a-Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” he belts out the last line, taking off his hat and spreading his arms wide.

You can’t even begin to muster a response.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding chuckles, placing his hat back on his head. “Y’know, usually I get interrupted before I finish the song,” he says.

You make a vague, strangled noise that sounds like a distant, “Uh-huh…?”

He lets half a beat pass before shaking his head, his grin never leaving his face. “Yannow, this is usually the part where you’d introduce yourself. Buuuuut if you ain’t got a song prepared you can just say your name.”

After a brief hesitation, you manage to stammer out your name. Your eyes haven’t gotten any less wide, and you haven’t been able to stop staring at the cartoon man before you.

“Who…are you?” you ask again.

He quirks a brow, smirking playfully. “Oh come now! I just sang about that for a full minute and a full thirty-six seconds! Don’t tell me ya need all that repeated?” he teases.

“Erm--ah, no…” you say. You lean forward, managing to pull yourself to your feet and begin slowly walking towards him.

He seems unphased, grinning up at you innocently as you approach. You stop when you reach the bottom step, standing in front of the stage…barely an arm’s length from the odd creature atop it.

“You’re…a cartoon…”

“Yes indeedy-do!” he chirps.

“D-Did…you just…come out of that film?”

He smirks, waggling a finger at you. “Don’t make me laugh!”

You blink. “Is…that a funny question?” you ask blankly.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he repeats.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I must be going insane.” Not exactly a surprising result, given what Brent has been putting you through, but you hadn’t expected it to manifest quite like this.

“Naaah!” he says with a flick of his wrist. “You seem perfectly sane to me. I’m perfectly real, after all!” he says cheerfully.

You can’t help but let out a weak chuckle at that, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s just what a hallucination would say…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding snorts. “Well, alright, doll…ya got me there. Buuuut…is it not also what a real cartoon brought to life would say?”

One corner of your mouth ticks upward in the faintest hint of a smile. “You uh…you got me there,” you say, borrowing his phrasing.

His grin actually seems more genuine for a moment, a bit more warm than his somewhat teasing smirk.

“You’re…really real, then?” you ask. Slowly you reach out towards him with one hand.

He raises a brow, and for the first time his smile falters. Only for a moment, though. His grin returns as he lightly pushes your hand aside with one finger. “Not sure what I can say to that that ain’t already been said,” he chuckles.

“F-Fair…” you say, taking the hint and lowering your hand. Him moving your hand aside has already proven that he’s solid…or that your hallucination includes touch in addition to sight and sound.

He steps forward, hopping down from the stage. You take a step back, watching as he walks around you and up the stairs.

“Well this place has sure seen better days, huh?” he says, looking up at the deteriorating building. His gaze pauses on the hole in the ceiling. A blue tarp is pulled tightly over it, keeping out some of the elements until the construction crew arrives to patch it.

“Heh. Not in my lifetime,” you say wryly.

“Oh no?” he asks casually, turning to glance back at you.

“It’s been closed for over 70 years now,” you say.

“Oh?” he asks again, continuing to walk up the stairs, his gaze turned upwards as he takes in the state of the theater. “Don’t suppose you know why?”

If you weren’t so flustered, you may have noticed the lack of surprise in his tone…maybe even the underlying coyness. But as it is, you simply take the question at face value.

“A fire in the film closet caused an explosion. That’s why there’s that hole up there,” you say, nodding towards the tarp.

He follows your gaze, humming in thought. “Oh, is that all?” he asks, glancing at you sideways.

This time you do notice the coyness in his tone, but you think he’s simply trying to be funny.

“I think there was some other drama around it,” you say. “I did a bit of research before coming out here…but it’s hard to tell what’s true and what’s just urban legends these days. But it sounds like there was some kind of hostage situation, and that’s what led to the explosion. No casualties though, from the sounds of it.”

Mr. Ring-a-ding chuckles. “Well, that’s a relief!” he says, managing to sound genuine, though not particularly invested. “And where’s good ol’ Mr. Pye these days?”

“Who?” you ask blankly, following him up the stairs towards the projection booth.

“Reginald Pye. The projectionist,” he says simply, not bothering to glance back at you.

“The--?” You cut yourself off. “Uh, abandoned theaters don’t have projectionists,” you say, with a weak laugh…not thinking about why he may be asking after the former employee.

He stops, spinning on his heel to face you. “Well of course they don’t, you silly billy!” he says, waggling his finger at you. “That’s why I asked where he is, because he’s obviously not here!”

You open your mouth to speak, then quickly close it again, your brow knitting in sympathy. “I-It’s…been 70 years…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding cants his head, grinning up at you. “So you’ve said,” he says blithely, clearly having no idea why the point bore repeating.

…Does he really have no idea?

“How…old was he? Mr. Pye?”

“Dunno. Kinda old I guess. Why?” he asks. He doesn’t seem to be understanding the significance of your questions.

You find yourself wondering if a living cartoon even knows what death is. You chew your lip, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’sa matter, sweetie pie? Cat got your tongue?” he asks playfully.

You sigh, rubbing your arm as you finally meet his gaze. “Seventy years is…a long time for humans. I-It’s…rare for humans to live past a hundred. A hundred-twenty at most.”

His smile freezes in place as he stares at you in silence for a moment before simply saying, “Ah.”

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say quietly. You crouch down in front of him and are about to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, when he steps back, waving a hand.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he says, a bit more forcefully than he’d said it before.

You pull back, your eyes widening at the seemingly heartless response. Mr. Ring-a-Ding turns on his heel and resumes his march up the stairs while you slowly get to your feet, stunned.

Is he really that callous, or does he just…not understand the situation? You have no idea what kind of show Mr. Ring-a-Ding had been. Many cartoons from that time never mentioned death, and the ones that did…well, they had a fairly…irreverent attitude about it. So it’s not much of a stretch to imagine a 1930’s cartoon brought to life, would be wholly unequipped to deal with it.

…No more a stretch than “1930’s cartoon brought to life” is to begin with, anyway.

He’s nearly at the top of the stairs by the time you begin trotting after him.

Lux leaves you behind without a second thought, making his way into the projection booth. The two projectors are still there, a bit dirty but otherwise the same as he remembers them. Objects wielded by the gods tended to withstand the passage of time remarkably well, after all.

Objects…but not mortals. Not humans. The difference between a year and century is nothing to a god…but apparently it’s everything to a human.

Lux has no heart, but he feels an unpleasant sensation in a place very similar.

He doesn’t like it.

He wanders over to the pile of rubbish and broken wood that had once been Reginald’s desk. Of course, there’s nothing of significance there. Not anymore. Reginald would have taken any pictures of himself or Helen when he’d left. Lux knows that much.

Lux is aware of you entering the room behind him, but doesn’t pay you any mind as he moves to the projection window, hopping up onto the edge of one of the projectors to look out the small window into the theater. Where he’d spent so long watching Reginald and Helen dancing together.

There’d been something compelling about it. Almost more compelling than light itself. Lux had never understood his own fascination with it, but also hadn’t really cared to think too much on it.

As he’s staring down at the empty house, you finally speak.

“Was he…a friend of yours? Mr. Pye?” you ask gently.

Lux tears his gaze away from the window to look at you curiously. He’s not sure how to answer. Gods aren’t friends with mortals. They’re barely friends with each other most of the time. Pye had been a disciple, a minion, a servant.

Yet Lux doesn’t want to speak any of those words aloud. He tells himself it’s because you’d react poorly to them. While he’s not convinced he has any use for you, he’s not so unconvinced that he wants to drive you off over something trivial.

So, he dips his head in a nod, returning his gaze to the ruined theater. “Something like that,” he says, his voice flatter and more gravely than the upbeat, chipper tone he’d used before.

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say again. “D’you…have anywhere to go?”

“Don’t need to go anywhere,” he says shortly. Maybe he should have just endured the boredom for another millennium or two to recover his strength…then maybe he could muster the power to do something actually interesting. He assumes the conversation is over and is almost ready to simply return to light when you speak again.

“Well, you can’t stay here!”

Lux’s eyes flash yellow for the briefest of seconds and he turns sharply to face you, incredulous at your impudence. A human, a mere human, not even a particularly powerful one, telling a god where he can and can’t go?!

He’s about to banish you into celluloid for your insolence when he processes your expression.

Your brow is upturned, your eyes filled with worry as you clutch your hands together fretfully.

It hadn’t been an order. You’re not demanding he leave. You’re worried what’ll happen if he stays.

It occurs to Lux that his entrance hadn’t been as grand this time. A silly little fellow popping out from behind a curtain--not a giant creature emerging from the screen before banishing fifteen people to film.

You have no idea what he is. Well, that had been true of all the humans back then, too, but they had at least understood he was an immeasurably powerful being--something to be feared.

But you don’t think that. You clearly think he’s far more helpless than he is. Do you even realize he’s immortal? Surely not, if you’re fretting about him squatting in some old building. Do you imagine that he’s capable of being hungry? Sick? Cold? Like some feeble little mortal?

Most gods would be insulted at such a notion and would be quick to put you in your place…but Lux finds the idea…interesting. A mortal who doesn’t fear him. Who asks nothing of him. Who thinks he needs them.

That last part is particularly amusing to Lux…He supposes he had been in the mood for a bit of a dalliance, and it seems one has presented itself.

His irate expression softens, and turns his brow up in a tired, melancholy expression. “But…I got nowhere else to go.”

Lux makes sure not to lay it on too thick. He’d made that mistake with the Doctor, though he hadn’t really expected to be able to fool a Time Lord for all that long regardless. So he hadn’t exactly bothered to bring his A game to that bit of deception.

You move to stand beside him, leaning against the wall beside the window. “Well…maybe, you could stay with me?”

The surprise on his face isn’t entirely feigned. That had been easier than he’d thought…Not that he needs to stay with you, or anywhere in particular of course. The grin that spreads across his face is also mostly genuine.

“Oh, gee willikers! You’d let me do that?” he says, keeping his tone suitably modest as his smile turns ever so slightly shy.

“Well, I don’t want to leave you alone in an abandoned theater all night…” you say with a small smile. You frown, tapping your chin in thought. “Though I don’t know how I’m going to get you back to my apartment without anyone seeing you…”

Lux chuckles. “Mmm, I can draw quite a crowd,” he agrees with a wink.

“Yes, I’d imagine,” you laugh, glad he at least understands the potential consequences of just taking off down the street on his own. “Hm, what time is it, anyway? Maybe the streets won’t be too crowded…” you muse.

You pull some kind of electronic device out of your pocket, pushing a button on the side of it. Suddenly the room is lit up with a blinding white light.

“Gah!” you yelp, covering your eyes and touching something on the screen to dim the glow. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to flashbang you,” you say to him with a sheepish chuckle.

Lux is hardly phased of course, but he can tell by your rapid blinking that you’ve utterly destroyed the night vision you’d been building up in the darkened theater. “Quite alright! Seems you got the worst of it,” he says good-naturedly. “But what is that, exactly?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Oh, it’s my--Well, it’s called a phone but it’s…probably much different than any phones you’d’ve seen in the fifties,” you say, holding it out for him to look at.

“Hmm…” he hums. He places his hands on either side of the phone, turning the screen towards himself slightly to examine it. He knows more or less what it is, of course. While he’s not familiar with this exact bit of tech, many, many civilizations have similar devices. Glowing, lit up screens or holograms, connecting everyone to everywhere, millenia’s worth of information at the push of a button.

Well, maybe not millenia on this one. Not yet. It’s still fairly primitive as far as most displays go, and he doubts the signal could even reach the Earth’s moon, much less another galaxy.

Though he’s glad for your unintentional reminder that someone who only knows the Earth of 70 years ago ought to be impressed by this clunky old tech.

“Oh goodness!” he gasps eagerly, doing a suitable job of pretending this is by far the most advanced piece of tech he’d ever seen. “My my my, what a tiny little screen!” he says. He pokes part of the screen, pretending to be startled when one of your apps opens.

“It even plays videos,” you say, tapping the YouTube app and letting a random video from the recommended list autoplay.

“Golly, how clever!” he pretends to marvel. “Say, that gives me an idea…”

It doesn’t, really, but it presents a good segue to the idea he’d had the moment you pulled out the device.

While you hold the phone, he presses one of his hands against the screen. Even at his small size, his hand is still bigger than the screen, but as he pushes his hand flattens and shrinks, becoming an image on the screen.

Your eyes widen in surprise as he leans forward, and soon all of him has disappeared into the phone.

He grins at your sputtering noise of shock. Humans are always so stunned at the most innocuous things.

You turn the phone around, and see him standing in front of your app icons and desktop background, which is a stylized picture of a starry night sky, complete with blue and purple nebula-clouds.

“Mind clearing a bit of space, honey?” he asks, leaning against the edge of the screen and pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Oh, s-sure, hang on,” you say. You swipe the screen slowly, making sure moving the desktop icons doesn’t fling him offscreen as well. Once you’re sure it won’t, you swipe past a few screens until you’re at a blank page on your desktop.

“Much obliged!” he says, tipping his hat. He turns around, whistling appreciatively at the background. “Shame to be blocking this lovely view!”

“Heh…right…” you say. “A-Are you um…sure you’re okay in there?”

“Of course!”

“My apartment’s about a half hour walk away, is that alright?”

“Certainly! Take all the time ya need!” he says, sitting down at the bottom of the screen, turning away to look up at the stars.

“Right,” you say, carefully setting the phone down so you can sling your backpack over your shoulders. You carefully pick up the phone, moving it carefully as if you’re balancing something delicate atop the screen. “I’m not gonna jostle you too much moving around, am I?”

Lux has to resist the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. Just how fragile do you think he is? Though at the same time…it’s not exactly difficult to pretend he’s moved by your concern as he turns around, flashing a brash grin.

“Aw shucks, sweetie pie!” he says, waving a hand. “I’m tougher than I look! I can handle myself just fine, even on a little screen like this!” he declares, puffing out his chest proudly.

You laugh, and he’s a bit surprised at the warmth in it. “Alright then. Just uh…let me know if it’s too bumpy, alright?”

“Sure thing!” he says, turning back to face the starry background, ending the conversation for now.

You don’t mind the quiet walk. It gives you time to process.

A living cartoon. He just came out of the theater screen, then put himself into your phone, and now he’s crashing at your place for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time.

Your curiosity at how he can even exist and how he works has been quickly overshadowed by worries about his mental state. You suspect he’s grieving his friend, even if he’s reluctant to show it. He’s from the 50’s after all--not exactly a time rife with emotional vulnerability, especially in men.

From what you’ve pieced together, he’s a living cartoon who had been friends with the theater’s projectionist in the 50’s. Somehow after the theater was abandoned he’d…gone dormant? Or something? You’re not sure how that works yet but what you are sure of is that the poor guy has been essentially flung forward 70 years into a world he likely no longer recognizes.

You reach your apartment building and climb up the stairs to your studio apartment. “It’s a bit cramped…” you warn him.

“I’m sure I can make do,” he says easily. “Two-dimensional characters don’t take up much space, after all,” he winks.

“I suppose,” you say, locking the door behind you. “You can come out--”

You’ve barely finished the sentence when he pushes against the screen, his whole upper half emerging almost instantly, bringing his face so close that your noses almost touch as he grins widely at you.

You squeak in surprise, your cheeks burning as you drop the phone. To your relief, he hops out the rest of the way before it hits the ground, gracefully floating to the floor while your phone thuds on the rug next to him.

“A-Are you alright?” you say in alarm, kneeling in front of him.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding steps back with a sheepish chuckle, picking up your phone for you. “Oh, perfectly fine! Didn’t mean ta startle ya!” he says playfully. He checks over your phone, whistling in surprise at the weight of your heavy phone case. “This thing’s got some heft! Why’s it armored up like it’s going to war?” he asks as he passes it back to you.

You grin wryly at him. “In case someone jumps out at me.”

He raises his brows, his smirk showing some appreciation for the quip.

You get to your feet, flipping on the main light. As promised, it is indeed cramped. An unmade twin bed is shoved into one corner, and across from it is a small flatscreen TV atop a stand, positioned in a way that one would either have to lay on their side to watch TV or sit atop the bed with their back against the wall.

The kitchen takes up half of another wall, being little more than a fridge, sink, some cabinets, and less than a foot of actual counter space. A microwave sits on a small, rickety shelf next to the fridge.

A decent chunk of the floor is covered in old newspapers, atop which sit an easel splotched with paint. A small table holds some paints and brushes, but the easel itself is empty.

“You a painter?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Trying to be,” you say as you set your backpack down beside the bed.

“Trying?” he repeats with a quirked brow.

“Well, I mean, I paint, so I am a painter I suppose, but…not…really making money off it yet.”

“Ah. ‘Fraid I can’t help you there,” Mr. Ring-a-Ding says, turning out his empty pockets. A moth flies out of one of them and disappears behind him and he grins sheepishly up at you.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself over it,” you say easily, waving a hand. “I…do sort of have a job lined up. At the theater. I’ll be painting a few murals in the lobby.”

“Yeah?” he asks, intrigued. “If ya don’t mind me saying so, honey, it’s gonna take more than a fresh coat of paint to get that place back in shape.”

Your laugh is a bit cynical as you shake your head. “Oh, trust me, Ring-a-Ding, I’m well aware. The builders and cleaning crews are running behind, so the boss--my dad’s friend’s son--is giving me some money to do what I can to get things moving while we wait. And I kinda need the money, so…” you trail off, shrugging.

“I see,” he says, stroking his chin in thought.

“A-Anyway, do you…need anything? D’you eat, or…or need me to set up a bed for you somewhere?”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Well…the truth is, I don’t need food. Or sleep,” he admits.

That possibility had occurred to you on the walk home. That perhaps staying in the theater wouldn’t be as detrimental to him as you’d initially feared…though it doesn’t make you regret your invitation. Surely he’d still be lonely? Maybe even scared…at the very least you’d like to think your apartment is still an improvement over a busted up old theater.

…Though perhaps you’re just flattering yourself.

“So what do you do all night, if not sleep?” you ask.

“Watch movies. What else would ya do in a theater all night?”

“True…” you say with a weak chuckle.

“But I think my first night back, I’ll be just fine hanging out at the window.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. You’d been about to try to set him up with your laptop, but maybe that’ll be an endeavor for another time, when you have more time to explain it to him. “In that case…I think I’ll get ready for bed, if that’s alright?”

“Certainly, sweetheart!” he says easily.

As you go to get changed, Lux perches on the console table below the small window, looking out it. The stars are barely visible--humans have apparently entered the phase of their development where they haven’t a clue how to manage light pollution.

Though that doesn’t bother Lux all that much. The glow of the neon signs and street lamps is light too, and at the moment he’s not overly picky.

He smiles softly to himself, replaying your words in his mind. If that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be? As far as you’re aware, he’s harmless. Maybe even fragile. Yet you still ask his permission for something as innocuous as getting ready for bed.

You’re certainly interesting. Though perhaps not very sharp. Your boss is clearly taking you for some kind of ride. Lux isn’t a trickster god, but he doesn’t have to be to see that you’re being duped.

Maybe he can help you out with that. Not out of any sense of justice or loyalty to you, of course. Gods don’t need food but they can rarely turn down a hearty serving of comeuppance.

As far as idle dalliances go, you might just be a good one.

#mr ring a ding #mr. ring-a-ding #lux imperator #lux x reader #mr ring a ding x reader #ring a ding x reader #x reader #canon x reader #oh god i'm just realizing how huge doctor who is compared to what i usually write for #eeep #maybe i'll be safe in the lux/ringading corner :x

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