#the fact that molly thinks of caleb as literally light and softness is everything to me hes such a romantic and his feelings are so sweet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mollymauk-teafleak · 5 years

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Four bits of sea glass

More courtesan AU because apparently I can’t get enough of it. Please reblog if you like it, or go leave a comment on Ao3!

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When Mollymauk woke up, just for a moment, he was young again. Milky early morning sunlight warm on his bare skin, a sweet but familiar ache in his thighs, the taste of someone else, something other, on his tongue. Caleb,he thought, already reaching for that with everything he had before his brain had even really woken up.

But no. There was someone in the bed beside him but of course it was Trinket, curled up small the way he normally slept, tail held between his pudgy fists for comfort.

The realisation didn’t bring the same pang of disappointment, the one Mollymauk would always feel guilty about a second later, the one he’d felt so many times between leaving Zadash and that pale morning. Because before it could settle on him like an uncomfortable weight, the memory of last night found him.

Caleb smiling at him. Caleb’s tears running down Molly’s own cheek. Caleb kissing him, Caleb in him.

Their last goodnight kiss, after Caleb had insisted he sleep on the sofa, not wanting to impose or ruffle any little feathers after he realised Trinket and Mollymauk slept in the same bed.

Molly rolled onto his side and grinned spectacularly wide, bunching the blanket between his hands as silent delight and joy almost too powerful to bear swept over him, making him tremble.

Caleb was here. They loved each other.

Even with all the questions still unanswered and uncertainty before them, Molly savoured that fact alone, sweet as honey on his tongue.

“Daddy?”

Molly turned back and saw Trinket’s big blue eyes open and shining in the low light, only half his face surfaced above the blankets. His hair was a bird’s nest of coppery curls, drinking in the fledgling sunlight.

“Good morning, sweetling,” Molly smiles, lifting up on one elbow to smile down at him, “Did you sleep okay?”

Trinket nodded, wriggling out of the little cocoon of blankets his tossing and turning always encased him in, “Had good dreams. Dreamed me and daddy were flying on dragons.”

Molly smiled; his son’s head had been full of dragons lately, ever since he’d found a book on them on the stall of a travelling merchant. Molly had meant to save it for his birthday but his little face when he saw it was far too much to resist.

“That sounds wonderful,” Molly pulled him into his arms, “Was it fun?”

“Yeah,” Trinket nodded, “Mine was blue and yours was…what’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple,” Molly grinned.

“Yours was purple!”

Molly kissed his son right between the eyes, loving how warm and soft he was from sleep. On any other day he would happily stay in the blankets with him for a little longer, as long as he possibly could, trading little stories back and forth, talking about anything and everything.

But today they had a guest.

“Let’s get some breakfast in that little belly, huh?” Molly smiled, rising up and sending the blankets washing down the bed in a silky tide.

“Yeah, yeah!” Trinket followed, standing up on his wobbly legs and fluttering his hands to be picked up, “Breakfast time.”

As he wrapped himself in a robe and carried Trinket through to the living room, Molly was doing quick calculations in his head, as he found himself doing every morning. How much milk did they have? How much bread, how many oats, how much gas in the tank? Could they make it last? Did they have enough lying around to buy more if they needed to?

He’d never share his worries with his son, of course, they were for him alone. But sometimes it was hard to always have his gentle mornings marred by those thoughts running around inside his head.

And it wouldn’t get easier with a third person.

Until Molly turned the corner and found himself in the much brighter living area and realised that he was wrong.

The curtains were open, sunlight streaming in where it only puddled in the other rooms. The blankets Molly had left there last night were put to one side and neatly folded. The breakfast table was already set, bread and pastries piled on wooden plates in the middle, a container of coffee- actual, honest to gods coffee, where in Foamside even sold that? - steaming contentedly to one side. Cups and plates were already marshalled, mismatched and a little chipped, sugar was piled high in the bowl Molly usually used to keep his keys safe.

And Caleb was gingerly sliding a flower into a glass tumbler, setting it in the very centre, nudging it to one side when he wasn’t happy with the placement.

“Caleb?” Molly croaked, stunned.

He jumped a little, eyes darting up, “Oh, morning! I didn’t know when you’d be up so…I just went out and brought some breakfast in.”

“You did a little more than that,” Molly blinked rapidly, coming in and hesitantly regarding the spread before him like he was worried it was just a lovely painting rather than anything real. He’d never seen so much luxury food in one place since he’d left the brothel.

Caleb blushed delicately, “Well…its kind of a thank you, I suppose. For letting me stay.”

Molly smiled, he’d always found that blush utterly adorable, turning to Trinket, balanced on his hip, “Are you hungry, Trinket? Would you like a pastry?

The toddler only nodded, not taking his eyes off Caleb.

“He’s only just woke up,” Molly offered by way of explanation, seating Trinket on the piano bench Caleb had drawn up to the table when he’d obviously realised there were only two chairs.

Caleb nodded, though there was a pinched, anxious look to his face as his eyes flickered to Trinket.

Molly sat a large, golden pastry stuffed with chocolate on the plate in front of Trinket, cutting it into squares designed to fit a little hand. Next was a glass of milk, set safely away from the edge of the table though Molly would keep his eye on it.

Trinket suddenly caught Molly’s robe before he could move away, tugging on it to bring him close.

“Daddy…” he murmured, voice soft and indistinct, “I left Frumpkin in bed.”

Molly saw Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise and jump to the sofa, where a large, mottled brown cat sat contentedly asleep in a puddle of sunlight.

“His toy,” he murmured, realising he’d have to explain that later and blushing, “I’ll go get him, sweetling, don’t worry.”

He hurried back to the bedroom, rescuing the little cloth toy of indistinct species (Caduceus had made him for Trinket’s last birthday and even he hadn’t been sure of what he was) from the folds of the bedding. He let himself have a moment to breathe as he straightened two sagging horns and two loose button eyes.

Caleb and his son- their son, he would have to get used to that- were sitting together, at the same table. They were all eating breakfast together, like a real family.

It was a lot to take in. But it was good, right?

Molly revised his assessment when he came back into the kitchen and saw Trinket, on his feet, pushing on the leg of a very terrified looking Caleb, shoving him determinedly towards the door.

“Customers go downstairs,” he was cheeping firmly, “It’s not store time yet. Go away, please.”

“Trinket, no!” Molly yelped, quickly wading in to rescue Caleb, who clearly hadn’t the faintest idea what to do about this, “Sweetling, Mr Caleb’s not a customer.”

Trinket stopped, though he was still a little unsteady on his legs and had to stay leaning against Caleb or risk slipping down on his bottom, “But…he came from the store?”

Molly plucked him into his arms, though he was getting a little heavy for it, “Caleb is a…”

He found his words running out, none coming up to replace them. What could he say that wasn’t hedging, even outright lying? Molly was tired of that. Caleb’s expression fell further.

“I don’t think we’re going to open the store today, Trinket,” he said slowly, much to his son’s shock, “How about we have a nice breakfast, get ready and go for a walk along the beach? Then we can talk more about it?”

It took a while to coax Trinket into that idea, almost as long as it had taken to get him used to wearing shoes. But with a few bites of chocolate pastry, he eventually accepted that this was a day off, though one without forewarning. Trying to help his son navigate the waters of an unexpected change of routine, Molly thought how similar Trinket was to Caleb.

Maybe that could be their ice breaker.

Molly took the opportunity to drink so much coffee he felt a little sick. He hadn’t had the stuff in years, as freely available as it was at the brothel obviously he couldn’t have any after he realised he was pregnant, and then he moved to a town where it was apparently as rare as gold dust. To someone who used to cover his horns in literal, actual gold dust, it was strange to realise that something he’d taken for granted in his youth was almost unknown to the many, many people, not even all that far from the city, who lived such different lives. There had been a lot of uncomfortable moments like that after he moved, when he realised just how privileged and pampered he’d been, earning a life of near princely extravagance on his back.

He didn’t miss it, the coffee or the gold dust or the riches. He didn’t miss any of it. But it would be nice if he could afford breakfasts like this for Trinket every once in a while.

Molly pulled his thoughts away from the past, sitting with it was never comfortable for him. He looked at Caleb instead, Caleb now, Caleb here.

He didn’t look particularly comfortable, understandable after having your son try and evict you from the breakfast table. Molly wanted to kiss him so badly, in a sudden rush that was difficult to fight. But that would be far too much to explain to Trinket right now, even if he was distracted by the chocolate covering his cheeks.

So instead, he reached under the table and entwined their fingers together. Even that was enough to lift Caleb’s blue eyes to his, startling against the rest of him like chips of sea glass in dark water, and send a smile full of relief flickering across his face.

Molly smiled back, running his thumb over Caleb’s scarred palm. He could still trace those scars by memory if he wanted, he knew each and every one like a road map of his home.

A home he wanted Caleb to be part of.

Molly warned Caleb to dress warmly, there was rain in the air. When the wizard blinked in surprise and asked how he knew, his only answer was a shrug, a smile and an assurance that there was always rain in the air in Foamside.

It turned out to be true though, the sky was slate grey and so was the sea and the sand. There were flashes of blue and deep green when the waves rolled over but for the most part it was a palate of a singular colour. Molly pulled a face. He’d wanted it to look a little bit more impressive for Caleb’s first visit.

But he needn’t have worried. As soon as the dunes cleared and the waves lay out before them, Molly heard Caleb’s breath catch in his throat.

The tiefling smiled as he let go of Trinket’s hand and let him toddle off across the sands he was so familiar with, “You’ve never seen the sea before?”

“A little last night but it was so dark…” Caleb murmured, eyes fixed on the horizon, “I didn’t realise how big it was…”

Molly didn’t feel the need to apologise for the view any more. Clearly Caleb adored it.

“Let’s walk a little way. Help me keep track of Trinket, he likes to run into the waves when I’m not looking.”

After a little while, Molly went to take Caleb’s hand again only to find those long fingers already seeking out his own. It was becoming as easy as that.

“Trinket?” Molly called, deciding that waiting for the time to feel right wasn’t going to get them anywhere, “Come here, sweetling.”

Fortunately, Trinket was dry when he found them again though he had a large clump of seaweed on his head, held up by his stubby horns.

“I found new hair, daddy!”

“That’s great, Trinkie,” Molly smiled with slight exasperation, noting Caleb muffling a snort of laughter into his fist, “But you might get sand in your eyes, so how about we take it off for now?”

There was a bleached white log, clearly well-travelled, lying on the apex of the next ridge. Molly took a seat on it, settling his son on his lap and patting the space next to him firmly when he saw Caleb hesitate.

“Sweetling, do you remember a little while ago when you asked me why the other children mostly had two parents and you just had me?”

Molly wasn’t eager to bring that back up but it was as good a starting point as any. It hurt, remembering how Trinket had clearly held on to this question all through dinner since his daddy had pressed him to play with some of the other village children. Old enough to realise it was an awkward topic but not old enough to know why, he’d finally blurted it out and looked immediately like he’d wished he hadn’t.

Molly remembered feeling a similar way.

“Uh huh,” Trinket nodded, apparently unconcerned as a baby crab crawled between his horns, clearly a stowaway from the seaweed wig, “You said I had another daddy who lived far away and you’d tell me more when I was bigger…” his eyes opened wide, “Am I bigger now?”

“You are,” Molly said cautiously, rescuing the baby crab, “Well…”

Caleb spoke up then, his voice laden, “I’m your other father, Trinket.”

Trinket turned and looked at him like he’d never really seen him before, eyes wide. No one said anything for a long time, except the sea which rumbled on as it always had.

“You have eyes like me,” Trinket eventually said, voice curious, “You have hair like me too.”

Molly fought a tearful smile. His son had picked out the same things he had done, back when he’d seen his face for this first time.

“I know,” Caleb managed a smile, though there was sadness in his eyes that metastasised as he continued, “And I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t part of your life until now. I…I don’t think words are ever going to be enough to make that up to you but I promise, I’m here for you now and I’d love to be your father, the best one I can be…if you wouldn’t mind that?”

This time, Molly took Caleb’s hand where their son could see. Where anyone could see if they cared to look.

Trinket considered that, scratching at a smudge of sand clinging to his cheek, “Daddy said you lived far away?”

“Yes, Trinket,” Caleb nodded, “A city quite a way away.”

“Well, then,” the young boy smiled, like sun breaking through clouds, “No wonder it took you so long to get here, travelling all that way.”

Molly smiled as Caleb chuckled, relief flooding his face. He refused to absolve himself of the part he’d played in Trinket not having Caleb in his life and he would tell him about it. But maybe that was a conversation for another day. When Trinket was just a little bit bigger.

Like a baby bird taking its first flutterings out of the nest, Trinket moved himself over to Caleb’s lap. There was hesitation at first, a moment of uncertainty but only a little before Caleb’s arms encircled him, holding him as safely and securely as Molly ever had.

“I think I’m glad you’re here now,” Trinket said, fastening his hand in Caleb’s scarf.

“Me too,” tears were thick in his reply, though the smile on his face was a mile wide.

“And are you gonna stay now? Forever?”

Caleb glanced over at Molly, his smile softening, “Yes. I think I am. If you’ll have me?”

Molly could feel tears sliding down his face but he did nothing to stop them as he leaned in and let his head rest on Caleb’s shoulder. Trinket’s little hands came up to pat the tears away though he seemed to understand they were happy ones.

“Of course we’ll have you.”

#courtesan au #widomauk #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #fluff #sweetness #cr fic #cr: caleb #cr: mollymauk

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halfgap · 6 years

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We’re Not Friends

It starts off barely more than a pissing match.

“I’ll keep watch,” says Beau, at the start of each leg of their journey, like she’s convinced they’re bound to be ambushed by highwaymen every time.

“I was just about to volunteer,” Molly drawls in response, without fail, the both of them spending the rest of the ride staunchly staring in opposite directions.

“Still a little tender,” Beau would say, after Fjord asks about her bashed-in face again. “I’ll survive. How’s it looking?”

“It’s a marked improvement from what you normally got going on,” says Molly. “You should consider keeping it like this. I so adore it.”

Beau flips him off.

“I can, in fact, swallow a sword,” Molly would say later, shooting Jester his showman’s wink. “So long as it’s not cursed, and is of the right size and shape.”

“Can you also pull out the one shoved up your ass, while you’re at it?” drawls Beau. “Or is that trick just, like, out of the realm of possibility?”

Molly flips her off.

Then comes the crappy inn after a crappy battle, the two bunk beds, four mattresses, and barely enough standing room for the six of them. Fjord looks like he’s already mentally tabulating which pairs would be most comfortable cuddling at this stage in their not-quite-friendships. Until—

“I’ll take the floor,” says Beau, without argument. Jester is already bouncing happily on one of the lumpy beds, and Caleb beelines to another one, shoulders hunched, almost territorial.

Molly just hums and drops his own equipment on the floor, staking claim and pointedly ignoring Beau's low noise of—surprise, maybe, or indignation.

Fjord’s gaze flits between the two of them. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Guess Nott and I will take the rest of the beds, then. Not like I'm complainin’.”

Fine.

An hour and many drinks later, Molly trudges back into the room and immediately trips over a large, warm lump.

“Ouch!” hisses the lump from beneath him. “Fuck you, get off me.”

A sharp shove, and Molly’s spilled onto the hard ground. So Beau was serious about sleeping on the floor. He’s face-to-face now with her sharp glare, but he doubts her human eyes can see anything in this light. That doesn’t stop her from glowering at him, though.

The room has barely enough space for the four beds crammed inside. With the both of them on the floor, they might as well be squeezed together on one of the tiny mattresses. Beau’s already balled herself up like a cat, head laid on a pile of clothes like a makeshift pillow. She didn’t even bother to set up a bedroll. There probably wouldn’t have been space for it anyway.

“Shit. Can you, like, move farther away?” she grouses, shoving at his shoulder this time. “I can feel you breathing on me.”

“Trust me, darling,” says Molly, “I am enjoying this level of proximity even less than you are. Your face is hardly the last thing I want to see before falling asleep.”

“Well, I was here first.”

She’s got a point, as petty as it is. He starts to drag himself up. Beau doesn’t move or say anything when he steps over her body. As he’s fumbling with the doorknob, though, a hand shoots out and grabs his ankle.

“What the shit,” he hisses, just barely pushing back a shriek of surprise.

“The fuck do you think you’re going,” says Beau.

“Back to the bar. I’m not about to crawl into bed with Caleb or Jester, thank you very much.”

“You’re not sleeping out there. You’ll get mugged. You and your shiny new sixty gold pieces.”

“Fuck off,” he says eloquently. He gives his leg a good shake, trying to escape her grasp and hopefully step on some of her fingers.

A violent tug, and Molly’s yanked back to the floor, Beau’s torso somewhat breaking his fall so he doesn’t hit his head and die. She shoves him off of her again, and he’s back at his old spot on the floor, Beau’s body and baleful glare between him and the door.

They both stay silent, frozen for a moment, waiting for the rest of the group to wake up from the commotion. Nobody stirs.

“What the shit,” he repeats, blinking at the ceiling. “You could have killed me.”

“You’re sloshed,” she accuses.

“And half-dead as it is. Looking to finish the job?”

“I wish,” she mutters.

Molly sighs, resigning himself to the situation. He’s exhausted, drunk, beat to shit, and his little patch of floor space is starting to feel awfully soft. There’s just the matter of that one annoyance lying adjacent to him, like a blister on the sole of his foot, unable to just let him be.

“Why do you care if I get mugged anyway,” he mumbles, dimly aware of how petulant he sounds.

“I don’t,” she hisses immediately. “I don’t care.”

“Sure. Fine.”

“I just...” Beau huffs and closes her eyes, like she can’t bear to even look in his direction. “Ugh. You know, this is kind of a group thing now, and I guess you’re kind of in this group and I’m kind of in this group. Which means we’re, like... co... group... people.”

“Co-group people.”

“Shut up.” Her eyes peel open to glare at him again. “I just mean, if anyone’s gonna mug you, it should be me. I deserve it.”

“You deserve the gold, or the pleasure of slitting my throat?”

“Both,” she says, grinning now. A pause. “I mean, I wouldn’t kill you, though. I’d just leave you for dead on the side of the road or something.”

“How magnanimous,” he remarks.

Beau just smirks, and her eyes close again like she might finally go back to sleep.

Mollymauk could kill her, he’s pretty sure. She may be fast, but she’s only a human, in the end. A small, young, and relatively inexperienced one, at that.

But they’re co-group people.

He supposes, after everything, that’s as fair an assessment as they could reach. They’re not friends or even teammates, at this point. They’re just the two idiots who volunteered to sleep on the floor. Why them, he thinks. Why are the two of them even sticking around, drawing the short end on sleeping arrangements, offering to keep watch on the cart every day, and risking their necks for goblins who set themselves on fire? Caleb has Nott; Jester has Fjord; and then there’s him and Beauregard, strangers buzzing around at the edges of this little unit. Like they’re both unsure whether they should be trying to wedge their way inside, or getting ready to bolt at any second.

“Maybe you’re not the only one running from something,” Beau mumbles, eyes still shut. “Or searching for it.”

Molly’s not sure how much he rambled aloud, or if Beau just guessed the direction of his thoughts. Regardless, he lets his eyes fall shut too. It actually is pretty disgusting to see the yellow-purple patches of Beau’s bruised face up close. Exhaustion overtakes him.

“I still don’t like you,” he whispers, an afterthought.

“I still don’t trust you,” she flings back.

“Your bangles are tacky.”

“Your whole head literally jingles.”

“That’s not an insult.”

“Oh, trust me, it is.”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE,” comes Fjord’s voice at last. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

The next morning, after they sort out matters with Bryce, the group heads out again, their horse at least looking much better for the wear.

As usual, eyes already on the road, Beau says, “I’ll keep watch.”

“Same,” says Molly simply, perched on the opposite end of the cart. They don’t make eye contact, or say anything more.

It’s something, for now.

#critical role #beauregard #mollymauk tealeaf #cr spoilers #critfic #all i want is a platonic friendship slow burn & these 2 are delivering #critical role spoilers #mywriting

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mollymauk-teafleak · 6 years

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the home that i've wanted to make

ko-fi | Ao3

The second part of my widomauk modern au, directly following on from this fic.

As always, huge thanks to my wonderful beta readers who are eternally patient and helpful and generally awesome people, @minky-for-short and @soft-bram.

reblog >>>>> likes

I want to spend the rest of my life with you…

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Caleb opened his eyes, startled. The exact words that his own mind had just whispered, spoken aloud, but not by him. He turned in the warm, slightly clinging embrace of the blankets to face Mollymauk who was lying on his stomach just an inch away from him even though the bed had space for more, his eyes half closed and glowing warmly, his cheeks flushed and hair sticking to his damp forehead in the way Caleb imagined his own must be.

“You do?” he murmured quietly, his voice rasping, “You’re not just saying that because I literally just finished eating you out?”

Molly gave a bark of laughter, reaching over and finding Caleb’s hand underneath the soft blankets ensnaring them both, winding his slim fingers through his boyfriend’s rough, calloused ones.

“I’d be lying if I said that didn’t have something to do with it,” he chuckled, voice lower than usual, rusty and sultry in that way it got after they’d had sex, the way that made Caleb’s heart beat faster when he heard it, “But no, I do mean it. If we could spend the rest of our lives like this, forever and ever? I’d be very okay with that.”

He winked at Caleb, eyes glowing a warm kind of ember red in the darkness that was getting heavier as the seconds went by, as the sun disappeared beneath the city skyline outside the window. When they’d burst into their bedroom, kissing frantically and pulling at each other’s clothes, remembering to flick the light on had not been either of their priorities.

“Forever and ever…” Caleb murmured, squeezing Molly’s hand gently. He let himself imagine that for a moment, coming home to Mollymauk at the end of every day, knowing for certain that he’d be waiting for him, lounging over the sofa or in the kitchen, singing as he worked. Molly sleeping beside him every single night with his gentle snores and habit of muttering nonsense in his sleep and kicking Caleb lightly in the shins when he’d get too warm. Molly’s shampoos and vast array of make up and products crowding on the shelf with his own, more modest collection (Molly had coaxed him into wearing eyeliner just last week, to his absolute delight); Molly’s effortlessly fashionable clothes hung alongside his six copies of the same dark green and mustard flannel. Molly’s books slid in alongside his own, messing up his painstakingly organised library that even now spilled out of three different sets of shelves onto their coffee table and kitchen counter and bedroom floor.

Molly’s life, irrevocably tangled and threaded through his own. Forever.

Of course, ever since they’d moved in together, only a few months ago now, Caleb had been quietly getting a taste of that life, settling into it and trying it out the way one wore in a new pair of shoes. Change didn’t come naturally to Caleb, he reacted to it the same way he reacted to pollen in the summer. Mollymauk seemed to understand and appreciate this, their moving in together had been gradual, delicate. A shared key here, shared grocery lists there, moving a few books and clothes back and forth, Frumpkin starting to appear at Molly’s window, scratching and meowing for food (much to Molly’s frustration, he wasn’t a cat guy). So, when they did eventually sign a lease together, when Yasha announced she and Nott and Beau were getting a place of their own, claiming it was because she was sick of being woken up at night by the sound of Molly’s headboard slamming rhythmically into the wall, which Molly pointed out indignantly had been going on long before Caleb turned up and she never complained before (she had), it was less a jump into the unknown for Caleb and more a gradual slide down into it, shuffling on his butt like a kid going down stairs.

And it had been good. It had been so, so good.

Caleb turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling where Jester had fixed up a galaxy of glow in the dark stickers shaped like stars, her contribution to their moving day. Still holding on to Molly’s hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed each of his knuckles in turn, drawing a rumbly laugh from the tiefling, now half asleep and half sunk into the pillows. Caleb listened to his slow, rhythmic breathing, felt his tail curl loosely around his thigh as if to make sure that he was still there in bed with him even while his eyes were closed. Not that there was anywhere in the world Caleb would rather be.

By the time sleep rose up and pulled him under its waves, as the radioactive green glow of the stars blurred and twisted and faded, Caleb had made up his mind. He was sick of keeping thoughts in his head, of denying not only Mollymauk but himself too.

This needed to be said out loud.

***

“Hey, Beau, look at this!”

Mollymauk raised his voice above the clamour of their usual table at the Nestled Nook, tucked away in one corner right by the window with the overstuffed, cracked leather sofa chairs that they liked to lounge on and had all their initials carved into the inside of one of the mismatched legs. Caduceus had not been best pleased with them that day though he hadn’t been able to keep back a wry smile when they’d included a proud ‘C.C.’ on the list.

Making a powerfully poor decision, Beau looked up from her phone, likely making yet another gym appointment so she could gawk at Yasha from the treadmills while she lifted weights and continue to still not actually ask her out on a concrete date, despite the urgings of her friends.

As she did, Molly blew into his straw and nailed her right between the eyes with the paper wrapper.

For the fourth time that afternoon.

Which, in retrospect, she really should have seen coming.

Molly was too busy cackling maniacally and trying to avoid the salt shaker that Beau upended over his head in retaliation to hear the bell brightly titter at the arrival of Caleb, Nott in her usual position clinging to his back like a green, skinny koala. In amongst Jester’s laughter, Beau calling him a bitch loudly and Fjord chuckling in his usual, thunder like rumble, he didn’t notice as his boyfriend sidled awkwardly over to the counter, looking very much like a man trying not to be conspicuous and failing. He didn’t see the tape Caleb fished out of one of his many homemade pockets and slide across the worn, wooden surface into Caduceus’ hand with a smile made crooked by nervousness, answered with a calm nod and a grin.

He did notice as Caleb approached the table, jumping up to kiss him, face alight with excitement, “Babe, I got her! Right in the face, I told you I could!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t do it, sweetling,” Caleb pointed out, only blushing a little at being greeted so forcefully in front of their friends, he was getting used to it, “I said you shouldn’t.”

“Ah, I always get confused between those two,” Molly shrugged happily, kissing him again for good measure, a quick flicker of his lips against Caleb’s before he let him go take his usual seat- the one across from his boyfriend’s so Molly could swing his long legs up into his lap, so Caleb’s fingers could walk along the strong lines of his limbs.

The friends quickly sank into their usual comfortable chatter, trading it back and forth across the table in perfect rhythm, each one of them feeling a sense of completeness they couldn’t quite explain but could recognise that it had something to do with having every seat at their table filled.

Though in the middle of it all, Mollymauk found his eyes inescapably drawn across to Caleb, sat hunched over a mug of dark, cinnamon scented tea, answering in soft, short sentences only when someone spoke to him first. None of that was particularly unusual, not for Caleb, but something still made Molly tilt his head curiously.

“Is everything okay, my love?” he asked, voice low, under the buoy of the rest of the chatter, as he reached over and took his hand, “You’ve got ‘Caleb has a deadline tomorrow’ face but I’m pretty sure you graduated a while back. That happened, right? I think I was there…”

“I did and you were,” Caleb’s cheeks turned a little pink, like someone caught in the act though Molly couldn’t see for the life of him what that act might be, “I’m fine! Just…just thinking, you know…”

“How was the bookstore?” he tried, if there was any subject that could get Caleb to talk it was what he’d found on his last venture to his most favourite place in the city apart from his and Molly’s bed (though the tiefling did wonder sometimes), the ancient antique book store that looked as if it had been standing longer than civilisation, staying resolutely wonky and askew and stuffed with anything and everything a person could ever want and quite a few oddities that no one in their right mind would ever want.

“Oh, it was good,” Caleb nodded, eyes still sliding off his face every time he looked up at him, “Got a few things…”

And then he lapsed into silence again, turning as if focusing on someone else down the far end of the table, though his attention was clearly nowhere near the Nestled Nook.

Molly frowned in puzzlement, eyes sweeping over the rest of the table but no one seemed to be noticing Caleb’s fidgetiness and agitation and general air of suspiciousness. In fact, they all looked as if they were quite deliberately ignoring their end, seemingly incredibly absorbed in Nott’s recounting of how Beau and Yasha had an arm wrestling contest the night before and put a crack in their dining room table, even Caduceus who’d abandoned the counter and slid into his seat to listen.

“You sure you’re alright?” Molly sighed, turning back to Caleb, resolutely staring down into his mug and not at his boyfriend’s face.

“Positive. Totally. Completely,” Caleb replied far too quickly, stepping on the end of Molly’s sentence and plastering a wide smile on his face, “Just a normal day, normal Saturday, just hanging out.”

Though frustrated, Molly shrugged and turned back to his drink, though he didn’t retract his hand, fingers staying wound through Caleb’s. He knew his wizard. As much as he didn’t like it, he knew there was no way to get him to cough up whatever was bothering him, not before he was ready. Soon he’d come, holding it shyly in tightly cupped hands, apologetic and morose but not after he’d chewed and agonised over it on his own for a while. There was much Molly would have given to be able to bypass that and spare him from it but, short of the world’s most well intentioned and loving interrogation, nothing could make Caleb budge.

Molly adored his wizard more than anything else in the world but that could still be the case while he exasperated the hell out of him.

The tiefling let his thoughts wander, briefly wondering if Beau would fall for the same trick with the straw for a fifth time and just how bad she’d beat him with a rolled-up The Fantasy New Yorker if she did.

His feet picked it up long before his brain did, the heel of his boot tapping in time with the music against the floorboards as the sing kicked in, underpinned by the wheeze and crackle of Caduceus’ old speaker system. It crept up his body, taking hold of his fingers next as they drummed against Caleb’s knuckles, then further until his pointed ears flickered and stood vertical with sudden excitement.

Molly beamed, sitting up a little straighter, glancing around as if an old friend had just wandered into the café which, in a way, was true.

“Caleb!” he squeezed his hand, “They’re playing the song again!”

The wizard looked up, raising his eyebrows curiously, “The song?”

Mollymauk rolled his eyes, not surprised or even particularly annoyed that Caleb had forgotten, “It’s the song that was playing the first time we met each other in here! Y’know, after I gave you my number when you were smashed beyond belief and then we found each other here again…”

“I remember,” Caleb was smiling now, a shy, sweet sort of smile that made those crinkles appear in the corners of his lovely brown eyes. All the anxiousness seemed to have melted off his face and he took a deep breath, pushing a curtain of hair away from his face so his eyes could meet Molly’s, “Believe me, I remember.”

Relief bloomed in Mollymauk’s chest like cool water on a sunburn, seeing his boyfriend smiling like that again. Surely whatever had been gnawing at him couldn’t be all that bad after all? He was on the verge of kissing him, maybe even tugging him towards the bathroom for a quickie no matter what the sign on the door said, when Caleb cleared his throat a little and his hand dipped into the inside of his ratty old coat, the one Molly was always threatening to give to a thrift store or burn but never, ever would.

“Actually, I did find a book at the shop that I wanted to show you,” he murmured, drawing out something square and slim and bound in worn, red leather with pages the colour of milky coffee and bulging out between the covers, “There’s a passage in it…”

Molly reached out happily, his smile softening. His wizard was always doing this, finding odd phrases or paragraphs in the many books he devoured that made him think of his boyfriend, that said the things he felt for him far better than he ever could. He’d always highlight them or circle them in pencil to show him excitedly the next time their busy schedules pushed them together again. Molly loved every single one, they were like precious gems to him that Caleb had found digging in his seemingly endless mines of words and diagrams and indices and it was a balm to know that Caleb continued to think of him even when they were apart, just like Molly thought of him.

The title proclaimed it to be a book of early 18 th century poetry and the page was marked out for him with a bus ticket; Molly flipped to it eagerly, not noticing that the table had gone utterly silent around them.

“Wait…what?” he frowned in confusion once it was laid out before him. There was no grimy fluorescent highlighter or scratchy faded pencil showing him where to look, in fact, the page was heavy with thick, harsh blackness obliterating most of the lines, aside from a few gaps.

“Read it…” Caleb’s voice was soft, insistent.

Feeling a little lost but also like he was about to find out what had been bugging his boyfriend all day, Mollymauk ran his eyes along the pen lines, finding where they broke around certain words scattered across the page like storm clouds letting in bursts of fading sunshine, reading them aloud slowly to try and find the meaning.

“Will…you…marry…me…”

Oh.

Molly’s eyes shot up as the book fell from his limp fingers, to find Caleb on one knee beside the table, his expression a mix of apology, hopefulness, relief, love, joy, terror, one of his own rings held between his fingers, offered up to him. His mother’s ring, in fact, the one he’d been wearing for as long as Molly could remember.

“So…yeah,” he rasped, tears clearly held back as best he could manage though they were betrayed by his voice, “Will you?”

For once in his life, Mollymauk Tealeaf was utterly and completely speechless. All he could manage was to nod frantically and yank Caleb up by the lapels of his coat so he could kiss him fiercely, throwing his arms around him, both of them oblivious to the cheers, applause and the banging of fists on the table from their friends.

and the banging of fists on the table from their friends.

So, technically, Caleb hadn’t actually managed to say it out loud. But it was pretty damn perfect, all the same.

#widomauk #widowmauk #caleb widogast #cr caleb #mollymauk tealeaf #cr mollymauk #caleb/molly #modern au #urband fantasy au #fluff #critical role #cr fic #jester #beau #yasha #fjord #nott

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