Archive of Our Own

One day, Caleb Widogast decides, he is going to find himself a better hobby.

The problem in that is the fact that he doesn’t have much time for hobbies; being on the path to his hopeful plans for the future means a lot of study and sleep, study and sleep, rinse and repeat. Couple that up with a nice bit of debt and two different jobs to wrangle, he… doesn’t get the chance to do much of anything. Making time for his– small– band of friends comes rarely, maybe once a month if they’re lucky, and that’s good and well and fun, but… yeah.

Beauregard never wastes any time in throwing it into his face that she has more of a social life than he does, and she’s already passed the six month’s probation to officially be accepted as a member of the Cobalt Soul. She reads just as much as he does, she says, and still finds time to get laid on the side.

Therein lay the problem, Caleb thinks, and presses the palm of his hand against the trackpad on the laptop. Scheiße, if he could be so lucky. He has precious little free time and a group of friends who he can’t even think about– nein, that’s a lie. He has thought about– well, he couldn’t initiate anything with any of them. Jester is off on the Coast and hopelessly enamored with Fjord, anyway, so the two of them are off limits, and Caduceus doesn’t… ja, the problem with his social life is an obvious one.

As of right now, Caleb’s prime hobbies are studying, sleeping, or, erm, masturbating in between the two. And even that happens on the off chance that he’s restless enough to not want to sink onto the sofa and mutter spells under his breath until he passes out. But still… every now and then, when the scratch itches and he curses his lack of hobbies and social life. Tonight, it’s a lazy scroll through OnlyFans in hopes of something to scratch the itch, but it’s… he isn’t finding what he wants. He isn’t finding what he likes for the night and he’s about to give up the whole thing as a bad job and tuck into the corner of the sofa where he’d probably fall asleep without dinner when he notices the latest update pop in.

He sits up, yanking the laptop onto his lap, and clicks into the image.

The expanse of mostly bare skin fills the screen; scarred, purple skin that’s nicked with marks that glint in the right light, peppered with colorful tattoos and wrapped in light pink rope. Caleb sucks in a low, slow breath and catalogs, taking in every detail in his perfect memory to draw back on later, when he’s bored and needy and in need of a fantasy. ‘Mollymauk’ supplies them more readily than Caleb really wants to admit.

He never posts his face, Mollymauk. Once or twice a shock of deep purple hair and curled horns to match, but it is tasteful, and without exposing his face. Which is an understandable thing, because Caleb could never– well, he could never do any of this. He’d made an account on a whim, subscribed to a few people in a moment of weakness. And he feels like– the illusion would shatter if the lavender tiefling posted his face. Or maybe Caleb would just feel too guilty. Probably that.

But, regardless, Mollymauk doesn’t need to post everything. He posts enough, and that’s what’s got him the followers. That’s what’s got Caleb drawn in. Easily bared skin that seems to exude a confidence Caleb never feels. But it’s sexy. Easy confidence is attractive.

And even the tattoos, too, a thing Caleb doesn’t really– they are not his thing. They are not a turn-off, not exactly, but they are– memories, and he’s never been fond of them. But Mollymauk’s are gorgeous things, even he has to admit. Winding up one of his arms, a long, curling serpent, flanked by petals and flowers that seem to grow into a bigger, more floral piece near his shoulder. There’s feathers, too, further up along his neck, and at least a sun and moon on either shoulder. Not visible now, but… Caleb remembers. He couldn’t possibly forget.

All sorts of colors and patterns and designs… and they are nice. They look good on him.

And then there are scars. Along his upper chest and arms and– and those feel more personal. Those feel more– well, Caleb doesn’t know. It isn’t any of his business. Those are personal, and Mollymauk has never mentioned them in anything more than passing. So, Caleb doesn’t know what they are or where they are from, but… he thumbs against one of the scars along his arm, and imagines he understands, even if just a little bit. He likes to imagine the two of them have this tiny connection, a single thread of similarity even though the situations are probably drastically different.

For Mollymauk’s sake, Caleb hopes the situations had been different.

But that’s not the point of all this. He doesn’t look at porn to get caught up in bad memories. He does that enough on his own. So, Caleb just takes in the skin and tattoos and scars that Mollymauk wears so well… just like the pink rope wrapped snug around that marred skin. Tight enough to press in, and colorful enough to still stand out against his naturally colorful body. The rope crisses and crosses, intricate designs that Caleb tries to follow with his mind, down to the, ah– considerable– outline of a ridged purple prick straining against a pair of lacy underthings that leave nothing to the imagination.

Caleb gives up on thinking of the rope, and just sort of stares. Scheiße. Mollymauk is– endowed. He’s known that for some time, of course, but the combination of shibari and lingerie together is sort of– das ist ein gutes Bild.

He scrolls down in the post.

😈 Mollymauk 😈(MollymaukTealeaf ) posted,
Cuersaar 16 7:29 PM

Season's Greetings (earlier every year!)

A preview of what’s to come this holiday season… have you been naughty or have you been nice? ;)

(Naughty’s better. Trust me, loves.)

Can’t wait to show you all the rest of the shoot! I’ll be sending some things to your inboxes as we get closer to the end of the year, so definitely keep an eye or two out in upcoming weeks! You’ll want to unlock them as much as I want to take them, which is actually quite a lot, because I’m a predictable shameless slut. Getting all wrapped up makes me wish I had someone to come take me apart, piece by festive piece…

xoxo MT

11 likes | 4 comments

Caleb doesn’t have to check the comments to know what they already say. Molly’s asking for the inevitable ‘unwrapping’ wishes. His fans are predictable, and equally just as shameless. And he is no better, he thinks with a hum, hand creeping down to his lap.

He doesn’t leave a comment– he’s too embarrassed to ever interact, ever– but he paints the fantasy in his mind nonetheless. He paints his hand with his own spend not ten minutes later, as he takes in the details in Mollymauk’s post.

… yeah, a little guilty. A lot guilty. But he uploads this stuff for people to enjoy, Caleb reminds himself, and wipes his hand on his shirt. He’s allowed to enjoy it. Mollymauk wants him to. And it isn’t as if he’s ever going to find out. Caleb and Mollymauk both are safe in their anonymity. He uses that as an excuse to push the guilt away and get back to work on his spells.

He ducks into the coffee shop that one of his colleagues had pointed him to, happy to be out of the cloudburst of rain that’s been threatening the entirety of day. He expects it to turn to snow by night as they creep ever closer to the end of the year, and snow… Caleb can handle, actually. He likes the snow. He doesn’t even mind the cold much, because it reminds him of his home a couple of days away from here. And protecting his books is easier in snow. Rain just… got everywhere fast, soaked your socks in mere minutes and left you miserable.

With any luck, he can study here until it starts to turn. It’s a nice coffee shop, a little mom-and-pop café he hadn’t even known was here. There’s a grated fireplace crackling with warmth in one corner, surrounded by a few comfortable looking couches and chairs. There are various tables with books and papers and even stacks of tabletop games, and it smells like fresh baked goods and very strong brewed coffee.

It’s also quieter than his usual place, he notes with some satisfaction. No music or constant whir of blenders, with only a couple other of what look to be students working nearby. It’s… nice, and is so immediately charming in its simplicity that Caleb decides, almost immediately, he’s definitely going to need to come back here again.

The sound of laughter breaks the silence, and his attention swivels. He’s only fast enough to catch a glimpse of movement, just a glimpse, but– it is lavender skin and curled horns and a pierced tail that flits behind the counter and vanishes in the back. And Caleb freezes where he’s still standing in the doorway, eyes going wide, because he– recognizes– no. No, no. But he’s stared at his computer screen enough for those things to be forever in his mind even if he didn’t have an ironclad memory.

He would recognize Mollymauk anywhere. And anywhere just happens to be here, in this coffee shop not ten minutes from the usual haunts, and… he’d known Molly was local, but not so local! Rexxentrum was a big place! There were countless people in his area that he’s glossed over that he’s never imagined meeting in reality, and especially not– but, no, maybe… maybe he’s wrong. Maybe he’s wrong? But, even as big as Rexxentrum is, there isn’t an influx of tieflings in town! Much less purple skinned, pierced tieflings! Caleb recognizes those piercings, two little gold things glittering at the spade.

Scheiß die Wand an–

Something bumps into him from behind, and Caleb realizes he’s still standing in the doorway. Standing slack-jawed in the doorway of this coffee shop because he could swear that that was just Mollymauk Tealeaf who’d vanished to the back– but now the barista at the counter is looking at him, and the person behind him is muttering their apologies, and he’s too much the center of attention to just… turn around and leave, like he should… Scheiße. How is this a thing that is happening?

He finally turns to stammer his apologies, too, and barely has it in him to be startled when he turns to find a black catfolk gathering themselves next to him, ears pinned to their head and fur glistening with rain. “Ah– sorry,” he mumbles.

“No, my fault.” The tabaxi shakes their head, sending a thin spray of water, and scuffs their boots on the carpet. “I was making a dash, I can’t stand this rain.”

“Ah, well. I was also standing in the middle of the door,” he says, and finally gathers himself to move away. “Sorry again,” he mutters, and if he wasn’t already blushing from walking into a place with someone who looks suspiciously like one of his favorite people who posts godsdamn dick pics, he is now.

“No harm done,” the tabaxi says, and waves to the barista as they heft their bag and also head back behind the counter.

Oh. Another employee, then. Caleb sighs, mutters a curse under his breath, and just– he can’t leave now. It will just seem even weirder. He just needs to suck it up and get comfortable. Get a coffee and do what he came here to do: study, and wait out the rain. So, face still flaming, he goes to claim a space on one of the empty couches, carefully spreading his books out along the table.

If he tries to sneak a glance of anyone purple and tiefling and very, very hot when he orders his coffee, well. He is already– still– blushing. The look on the barista’s face as she takes his order is faintly amused, and does not help. The fact that she also seems to have giant heritage and pretty blonde hair pinned up neatly does not help, either, but– Caleb blames that on the fact he is thinking about– less than appropriate things for public. (Gods, maybe Beau is right. Maybe he does just need to get laid.) He murmurs his thanks for the coffee and hurries back to his seat.

Behind him, he hears the barista say, “hey, Lu, think I found one of y–” as she vanishes behind the corner.

‘Lu.’ Maybe it isn’t Mollymauk. Caleb doesn’t– he doesn’t know how it couldn’t be, unless the tiefling has a very similar doppelganger, but… she had called him Lu. Not Mollymauk.

Deep down, he knows that a name means nothing at all when it comes down to it. He knows how easy it is to pretend to be someone you’re not. All it took was a little imagination and a couple of unknown syllables on your tongue, and you could be whoever you wanted to be. But he pretends. He pretends that that isn’t Mollymauk Tealeaf working in the back of this coffee shop, and settles down on the sofa to study as he’d intended.

His mind wanders to scarred, purple skin and tight pink rope, and Caleb thinks he spends more time thinking about trussed up tieflings than he does actually working on his spells at all.

Caleb goes back. If he damns himself for it, he is already carrying so much guilt that a little more hardly matters, and… it’s a nice coffee shop. It’s a little off the beaten path, but when it’s so convenient and quiet, he can hardly complain. The days are shorter and colder and Brevyn, the barista who usually takes his order, makes a mean cup of coffee. Some days, even, there are tiny apple streusels in the bakery case and Caleb almost forgets about the tiefling he’d thought he saw there.

… almost. He never quite forgets, because he can’t, and more than once he thinks he does catch a glimpse of something purple moving about in the back, but he honestly can’t say if it’s not-Molly or if he’s just imagining it. But mostly it’s just Brevyn, or the catfolk, or sometimes a halfling with a mop of curly hair, and the same patrons he usually sees poring over their books and drinking their coffee.

Caleb appreciates the quiet routine of it all, and this tucked away little coffee shop becomes his newest, coziest hideaway.

For a couple of weeks, he loses himself in his studies. Any heat splashed across his skin comes from the familiarity of the fire, and more than once does he doze off in one of the worn armchairs and wake up with cold coffee and a late bus home.

And then, one day, that changes. He walks in and gets his things settled, feeling out the the power socket on the floor near the couch to plug in his laptop, and meanders over to the counter to find it unmanned. Oh. He hadn’t noticed. He glances at the time and then glances at his phone, scrolling through the latest posts on his (sparse) social media, content to wait.

… mostly content to wait. He casts a glance over to his stack of paper and latest scroll, and is just considering going to sit back down until Brevyn returns when there’s the sound of movement and a distinctly unfamiliar voice says around the corner, “sorry, so sorry, love. Brev’s having a bit of a rough go with some of our suppliers–” The unfamiliar voice comes with a flurry of purple skin and a long, burgundy coat. There is no work apron, and no name tag affixed to a chest that is barely covered by a billowy, half open shirt, but– Caleb is frozen to the spot– that is definitely the Mollymauk that he knows. Doesn’t know. Only knows through adult content. “– and we’re just trying to smooth down the Mardoons before they put us out of house and home,” Molly continues, and scrubs his hands on his coat. He looks faintly frazzled, and doesn’t look up until after he’s finished asking, “but what can I get started for ya?”

This is definitely the Mollymauk he subscribes to. And Caleb’s frozen with his heart in his mouth again, partially because of that. He has almost reconciled that. But it’s different, standing face to face with this tiefling, because he is even more pretty in reality, and because his eyes are a deep, pupilless red. They stare into Caleb like they’re seeing into his soul, which simultaneously locks the breath in his throat and makes him want to squirm at the same time.

It is obvious why he’s never posted his face before, something remarks in Caleb’s head. Like that’s of any importance right now, but… it’s true. His eyes are striking. Nobody would see them and not recognize them immediately.

Speaking of recognition, something in Mollymauk’s face changes when he lays eyes on Caleb. He’s here enough that he’s a regular now, and even if Molly works in the back sporadically enough, he probably knows Caleb’s face from the past few weeks. And then that recognition shifts, and Mollymauk’s posture seems to relax as he takes in the wizard in front of him. Something in his eyes almost looks amused, like he knows. But he can’t know. There’s no way he can know. Caleb is careful, both while here and online. There is nothing to tie back to Caleb Widogast on his online accounts.

Even still, he feels caught. Molly’s body language shifts to languid and comfortable, and he smiles even as he tilts his head, and a piece of golden jewelry jangles on a horn. “Earth to magic man?” he says, gently, and Caleb blurts out his order.

“Einen Milchkaffee, bitte–” He winces, as his mother tongue gets the better of him and Mollymauk looks immediately taken aback. “‘tschuldigung, ah– café au lait,” he finally manages, wrenching the Common back to his tongue. Scheiße, what a mess. “Please, sorry.”

“Sure.” Mollymauk chuckles, tapping on the keyboard with a pointed nail. “I’ve got it in. Three silvers, love.”

Caleb is certain he has not blushed this much since– since he was studying at the Academy in a drastically different time of his life. Long ago were the days Astrid and Eadwulf would have teased him over a face as red as his roots… but he honestly doesn’t want to think too much about that right now, either.

“Give me a minute,” Molly says, wandering away from the register. “I am actually not super trained up front, so, uh, I humbly beg your patience,” he says with a little bow.

“Ja,” he says absently, and tries not to watch as much as he… ends up watching him, anyway. It’s Mollymauk for certain; the skin and hair and horns are indicators enough– and those piercings– but the tattoos and scars also give it away. The serpent winding its way up a purple arm, and the various marks across his chest and neck that catch silver in the light. There’s more than Caleb’s ever noticed, of both tattoos and scars: the glimpses of feathers that he’s caught before bloom off into a peacock that crawls all the way up past Mollymauk’s neck and to his face, and there’s a noticeable scar, too, along one of his cheeks.

He’s a little thinner than he’d imagined, and a little shorter, too, with deft hands that poke and prod through a few things Caleb can’t see. His tail lashes, the little piercings catching the light, and… Caleb realizes, watching Molly mutter to himself, that this salacious coffee shop tiefling has… no idea what he’s doing here. So they are both very much out of their comfort zone, then.

Before Caleb can do much more than digest that revelation, the black tabaxi slips in from the back.

Mollymauk practically says in relief. “Cree,” he whispers. “Please, I have no idea what I’m doing. What is café au lait? How do you make café au lait?”

“It’s just half and half, Lu. Drip coffee and steamed milk.”

“Oh?” Molly blows a raspberry with his lips and shoves his hands back through his hair. “Okay, well, that’s easy. Why the fuck don’t we have a cheat sheet for new hires?”

“Lucien–” Cree hisses, but not before Brevyn appears from out of nowhere, and slaps her hand against the back of Mollymauk’s head.

“Ow!”

“Say fuck in front of another customer and I’ll wring your tattooed neck.”

“You just said it, too!” Molly complains, but there is humor in his eyes as he rubs the back of his head.

“And two wrongs don’t make a right. Get me the milk. Caleb does the usual, nothing special.” Despite the fact that he knows they know his name from his repeated visits, it still startles him to hear Brevyn say it out loud in casual conversation. In front of Mollymauk, no less. She smiles at him with the same sort of coy humor as usual, and takes the carton from the tiefling. “Now come over here and learn something, Lu. I’ll teach you how to make the second best café au lait.”

“Second?” Molly questions, leaning around her shoulder. “Why second?”

“Because mine’s the best. Don’t be cute, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Being cute definitely suits me, and you know it.” He grins up at her, but Caleb doesn’t miss the line of concentration furrowing his brow, a deeper focus as he watches Brevyn make Caleb’s cup of coffee. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it to make a point or if he’s actually interested, but he murmurs in acknowledgment as Brevyn talks him through it.

“Alright,” she says, securing the lid on the cup. “That’s your impromptu lesson for the day. Can you go get me two more boxes of this stuff? We’re getting low and I want everything neat before it’s anywhere near close.”

“On it.” Mollymauk smiles at Caleb, waves two ring-bejeweled fingers, and vanishes beyond the doorway again. There is no lingering, for better or for worse, and Caleb breathes a sigh of relief.

“Don’t mind him,” Brevyn says, once she’s handed the cup to Caleb. “He’s a mess. Technically not even working here according to payroll, but don’t tell anyone else that.”

“Ja,” Caleb promises, “I won’t.”

“So he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s a charmer, but sometimes I think he relies more on his tongue than he does on his brain.” She says all of this, but that fondness, from before, is still there. The contentment that had been in Mollymauk’s eyes talking to her. It doesn’t take much imagination to see that, were anyone else to say any of these things, they would probably be flat on the floor.

Vaguely, he wonders if there’s… something there, between the two of them, and reminds himself he has no right to any reaction if there is. Mollymauk’s side hustle is not his obligation, and he deserves his own happiness away from a computer screen.

“So, I just wanted to apologize for his, uh, unprofessionalism.”

“Nein,” Caleb interrupts, holding his coffee close to his chest. “I took no offense, don’t worry.”

“Good.” Brevyn smiles. “We wouldn’t want to lose one of our favorite customers because of a devilish tongue and an inability to make your order.”

Caleb laughs as he heads back to the couch. What he doesn’t say is that Mollymauk could have made him the worst cup of coffee and he would have still taken it gladly just to avoid the embarrassment of lingering in front of the man face to face. Anything to squirrel away and tuck back into the safety of his spells and books, where he can try to make his heart stop pounding and not throw up from the shock.

Scheiße, those eyes. They will follow him into his dreams.

He is both thrilled and hesitant when the notification comes through about a new post from Mollymauk. Excited, because– well, he’s very attractive. Caleb always looks forward to his posts. Terrified, because the timing seems suspect. Only a few days out from Caleb having a conversation with him– a normal conversation. Just a usual thing. It had been nothing untoward.

So, Mollymauk posting has nothing to do with him.

😈 Mollymauk 😈(MollymaukTealeaf ) wrote,
Cuersaar 27 1:01 PM

Inconsequential updates & vote on the poll!

Hey all! No real news for you all yet – I’m waiting for the count on my latest poll [find it HERE!] to come in, and I have a smidge of custom work to finish off before I get back to posting on the regular. I have some great ideas and am VERY excited to try out some of these suggestions showing up in my inbox!

Just wanted to give a special kudos to the one follower who found me at my part time job! You’re not nearly as subtle as you think, but it’s cute and you’ve been respectful, so I’ll let it slide. Let me know down below who you are; I am not against some special content set smack in the middle of the shop ;)

xoxo MT

PS this is not an open call to my fans to try and find my place of occupation. Please don’t. If I’m dtf, you all will be the FIRST to know. Respect the process, AND your content creators

2 likes | 7 comments

Mollymauk posting has everything to do with him.

Scheiße! Why would Mollymauk– on his OnlyFans, even– Caleb is mortified, reading the post and rereading it and then scrolling down to the comments. There are already a few– so far– that are even pretending to be– ‘the follower.’ In order to get attention, to get the promised special content– gottverdammt. This is horrifying. This is a worst case scenario. He can’t even think.

… he can think, though, about how all of those people pretending to be him just make him sound desperate. And he might be, in varying ways, but he isn’t that desperate. He isn’t so inappropriate. Not like this. Not to Mollymauk.

He closes the tab without commenting, and puts his face in his hands. This is becoming a real problem. It feels wildly inappropriate because it is, a clashing of two worlds that aren’t supposed to meet. Mollymauk is taking the intrusion of his privacy so well, and Caleb just… that earlier guilt for even getting off to him lingers, and grows, after stepping into this mess. For walking into Mollymauk’s life. Even though it is an accident, well… that doesn’t help, necessarily.

Gods, if it were the other way around, Caleb would be scrambling. But then he supposes this sort of reaction is just the inherent confidence Molly has. He’s jealous of that. He admires it, too, same as usual.

He stays off of Mollymauk’s profile, just in case, and plans to not go back to coffee shop.

But best laid plans.

His determination wins out for about a week, or maybe it’s just his embarrassment. He’s still in a place where he would rather run than face anything vaguely uncomfortable head on, but the season has gotten colder. Snow comes frequently now and, while Caleb may not mind that any other day or week, he’d managed to get a head cold in the past two days that’s making him miserable, with the urge to be anywhere warm as quickly as possible. He misses the atmosphere of the café, the proximity to the library, and the strength of the coffee. And, Scheiße, he is a grown adult who can conduct himself. It’s fine. It does not have to be awkward.

The biting cold stinging his rubbed raw nose makes the decision for him, and Caleb wraps his scarf around his face and hurries for the coffee shop.

As is usual, Mollymauk is absent. There are no signs or klaxons awaiting Caleb’s arrival. Just a large, ornately decorated tapestry that depicts the Platinum Dragon in preparation of Embertide, and Brevyn lounging behind the counter. She says he looks like shit– Caleb rasps a hacking laugh, burying his face in his scarf again– and she hands him some kind of minty tea along with his usual coffee. He graciously takes both, practically falls onto the sofa, and tucks himself into the warmth and familiarity to try and relax.

It feels a little like coming home. But that is not a good comparison. He knows what he had done to the last place he called home. He could not possibly forget.

He blames the sickness and the season on his gloomy memories, and breathes in the steam from his tea to try and clear his sinuses as soon as possible.

Embertide comes and goes, but the tapestry and his head cold remains. He’s mostly back to himself by the end of the week, but he’s still congested as he sits and copies spells into his book. His head aches, he drinks more coffee than he should, and stays later than he might have otherwise to avoid the inevitable walk in the cold. He has spellwork and coffee here, and single minded focus split between the two.

“You didn’t comment on the post.”

He’s startled by the voice behind him, nearly pitching himself onto the table from the sudden proximity of it. He hadn’t heard anyone approach, ears still feeling so full of cotton, and the fact that it’s an accent that he’s only faintly familiar with spirals his shock even further out of control.

Remarkably, the first thing he thinks is not about Mollymauk sneaking up behind him, but about how lucky it was that he hadn’t been holding his coffee. It would have ended up in his lap.

Steeling himself– he is a grown adult who can conduct himself– Caleb glances over at the elusive tiefling.

He’s half perched on the arm of the sofa, red eyes curious as he looks at Caleb. Very little is given away by his face, even though his tail swishes gently from side to side behind him. He cocks his head, and Caleb takes a deep breath to respond.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Herr Lucien.” He is very careful to call him by the name he has heard the others call him. He doesn’t wear a name tag, and never has, but some part of Caleb reminds not to give himself up by calling him a name he should not know. A sad, final measure of protection before all of it falls apart into one, big mess.

“Yeah, you do,” Molly replies. “Brevyn’s really good at picking people out if they recognize me. She said you went white as a sheet and then red like a tomato.” His tail flicks again. “Said the color shift was impressive, actually, which, coming from her, is kind of like a compliment.”

Ah– he hadn’t imagined the way Brevyn had looked at him, then. And he hadn’t imagined the way Mollymauk has been looking at him, the way he is looking at him now: gently amused, like he can see right through him. He seems so relaxed, and Caleb doesn’t know if that makes it better or worse. He is horrified, embarrassed and ashamed.

The edges bleed together. Caleb blurts out his apologies. “I’m sorry, Mollymauk, this was wildly inappropriate–” He tries to gather his papers and collect his books, but not before Molly splays a tattooed hand across his spellbook and stops him.

“Why’re you apologizing? You’ve literally been the nicest person who’s actually recognized me. Stay sat and drink your coffee.”

“I shouldn’t have–”

“You didn’t, I did,” Molly interrupts. His tail is still flicking, back and forth. Caleb is reminded of Frumpkin, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting prey. It feels a fitting comparison, in this situation. “I made that post knowing full well you wouldn’t say anything. If you wanted to bring up your familiarity with me, you would have said it to my face, literally any of the times you came back. Unless you were stalking me,” he adds, like he’s considering the possibility. “But, yeah, you aren’t.” He shrugs. “So I knew you weren’t angling for anything like that or you would have been pushing for it.”

“So, why…”

“I mostly just did it to thin out some of the possibilities. I mean, I was looking for your handle, and I would still like it because this feels a little one-sided now, but, yeah. I was looking for anything Zemnian-esque, once I figured out that’s what you were trying to order in that one time, but I never saw one and honestly, who’s going to be that obvious when we’re on the kind of sites we’re on?” Caleb winces, staring at his books, and Mollymauk continues, “and with you always at the Library of the Cobalt Soul, you could have literally just learned Zemnian on the fly, anyway. For, like, spell work and arcane shit.”

He looks up. “Why do you assume I study at the library?”

“I meannnn.” Molly waves his hand towards all of his books. “You study constantly, you have a spellbook, and we’re ten minutes from the Court. I’m not smart, but it’s not a huge leap where you might be going there.”

“Oh. Ja. That does make sense, I suppose.”

“And, I’m gonna be honest here, nevermind your screen name, I probably know more about you than you do about me,” he admits. Something on his face looks faintly… apologetic, maybe. “Nothing personal,” he promises, “but my friends are very protective of me when they know someone recognizes me. People are weird? And weird is good, weird is great, weird is fun, but when you’re flashing your dick for the internet to see, ‘weird’ can start to get a different meaning.” He leans back and shrugs. “Brev kept a little bit of a tab on you around here. It took her like a day to figure you come and go from the direction of the library and get on a bus to go home after you get done here.”

Scheiße, he hadn’t even noticed. He is usually so careful, what with the way he steals into the library to study as it is. Brevyn and Mollymauk do not have the full picture. They do not know the trepidation and danger that comes with study under the Cobalt Soul. Even with Beauregard's influence... it is terrifying, honestly. So many things in Rexxentrum still are. But he can't leave the possibility alone regardless. Barring the Academy itself– the library is the only place he will be able to learn the things he needs to. He has been taking the risk for the past year, now.

“I know that’s an invasion of privacy, I’m sorry,” Molly continues. “I can’t stop them from checking up on people who show an interest in me.” Caleb opens his mouth to argue the word choice– interest– but the tiefling is still talking. “Mostly they wanna know if they’re going to have to put the fear of god into someone or if… you know, they’ll need to call the city guard.”

With those words, Caleb is waylaid. There is so much here that he needs to unpack, but he is… momentarily… drawn to a pause by the casual statement that comes from Mollymauk’s mouth. “Calling the authorities for… people who know you as Mollymauk?”

He nods. “Once or twice? Like I said… people can be more weird than I want to deal with. There’s been a couple people who tried to get some stuff into their head because they were in my messages and I did some considerable PPV for them, but…” he trails off, and shrugs. “They backed off after a little intervention, so I’m probably one of the lucky ones.”

Of course Caleb knows– understands the potential implication of putting yourself online like Mollymauk did, but…

“Don’t make that face, love, it doesn’t do you any favors,” Molly interrupts, and smiles a fanged grin at him. “I have a good income and mostly good followers and good friends if things go bad. And,” he adds, tapping a nail against his scarred chest, “I can take care of myself, too. If I have to.” He presses the sharpened point in enough to draw a speck of blood, and before Caleb can so much as suck in a breath from surprise, the speck of blood turns to a single, frozen shard of ice that he flicks away to the floor.

The promise of magic draws him in, and for a moment, Caleb forgets who he’s talking to and why he knows him. “Hemocraft,” he says out loud, leaning a little closer. “I should have realized.”

“Every now and then,” Molly says. His scars far outnumber ‘every now and then,’ but Caleb isn’t bothered by the lie. “Obviously that is nothing I’m going to share on my porn account, but you know, I can do other things besides make coffee and masturbate.”

And there goes the moment, slamming the situation back into his face. He sits back, and tries to ignore the blush warming at his ears again. “I would not be so naïve to believe otherwise,” he murmurs, “Mollymauk.”

“I know! You’re good. I like you.” He grins, swatting his shoulder with his tail. “I just wanted to check in myself. And say thanks for supporting me.” He slides off the arm of the couch and smooths out the wrinkles in his barely there shirt. “If you’re still subbing me, I’m assuming you like what you see and hope you stick around. Online, and here.” He leans in. Caleb withdraws on principle, but not enough to not hear Mollymauk say, quieter and a little more salacious, “I wasn’t lying about the custom content. I’ll do it for free if you keep coming around.”

Caleb doesn’t know whether to be embarrassed, or… impressed. Part of him thinks he is a tiny bit impressed. He could never be so bold. And… easy confidence.

Before he can say anything, Molly winks and withdraws. He waves and heads to the back without so much as a by your leave, and leaves Caleb sitting on the couch with his coffee that’s going cold and… he’s flabbergasted. He’s flabbergasted, and just a little bit hard.

Just a little.

Mollymauk’s offer wedged fully into his brain again, he turns back to his books and tries to focus.

Caleb… goes back.

Scheiße, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. But he goes back. He tells himself it’s only for the coffee, and it would be a slight to Brevyn and company if that wasn’t part of the reason, but… deep down, he knows it’s because of Mollymauk.

The tiefling seems to be more active in the shop, flitting here and there to help out where he can. He acknowledges Caleb more than ever before, a wave and casual conversation in passing where his eyes twinkle, and Caleb can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. He watches Brevyn make Caleb’s orders when he can, and Caleb… almost gets used to his presence. He almost looks forward to it in a different way than ‘is this the person I touch my dick over?’

For the next couple of weeks, it… becomes routine. And Caleb has always appreciated those.

He supposes that is why Mollymauk looks so surprised to see him, when he lets himself into the café on a snow covered afternoon. Mostly everything is closed for the holiday, and coming here purposefully had been a bit out of the way when he had not been visiting the library, but… it isn’t as though he has anything to do otherwise. Watching the celebrations out in the snow from his quiet, boring apartment had been… he doesn’t know. Melancholic, something whispers, but he isn’t keen on acknowledging it.

Stepping into the coffee shop still feels like coming home, for… for whatever that is worth.

“Caleb,” Molly greets, waving from the table he, Brevyn, and Cree are all clustered around. The entire café is empty besides them, and Caleb hesitates even despite knowing the sign had been turned to open.

Between the three of them, he watches as Brevyn squirrels away a deep brown bottle of what is clearly liquor, and rises. “Sorry. Didn’t expect you today.”

“Ja.” Caleb nods, shrugging off his bag. “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop by to pass the time. I’m not interrupting…?”

“We’re open,” Brev says. “So you’re not interrupting. I’ll get your usual going.”

“Danke.”

“We didn’t expect anyone,” Mollymauk continues. “I mean–” He gestures towards the doors. “Heart and Hearth.”

“Ja, well, snow romps aren’t really my thing anymore,” he replies, setting his things down. “Celebrating is few and far in between.”

“Well, that’s a bit sad. Life is meant to be enjoyed, you know?”

“I do not mind quiet calm and a good cup of coffee.” He smiles over his shoulder. “It’s enough for me, Mollymauk.” There’s a flicker of amusement on Cree’s face when Caleb uses that name, and, ah, right. It’s habit by now, but–

“I’ll bring your coffee over when it’s ready,” Brevyn interrupts. “If you want anything else, let me know, but, yeah, it’s not like we’re busy. Make yourself at home, wizard man.”

“Ah, danke,” he repeats. And then, eyeing the bottle she had taken behind the register with her, “you all can carry on. Just pretend I’m not here.”

“Oh, we can’t pretend you’re not here,” Molly says, raising his glass. “But you’re welcome to something besides coffee if you want it, love.”

He chuckles, even as he decides that he will probably not take them up on the offer. It isn’t his place and… if he’s being honest, he’s always been a little bit of a lightweight. He’ll stick to his usual, and settles in quietly to wait.

Already a few pages in by the time Brevyn brings over his coffee, he doesn’t immediately notice that it is actually not Brevyn. Instead, a purple hand sets his mug down, and Mollymauk smiles when Caleb looks up in surprise. “On the house.”

“Ah. I couldn’t–”

“On the house,” Molly interrupts firmly. “If you’re gonna be here on the holiday, at least let me cover you. Have something nice today.”

“I…” He isn’t going to be able to talk Molly out of it. He can see the obstinance in his eyes. So he relents. It’s just coffee. “Thank you, Mollymauk.”

“Yeah.” He folds into one of the armchairs near the fire, tail curling into his lap. “So, no family obligations today? I assume if you were sneaking off in preparation of them, you probably would have taken us up on the booze.”

Chuckling despite himself, Caleb wraps his fingers around the mug. So much for not thinking about all of this today. But of course Mollymauk is curious; he’d walked in alone to an abandoned coffee shop on a day of celebration for family and friends. It is, as Molly had said, more than a little sad. “Not for a while, no,” he says softly, and blows on his cup of coffee. “Most of my companions are either not currently in Rexxentrum or… have their own celebrations to attend.”

Jester would have inevitably coaxed Fjord into the party that would be happening at the Coast. Beauregard is busy with work in Zadash, and Caduceus… Caleb isn’t sure the Clay family celebrate these holidays at all, but gods knew there was enough family there to go around if they did. And as for Veth, dear Veth… she had invited him down to the Coast to take part in the revelry, but she has her family and Caleb had begged off on accounts of enjoying Rexxentrum in the snow and needing to work.

“I am the odd man out,” he remarks, and takes a drink of his coffee.

Molly nods, purple hair bouncing around his ears. “Likewise. Welcome to my world,” he says, gesturing around him with outstretched arms.

Caleb considers, and volleys the question back at him. “No family obligations?” he asks softly, even though the answer is already clear.

“Shite, absolutely not. This is about the extent of my family.” He tips his head towards Brevyn and Cree. “The other three are up in Shadycreek Run, so, just us for now.”

He does not need to know these little details. It isn’t… fair, right, or beneficial. But… if he’s trying to see Mollymauk as more than just the person he follows online… maybe. He will still feel guilty, but, well… today is a day for it, anyway. So Caleb pushes, just a little. “Is that where you are from, Mollymauk?”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s been a bit? Me and Cree grew up together, in Shadycreek, and we met Brev when we were a little older? Maybe, like, twelve or something? And then there’s Otis, the curly-haired shit who works here sometimes. I don’t even know what pronouns they’re into right now, actually– it changes– but they’re from Trostenwald originally. And Zoran came from the Coast, and Tyffial, who I think maybe came from around Nogvurot? Fuck, I don’t know. But anyway, yeah, all met in the Run.” He settles more comfortably back in the armchair, tucking his legs up under him. “Once we got a little money we got out, wandered for a while, and then eventually found out Brev’s mom left her this place,” he gestures around the café, “in her will and yeah, here we are. Mostly permanently, but sometimes we end up heading up to the Run if something calls us.” He shrugs. “I like it here. It’s big and there’s lots of fun and you can make good coin.”

“It is certainly all of that.” Caleb has read of Shadycreek Run. Not extensively, but he knows it’s… kind of a shithole, if records are anything to go by. Rexxentrum is a step up by all means. Caleb can say that even on top of all of the corruption he is familiar with here. “You ended up here because of the shop?”

“Oh, well, sort of? We were already in Rexxentrum and it wasn’t until a while later that Brev found out about the shop. A few of ‘em had followed me here when I was on the hunt for– someone.”

“Ah?” He clocks the hesitation. He doesn’t ask for details. Instead, he simply questions, “did you find them?”

“Yeahhhh.” Molly’s tail twitches, and he curls it around his arm. “So, technically, I was lying. There’s still family. There’s still a family. I had a sister. We had split up when we were a lot younger, so she could get out of the Run and get somewhere nice. Here. Rexxentrum. The plan was always to go find her once I had the means, but.” He shrugs. “By the time I did, she was someone else. A lady of a house with a nice husband and some little fiends up and about. She didn’t want to see me. I don’t blame her.”

“Ah,” Caleb murmurs, feeling more awkward. He had not expected the– information dump, especially after the hesitancy. But Molly continues,

“I was a bad association from a shitty life that was in the past. She didn’t want that, or need it. So, I was kind of just here, in this town I didn’t know, and didn’t have a plan, and then Brev found out about this place and we all kind of got weirdly settled? Like, I didn’t expect this. This is domestic. This is weird. But I like it! She pays me off the books to help out here,” he gestures at Brevyn, “and we have our own little place. And I do dick pics for extra cash,” he adds, grinning, and Caleb immediately looks down into his cup as his neck grows hot, “but you already knew that part.”

“Uh, ja.”

“Stop talking his ear off, Lucien,” Cree calls. “He came to relax, not to listen to your prattle.”

“Oi, some people would pay to hear me prattle,” he retorts, and flashes a middle finger towards her with a grin. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Oh, leave him,” Brevyn says. “More booze for us.”

“Don’t you dare drink all of that.”

Brevyn smiles, as a piece of hair tumbles down past her ear. “All’s fair in love and war, Lu.”

“Ah–” That reminds him. The name, the ones the others call him: Lucien. Caleb’s in a habit now. Mollymauk is Mollymauk. He hasn’t known him as anything else, until he had starting coming to this café. But he also hadn’t missed the look on Cree’s face, a few minutes ago. “I meant to ask,” he continues quietly, as Molly’s eyes lock back onto him. “Should I call you Lucien, like the others?”

“Oh.” For a moment, Caleb thinks he almost looks taken aback. But then it passes, and Mollymauk tips his head in thought. Now his hair falls into his face, too, and he brushes it aside impatiently before it can get tangled in the silver chain looping from his ear. “I mean, the given name is Lucien, Lucien Tavelle, but it isn’t necessarily a preference. I stopped bothering with anything given a long time ago, but mostly the others call me by it because, well, it was the only thing I had when I was younger. ‘Mollymauk’ is sort of a newer thing. Just a couple years now. I started going by it online because, that’s obvious, but it’s also like… I’m used to it now, too? My followers call me Molly. Some of my best relationships that aren’t even porn adjacent call me Molly.” He shrugs. “I like both, I respond to both. I kinda think I like hearing you call me Molly, because your accent makes it sound even prettier, but I literally don’t mind either way. If ‘Mollymauk’ feels too adult content oriented for you to be comfortable talking to me in real life, call me Lucien.” Caleb looks down at his coffee. “But if you’re comfortable with ‘Mollymauk,’ I am Mollymauk. I chose it. It’s me.”

He nods slowly, considering. It does, in a way, feel too… indicative of a relationship that is skewed by online interaction. But it feels authentic. As much as his own name does, anyway. “Caleb Widogast,” he says softly, gesturing to himself. “Since I suppose we’re making, um, proper introductions.”

“Caleb Widogast,” Molly repeats, and nods. “Lovely name!”

Having a chosen name that feels authentic… Caleb understands, more than this tiefling could know. “Likewise,” he says, looking up again. “Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly beams.

A few days later, he does something unthinkable. He types out a message on his phone, attaches it to a tip, and sends it privately to Mollymauk before he can talk himself out of it. It’ll reveal his presence on Molly’s profile, but… at this point? He figures he probably owes him that much. And, honestly, it’s not like there’s anything untoward on his account. He lurks. Lurks, and likes, and now sends tips to Mollymauk on OnlyFans and awaits whatever happens next.

His curiosity always gets the best of him, and… well… Molly’s Winter’s Crest spread had been… nice. On top of everything else.

That’s all he writes in his message, which in retrospect, he realizes, probably sounds more intimidating than what he’s aiming for, but… too late now. He stares at the little message until he has to put his phone down and get back to reading. He is nervous and jittery, and guilty– always that. But at least he can say he doesn’t owe Mollymauk for the coffee now, both what he’d covered on Heart and Hearth and the second time, a few days after the holiday. At least he can say that.

There is no reply by the time Caleb settles in to start ritual spellcasting, and, for a while, he almost forgets about OnlyFans and Mollymauk entirely. But only for a while. By the time he finally slumps back against the couch, back sore and knees aching, his inbox is lit up with a message.

His palms are instantly clammy.

It’s a simple response. One word. A question that Caleb can practically sense the mistrust in as it reads,

The suspicion tracks. He sighs, drags his hand across his face, and sends back a confirmation.

This time, a response comes almost instantaneous.

Caleb winces, reading his own screen name thrown back at him. Yes, he had picked it himself. The temptation of his initials spelling out the internet’s approximation of a term of endearment had seemed ironically amusing, at the time. Mostly because he had made the profile without much intention of ever using it.

On the other hand, no one would suspect Caleb Widogast from it. Overt and covert simultaneously.

He isn’t wrong, necessarily, but– why does that make his palms sweat? Caleb hesitates, and types back,

This was why– this was exactly why Caleb doesn’t get too close to any of the people he follows. Why he’s never sent anything to Molly here online, or interacted past the general follow and like. He doesn’t want to create false expectations, both for himself or for Molly.

Caleb… knows, as much as he can from a few weeks visiting a coffee shop and half dreading, half anticipating meeting him there. Literally everything about this ostentatious tiefling intimated that he was open to both fun and friends. There had never been a moment of doubt on his character, which, Caleb realizes, probably is a stupid assumption since he still barely knows him. But he likes to think he has a read. He likes to think he has learned to get a good read on people, nowadays. He is so distrustful, these days, but Mollymauk just seems… fine. Maybe a little cagey, but Caleb understands that, too, especially after the unintentional breach in privacy.

He taps his thumb against the phone, considering, and sends a message back.

… he doesn’t know what to say back to that, really. It still feels like false expectations. The dynamic still feels messy. But he likes Mollymauk, he thinks. Companionship is messy, messier than accidentally meeting one of his favorite models from this sort of website. But Molly has been kind, and comfortable, and… honestly? A lot less flustered about this thing than Caleb has been. The normalcy has quieted the raging guilt. If only just a little.

Heart and Hearth had been nice. It’s been a long while since Heart and Hearth had been nice, for him. That isn’t lost on him. It’s strange, letting himself be so close to someone so new. He has to continuously remind himself that he doesn’t know Mollymauk. Not really. Having memorized the shape of his dick wasn’t knowing him. And yet… learning he’s from Shadycreek Run, that’s a little bit more knowing. And Caleb likes to learn. He seeks knowledge like air, and mysteries are there to be solved.

This walking rainbow of a man is certainly a mystery. So, maybe it’s the intrigue.

Maybe it’s intrigue, but maybe he’s just a little bit lonely, too.

Mollymauk… definitely works his way into becoming a friend. It’s strange. Caleb is used to being wary of people, holding them at arm’s length. Even his friends, the ones scattered to the winds– and, Scheiße, he really needs to get on something about that– had taken… months. Months, before he had started to open up to them a little bit. And there is still so much they don’t know. There are still things he cannot share. But Mollymauk… well, he has a way.

Mostly that way is through coffee. Unlike before, when Molly was a passing presence in the café, he seems to be there every day Caleb is. At the very least, he does not keep his presence solely to the back room, and bustles over to greet Caleb when it looks like he isn’t so deep into his books. Sometimes it is just a ‘hello.’ Sometimes, it is a conversation about work and study. And sometimes– depending how the day goes– it is a conversation of a slightly more personal nature. He carefully tells Molly of his friends, about Veth and Jester specifically. A little about his home, and more about himself. The magic he is studying. Shareable dreams he hopes to achieve.

He leaves his trauma out, of course, but Mollymauk seems interested enough even with the boring details. It’s definitely still strange, to have another person take interest in him like this. But Caleb knows just enough about friendship to know that… this is that.

Molly has his usual order prepared before Caleb even shows up, occasionally covers it while Caleb’s ears burn in embarrassment, and beams at him every time he shows up and every time he leaves. One late night, he offers to walk Caleb to the bus, even as Brevyn rolls her eyes and looks smug from beyond. Caleb declines, but his palms are still sweaty long after he is on his way home.

Mollymauk does all that, and then– every so often– he sends a message on OnlyFans that sends Caleb’s heart into his throat for altogether different reasons.

Caleb hesitates at the locked symbol, and lets his eyes glaze over the caption that is included.

First, Caleb recognizes that the coffee comment probably means that this content is specifically for him. Secondly, it’s undoubtedly going to be a dick pic.

… in for a penny, in for a platinum.

Caleb swallows, and confirms the payment for unlocking Molly’s content.

The first thing he notices is the lingerie. It must be a proclivity of Molly’s, because various sets show up fairly often. Not that Caleb minds. He minds a lot less than he should, taking in this tiefling in a baby blue pair of lacy panties. The scars on his skin. The prominence of his hip bones. The swell of his prick situated in an advantageous position for the camera, barely hidden away by that sheer fabric.

The matching belt and garters, thin, strappy things that criss cross over his stomach and across his thighs.

In the next picture, the swell of his ass exposed to the camera, the thin strip of the thong vanishing into the cleft of his ass. Right, that’s– Scheiße. Caleb would still like to have his hands on that ass and fingers tucking underneath all of those snaps and straps.

And the next photo, full body, exposing the nice sheer bra held snugly around Molly’s flat chest. It’s adorned with little floral designs in the lace, and criss-crossing front closures that beg to be pulled. It, of course, matches the color of the rest of the set. It’s nice; Caleb appreciates the symmetry of the set and Mollymauk’s willingness to match when he has been so free and easy in other photos. But all of that takes less precedence to the fact that, for the first time in these photos, Molly is showing his face.

Hair in tight curls starting to fall messily down around his ears, clawed fingers raking through the waves as he poses for the photo. Grinning, fangs exposed, eyes staring into his soul from the screen. And, also for the first time, makeup immaculately drawn on his face: eyeliner and shadow, and a dark tint to his lips. The piercings in his ears and horns glitter in whatever light had been there, and Caleb stares, and scrolls, through Molly’s various poses, mouth going more and more dry as the photos progress to the tiefling cupping his prick through those pretty lacy things and– and–

– and it’s with a start that Caleb realizes the background in those photos. The environment around the tiefling, and where he’s perched his mostly bare purple ass: on the countertop at Brevyn’s coffee shop, with all of the usual coffee paraphernalia in the back.

He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t– he’d been too caught up in a photoset that actually shows off the entirety of the man he’s been becoming real friends with, and– Scheißrumgemurkse. The café! Where they– Caleb mutters under his breath and has to take a minute to just– put his face in his hands. Honestly, he’s completely unsurprised as much as he is still stunned, but– of course Mollymauk would– of course–

“Coffee man,” he groans, and scrubs at his face. It’s– terrible. Unprofessional and overstepping boundaries. But Caleb likes that. He still likes Mollymauk’s confidence. He likes that he is so bold. Those pictures? Are incredibly hot, and Caleb’s going to take a good long while to memorize them completely.

Even still, he sends back a message that just reads,

Caleb laughs despite himself, scrolling– one-handed– through the photos again.

He thinks about it the next time he goes to the café, of course. He knows that’s partially the point, mostly entirely the point, but he can’t help but hesitate, eyes lingering over the countertop as he stands awkwardly and waits for Otis to make his coffee. He wonders how long Mollymauk had sat himself there, mostly bare and half erect. How long he’d been touching himself in the spot where his espresso and croissant is going to be sat. Not to say that there isn’t protection by way of cardboard cups and plastic wrap, but it’s the principle of the thing.

“Don’t worry,” a voice says into his ear. He jumps, and then freezes. “I may like to stage a good set, but I’m also not as disgusting to leave my mark anywhere it isn’t wanted.” He shrugs as Caleb looks over his shoulder. “I disinfected everything that night. We do sell food here and all,” he says, and sticks his tongue out. “C’mon. She’ll bring your coffee out, don’t worry.”

“I’m not a waiter, you shit,” Otis gripes.

“No, but you love me. You know you love me.” Mollymauk rests his hand in the small of Caleb’s back and guides him back to the table. “She loves me. But, seriously, I want to show you something.”

“Hm?”

“It’s silly, but I’m excited, and the others think I’m crazy but we’re gonna have a little thing because of it, anyway.” He leans in over Caleb’s shoulder once he’s taken a seat, close enough that Caleb can smell the lavender from his skin. For not the first time, he wonders if it’s shampoo, cologne, or something else entirely. It smells nice, calming, even as the tiefling presses too close into his personal space and holds his phone careful for Caleb to see. The cautious nature of it is enough to distract Caleb from the proximity, and he peers at the stats on Molly’s phone. “I hit 300,” Molly whispers, and taps a pointed nail on his subscriber count. “I mean, that’s crazy. It’s so crazy. I’m not cheap. I stopped being cheap a few months in. 300 is wild for me,” he whispers. “What do I do with that many people? I can only touch my dick so many different ways, but they still keep subbing.” He laughs, but even as his breath ruffles Caleb’s hair, his eyes are scanning over the stats on the screen and practically popping out of his head.

Of course he knows Mollymauk has a following. His follower count had always been hidden, but comments and likes were more plentiful than some other profiles and… he is attractive. Very much so. But the sheer amount of cumulative likes… gods, Mollymauk suddenly feels like a celebrity on this platform. Caleb could never. He doesn’t, obviously, but– he could never if he tried. He’d be lucky to get one subscriber. But here is this tiefling, grinning over his shoulder, with three hundred of them eating out of his hand.

“I am literally going to kill you if you don’t stop showing that off in my coffee shop,” Brevyn says from behind them, and Molly laughs as he fumbles away his phone. She puts down Caleb’s order, as Mollymauk wiggles happily, and says,

“It’s only Caleb, he follows me anyway. And you love my porn, Brev, you know you do!”

“I love that it pays your half of our rent.”

“And that it buys us a few bottles of liquor and a nice charcuterie board for our party this weekend.” Molly raises his eyebrows, and flicks his tail happily.

“That is true.”

“You love and support me in all ways, darling, I know.” He prods Brevyn’s shoulder with his tail, and braces his hands on the table to lean into her space. “You’ll help me with photos for next week, right?”

She rolls her eyes. Ruffles his hair. And turns away. “You’re terrible, Lucien,” she says, smiling, and heads back to the counter.

“That’s a ‘yes,’ right? I’m taking it as a ‘yes!’” He turns the full force of his smile back on Caleb– whose mind had been wandering, again, watching the interactions between the two. Our rent. Our party. Help with OnlyFans photos. The familiarity between the two of them– and squeezes his shoulder. “Seriously though, there’s a party. And by party, I mean booze and cheese and fancy meat with the coffee gang and I wanted to invite you.”

Caleb blinks owlishly. “Mollymauk… I couldn’t–”

“You’re part of the gang. You’re part of my coffee shop gang. Please?” he asks, and… for the first time in a long time, Caleb wants to. He wants to follow Molly into less formal spaces, into things that are not coffee or adult content. He had been wanting a social life. And… he likes these people, for better or for worse. He has been lonely, and he likes these new friends.

Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can get all of his group together one day, to introduce Molly and his friends. He doesn’t know if he’s really owed that sort of thing, with such a large network, but it’s nice to think about all the same.

“If you’re sure you want me there?”

“I absolutely want you there,” Mollymauk replies. “Here, I’ll put my info in your phone so we can stop messaging on OnlyFans all the time.”

“Ah, ja, sure.”

He is giving you his number, something whispers in his head. Caleb tries to push it away. This hot tiefling you have an unhealthy crush on is giving you his number. It feels so surreal, as Molly takes his phone, coos over the wallpaper of him and Frumpkin, and chatters excitedly as he types his contact information in.

It feels so surreal to be given this, but Caleb takes it, for now, nonetheless.

“You didn’t tell me you could dance.”

Caleb chuckles, squeezing his palms against Mollymauk’s waist. His cheeks feel fever warm. His head is muzzy. “I’m not doing a very good job at it,” he says conspiratorially, and laughs when Molly squeezes his arm in return.

“That, wizard man, is a bald-faced lie.”

“I am not usually so unsteady.” The drink has gone to his head. He remembers doing this once before, with Jester, in the early burgeoning days of his crush on her. It’s almost sad, because it’s almost the same exact thing, right down to intoxication and tieflings. He guesses he’s just weak for tieflings getting him drunk and wanting to dance. Domesticity, and all of that.

This time, he is careful enough to keep his memories of Astrid and Eadwulf tucked away, even if he is unsteady, and wibbly wobbly on his feet.

“If this is ‘unsteady,’ I’d hate to see you shit-faced drunk.”

“I hate to see me shit-faced drunk,” Caleb agrees.

The music ends. Otis and Tyffial squabble over what to put up on the playlist next. Brevyn and the others are drinking somewhere nearby. Mollymauk’s home is small but bright and colorful, smelling of lavender and incense and coffee. The music is over, but Molly spins him one last time regardless, and Caleb almost trips over his own feet and Mollymauk’s tail.

“Scheiße–”

“Sorry.” Molly steadies him. His red eyes are bright, and his cheeks are flush. “I guess you are a little wobbly, huh?”

A little wobbly. Caleb takes a deep breath, nodding. And then another, and he tries to pull in the remains of his sobriety and mitigate this situation before it turns out like Jester had. He had said things he hadn’t wanted to, before. Wanted to do things he shouldn’t have dared. He had fallen in love with her, that night. He can’t afford those lapses again. So he is going to be responsible. He has to be responsible. He is going to be responsible… very soon. “I should probably sit down,” he says, dragging his hands back through his hair.

“Sitting down sounds fucking amazing,” Molly agrees, and wedges himself onto the futon after fetching them some water.

Caleb is still pondering the closeness, and Jester, and responsibility when Otis scurries in with a toast for all of them. He blinks over his mostly full cup of water, and disregards it momentarily for the shot as Molly raises his own in cheers.

“To 300 more subs!” he crows, as the others roll their eyes or cheer, respectively.

“To your dick,” Brevyn says, clinking his glass.

“Long and hard may it reign!”

Cree groans, and Zoran is already pouring her another drink. Tyffial and her girlfriend roll their eyes from where they’re curled into each other in front of the fire. A smirk tugs at Caleb’s lips, and he drinks willingly to push back the thoughts. Long and hard indeed.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to notice his grasp of time is slipping. One minute, he is considering responsibility, Mollymauk’s nudes, and his own friends. The next, Mollymauk’s bare toes have wiggled under his thigh as he chats, animated, to all of them about something. And the next, Caleb is so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open, struck with the knowledge that he’d done this again.

Just like the time with Jester and his friends. Except now there is no tucking him into a hotel room to sleep it off, and a rideshare is… long, and he is tired, and woozy as the alcohol catches up with him.

He wonders how long this party has been going, just as someone says his name.

“Caleb.”

Something nudges him from behind, and a feminine voice says, “not down for the count yet, are you?”

He wants to say that he’s not. He’s just a little tired and he needs to be going. But his eyelids are heavy, and he is distracted by the way something cool and wet spills across one of his knees.

“Oh, shite.”

The cup of water vanishes from his hand just as he remembers he’d been holding onto it, and, Scheiße. He is truly, unfortunately, drunk. And he was supposed to be the responsible one. Gottverdammt.

“Caleb, love.” There are hands on his cheeks. He doesn’t open his eyes, because this is– terrible. Maybe, if he takes a little nap, he can get himself together. He has to.

“– such a lightweight?”

“– bloody hell,” Molly’s voice mutters. “– I don’t know where he lives–”

“– phone?”

“– dunno the–”

“Shit.”

Conversation is fleeting. Just as well. It makes Caleb a little nauseous to try and piece it together. He just needs a nap, just a tiny nap. Then he’ll go home and get out of their hair.

“No, love, here we go.” Something jostles him again. Caleb mumbles, annoyed, and tries to accommodate to the shift. “Have a sip of this, love, you can’t pass out on the party yet–” He takes a drink of whatever Molly provides him with. It’s lukewarm, and does little to help the nausea. He mutters, and tries to turn his head.

“– do I do, Brev–”

He tries to prop his head on his hand. He tries to follow the conversation, but it gets lost in the alcohol haze. He sits quiet, instead, letting the chatter turn into a tinny, worried thing in the background.

He wakes up with a raging fucking headache and an overwhelming urge to vomit. It takes a minute, to remember… what he can. The lapse in judgment. Happy moments. Dancing. Hands on his brow. Getting drunk. Getting so drunk, again… he needs to sleep it off, he knows. It had been stupid and irresponsible and he is paying for it now. Scheiße, he is going to owe Mollymauk an apology. He vaguely remembers the worry in the tiefling’s prominent accent. Only vaguely, but he will still need to apologize once he is able to get out of bed.

It is, then, Caleb realizes, that this is not his bed.

For a second, he freezes with the implication of waking up in a place that is not familiar. But he is still clothed, in his things from last night, and while he feels like shit, it doesn’t feel like– anything else on an ill-advised night. He– he’ll evaluate that, in a little bit. For now, he shuffles further onto his side and– and he recognizes this bed. Oh. Fick mich, he thinks, heart rising into his throat again, because not only did he not make it home last night, he is waking up in Mollymauk Tealeaf’s bed.

Scheiße, he thinks, and squeezes his eyes shut. Please tell him he did not fuck Mollymauk last night. It can’t be like that. It isn’t like that. Yes, he’s thought of it a fair few times, but not in a desperate, drunken haze with someone he is starting to call friend–

He glances over his shoulder, just to face the music and get it over with. But he’s alone. This is definitely Molly’s bed, familiar from photos and videos and Caleb tries not to think of all the times he has watched the tiefling get off atop this blanket he’s wrapped up in. His dick can’t compete with the sour feeling in his stomach, the dry mouth, and the urge to find his shoes and run.

There are no signs that anything untoward had happened. And Caleb– trusts Molly. He does. For better or worse. But he thinks he will vomit if he lays here in this bed any longer, so he carefully shuffles free of the sheets, and prepares himself for the walk of shame.

Scheiße.

He does not make it to the front door before his surroundings pull him to a stop. The apartment is mostly quiet, the evidence of their drinking still around the sitting room. But mostly what stops him is Mollymauk himself. He’s curled up at Brevyn’s side on the futon, clearly still deep asleep. His hair is in a messy bun, and he’s tucked snug beneath Brevyn’s arm. One of his hands fisted in a blanket on both of their laps.

Scheiße, he had been so stupid.

“You’re awake,” Brevyn whispers, and Caleb jumps as he realizes she’s staring at him. She was either not asleep, or just fine tuned to noise in the house. “Wizard man. Gave us a bit of a scare.”

Caleb licks his dry lips, and rasps, “I’m so sorry, Brevyn. I am, um, not great at holding my alcohol.”

“Evidently.” She follows his gaze to Molly, and shrugs the shoulder the tiefling isn’t sleeping against. “He went into a panic. Sobered him up real quick. We made sure you weren’t going to puke for a while and Zoran carried you into bed once the the worst of it had time to wear off.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t, uh, I owe you all. Let me know.”

She just shakes her head. “Couldn’t get you home since, well, none of us know where you live. But, nah, it happens. It’s happened to all of us. So, don’t feel bad. You’re just one of the gang now.”

“Ja,” Caleb murmurs, and goes to finally put on his shoes. “I am still sorry.”

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving. You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over.”

“I always look like that.” He quirks a tiny smile, and steadies himself against the wall. “I will be fine. Tell Molly I’m– sorry.” He has no other words to describe it. “I ruined his night.”

“I mean, it was a party, but it was pretty unimportant,” Brevyn says. “He’ll be more disappointed that you left before he woke up, you know.”

What is one more disappointment? he does not say. He doesn’t say it, and just smiles frankly instead. “Why have two drunks to take care of when you can just have one? I’ll be fine,” he promises. “I will send him a text when I get home.”

“… fine.” Brevyn looks deeply– something. Suspicious. Annoyed. Caleb can’t quite place it, in his hungover state. Mostly, it just makes him feel bad, guilt-ridden and a failure. “I get it. I do. Getting unexpectedly drunk makes you feel weird and messed up. But… I don’t like seeing him disappointed, Caleb,” she says, and sounds a little… it sounds like a warning. Caleb’s skin prickles with shame, and he fumbles into his coat. “I love him. I don’t like seeing him sad. He doesn’t deserve it.”

… on that, they are in total agreement.

“I know,” Caleb agrees softly, and goes.

He sends a text when he's home. It’s a habit, from the Nein, after nights that ran late or where emotions ran high. Just to check in, just to let your friends know you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. It’s just a habit, and Caleb does it without thinking once he gets home.

Next time, Caleb thinks, and pulls his pillow closer. The nausea has worn off, but the headache is lingering. He doesn’t think he wants there to be a ‘next time’ of this bit in particular.

He freezes with his thumb on the screen. For a second, it feels like his mind blue screens, and then he narrowly avoids his phone dropping on his nose. A movie. He leaves his phone where it’s fallen to his clavicle and stares at the ceiling. He isn’t stupid. He is not– naïve. He is also not seventeen any longer, so the suggestion of a movie almost makes him laugh as much as it stupefies him, because… you could get coffee, when it was your job. You could be invited to hang out by your friends. But there is intention to this. There is intention to the phrasing. Can I take you, Mollymauk has asked. He’d asked.

Yes, Caleb wants to say. Because it is. This whole situation has not ceased to be. But… he doesn’t want to say that. He has enjoyed the past few weeks with Mollymauk. Learning a little bit more about him outside of his extracurricular activities. Learning about him as a person. And if Molly wants to… ask him out… is there really a reason Caleb should balk away from that? Beauregard is always on him about his social life, and Molly is– gods help him– he’s fun.

He promises, for what it’s worth.

He is thrilled and terrified alike.

Mollymauk waves from across the counter when Caleb shuffles into the café on Monday afternoon, and hurries over to the espresso machine to prepare the usual. So some things haven’t changed. That’s good. A positive. An unfortunate episode of drinking and being asked on a date hadn’t shattered the way they interact, in the first few moments since this weekend. The prospect of a terrifying but necessary face to face conversation about… intentions? still makes his palms itch, but seeing Mollymauk act his usual does a little to help dissuade that.

He’s Mollymauk. He isn’t someone who would just let a friend wallow in silence. Somehow, Caleb knows this to be one hundred percent fact. So he will take his head out of the sand. He will not run away.

He meanders to the counter to pay for his coffee. Molly leans across to ask, “how busy are you today? With your books?”

“Um, the same as usual? Finishing up some copies to my spellbook is the main goal, but it shouldn’t take over an hour. Why?”

“I know you just got here,” he continues, popping a lid on the coffee. A to-go cup. He slides it across the counter and tilts his head. “But can we go for a walk? Do a walk and talk for a few?”

Oh. “Ah, ja, if that’s what you’d like?” He’d assumed they would just sit in front of the fire as usual, but… maybe a walk and talk is good. Away from Mollymauk’s friends, the potential of interruption. It will help burn off the nervous energy, as if Mollymauk Tealeaf is afflicted by that sort of thing. “That sounds nice, yeah.”

“Fantastic.” Molly nudges Cree on the way out from behind the counter. “Hey, I’m going out for a few. If Brev comes back from lunch, cover me?”

“What– Lu.” Her ears twitch, and she looks at him in exasperation. “I’ll be manning this place alone.”

“I mean.” Molly gestures to the empty coffee shop. “It’s not like there’s anyone here. Besides, this is courtesy, I’m telling you out of courtesy! Since, you know, I’m not clocked in or fireable.” He sticks his tongue out before grabbing his coat. “I won’t be long. If something goes wrong, call and I’ll be here in a blink.” He kisses the top of her head and joins up with Caleb. “C’mon, walk with me for a bit.”

“Ja. Sure.”

“And we can talk,” Molly says, falling into pace next to him as they step outside. “Not that I mind talking in front of them, I’m an open book, but they’re worried about me and you and the fact that I kind of got attached?” He gestures, as Caleb ducks his head at the easy admission. “They were worried and still are.”

He stares down at his coffee, warming his hands as they walk. “They don’t like me.”

“No, they do like you, I think that’s part of the problem. They think you’re too nice, or casual, or something, which is fair, that’s a thing to be worried about after you recognized me the way you did. But I don’t get that from you.” He shrugs, tail twitching lazily behind him. “I think you’re loyal and determinated and lonely, but not in the desperate way that makes you dangerous. I trust you. Maybe that makes me naïve but yeah, I don’t believe you’re dangerous.”

You don’t know how wrong you are, Caleb thinks, even as he tries not to think about it. But it’s always there. Always. The burning of fire beneath his fingertips and the screams of his parents on a dark, cold night. Scheiße, Mollymauk could not be any more wrong about him. He tightens his hold on his coffee, and lets his feet carry him down the walkway on reflex as Molly continues.

“Maybe we met in a different way, but everybody has to meet somewhere. And nobody knows anybody until they, you know, get to know them, which is what we’ve been doing, and what I want to do more of, hopefully?” He tilts his head towards Caleb, beaming hopefully. “But you asked me about Brevyn, so, that first: yeah, straight up, we fuck a bit.”

Ah, he had thought– he had thought there had been something there–

“But it’s mostly just that. I think I really did love her, and sort of still do, I guess, but romance wasn’t something we were ever going to have. We agreed on that a while back. So we’re vastly overprotective of each other, I’d die for her, she’d die for me, and we live together and sometimes fuck just the two of us, sometimes with others, but it’s not… serious?” He wrinkles his nose, and his tail lashes a little harder. “I hate saying it like that. I take everything I do seriously. Anything we’ve done together has been great and I’m not ashamed of that. I don’t regret it. But, I mean, in terms of you needing to know if I’m already in a romantic relationship? No. We aren’t like that. Never were and never will be. I know how that sounds,” he adds, “but it’s true.”

Never were and never will be. Yeah, Caleb knows how that sounds. How easy it could be to make empty promises. He shouldn’t trust that, but he casts no aspirations about arrangements like Mollymauk and Brevyn’s. And… he trusts Molly. If there had been doubt before, there is none left now: he’d been left vulnerable to the entire group that night at the party, laid himself bare in ways he hadn’t intended to– ever, to anyone, not even his own friends– and they’d taken care of him. Kept him from choking on his own vomit and tucked him, alone, into a bed to sleep it off. Things could have been disastrous. And… from the vague memory he has of the concern in Mollymauk’s voice, the tiefling had been… nothing but sweet, honestly.

More than he deserved.

“Hey.” Mollymauk nudges his shoulder, but gently enough that it doesn’t bump the coffee from his hands. “Don’t get stuck in your head.”

Right… right. He has to move forward. It’s the only way to keep going. It’s the only way to make amends and fix everything that had gone wrong for him. Molly’s right. He can’t do that by being stuck in his head. “Ja, sorry. I’m listening. I’m thinking.”

“Thinking too hard.” He looks back ahead. “Like I said, reciprocation of feelings is a luxury, not a necessity, so if you’re not interested, that’s okay, and we’re still friends. We can still be friends, right?”

“I…” Gods, this one is chaotic. Caleb barely has time to gather his thoughts, and Molly is already pushing ahead. “I still want to be friends, ja,” he says, softly, and ducks his face to hide behind his coffee cup. “But I did not say I wasn’t interested in reciprocation, either, Mollymauk.”

“Yeah?” He’s looking again, voice careful but… there is excitement, in those red, searching eyes. Excitement, for feelings from Caleb. “I know things are complicated–”

“More complicated than you know,” Caleb murmurs.

“Mm, things that left you broken, right?” Caleb startles at the sheer exposure of the statement, but Molly just shrugs, and smiles softly. “Like attracts like, love. I see it in your eyes. That’s why I’m being delicate. This is me being delicate. You were hurt, and I’d like to do something about that because I like you.”

“… ah.” Caleb murmurs.

“But I also don’t wanna do something that’s going to hurt you worse. So, only if you’d like, love. Whatever you want.”

“What do you want?” He tips his head towards Molly again. “You’re a kind proponent of my comfort, Mollymauk, but you are the one who was found out by a fan.”

“You’re not a fan anymore. You’re a friend.” Molly shrugs. “And I wouldn’t mind being more than that, too. I would really not mind trying being more.”

“So… a date.”

He nods, a little more enthusiastically. “A date! Like I said before.”

“Ja.” The word slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. “Okay.” And he doesn’t really want to stop it. Caleb likes this tiefling. He likes him a lot more than he probably should. But it’s because of that that he wants to see where this leads. He’d liked Mollymauk Tealeaf as a construct long before he had ever met him, true, but this… this is different. It is a different like, now. Something deeper. Something more unknown. He just can’t let that go.

… make no mistake he is still definitely a fan, but then he supposes getting off to your partner dressing in lingerie and ropes is an acceptable response, either way.

Partner. Scheiße, he has not had one of those in so long.

“Yeah?” Molly pulls him to a stop, hand at his elbow and eyes gleaming. “By your own free will? I didn’t talk you into it or anything?”

Caleb chuckles, a puff of condensation and Molly’s eyes softening further. “I did not need much convincing,” he admits. “It is– baffling, but– ja. I want to, Mollymauk. Yes.”

“Fuck yeah,” Molly breathes. He squeezes his elbow, and opens his mouth to say something else, which is just about the moment the wind whips through and steals the breath from Caleb’s lungs. They are still firmly in winter. Mollymauk full body shudders, pulling away to rub his hands against his arms. “Shite. It’s cold as tits. I can’t stand the cold.”

Who wanted to go for a walk? Caleb doesn’t say. Instead, he points out Mollymauk’s colorful– if not lacking– coat. “You need a heavier coat, Herr Tealeaf.”

“I know, but I hate not wearing this. This is my coat. It’s like my comfort thing, you know? A friend got me this coat.”

“I think your friend would want you to be warm.”

“Probably.” Molly relents, and shoves his hands in his sleeves. “Maybe she can bring me something nice when she visits from Xhorhas.” The drop of the name of the dangerous, expansive wasteland to the east interests him, but he doesn’t ask. He’ll maybe, now, have plenty of time to learn, more about Mollymauk and more about the friends he doesn’t know. He maybe has opportunity. He is maybe a little excited. “I’ll just freeze in the meantime,” Molly laments.

Caleb chuckles and… is going to be bold. He is going to be just a little bold. While they’re already warm from the cup of coffee held between his palms, Caleb touches his thumbs together and murmurs the incantation to push the magic to his hands. Then he offers one to Mollymauk, questioning but intent.

“Oh, I would love to hold your hand.” He barely grabs Caleb’s hand before his attention jerks down to it, and then, eyes wide, back to his face. “Fuck, that’s hot. Like, I mean, not figuratively. Literally. Warm. Is that a spell? Is that your magic?” He squeezes Caleb’s fingers. Now his face is going to get warm, too.

“Ja. That is my magic.”

“I love it. That’s great. Thank you,” he adds, and laces their fingers together tighter. “Can you conjure a hearth while you’re at it?”

He hums a laugh, and shakes his head. “My talents are still limited in that regard, I think. But, the café should still be warm–”

“Oh, please, back to the café, love!” Mollymauk agrees readily, and leads the way while still holding Caleb’s hand.

“What’s weirder here, in terms of the ‘progression of our relationship,’” Mollymauk asks one day, “unabashedly asking to come back to your place or asking you to come over to watch me set a scene?”

Caleb chokes over his coffee, just a little. He doesn’t raise his head as he feels eyes of the patrons in the café glance his way. As if Mollymauk’s question was not enough to make his cheeks flush to begin with.

Molly continues, unaffected. “I know asking to go to your place sounds full of wild connotation, and I’m not against that, but I want you to know it doesn’t have to be that. But then, on the other hand, if I’m doing stuff you might like to see, that’s great, but I know that’s also a lot. I mean, it’s my job. It’s just a job. It’s just a pretty normal thing, for me. Brevyn’s helped me set scenes and it’s never been that kind of thing. But,” he says, straightening a bangle around his tail, “I think it’s different, with me and you.”

“Ah. Ja,” Caleb murmurs, very cognizant of the scant space between them on the sofa. “Probably a little different.”

“I mean, obviously my stuff is sexual. It’s supposed to be, that’s the point of porn. And I know you’ve gotten off to it before.” He can practically hear his eyes twinkling. It isn’t a question. And it isn’t an untruth. “But I think it’s different to be, like, front and center. Like I said, me and Brevyn never did anything that came from the stuff I’ve done for my account, so it isn’t like… well, I mean, don’t get me wrong. Getting off is always nice, but… getting tied up and shit is never really anything past a little teasing or, like, begging Brev to help me out of my shit when I really have to pee during a photo shoot.” He shrugs. “I don’t want to make you an active participant in a sexual situation you might not necessarily be ready for, that’s all. Either way. Not at my place or yours.”

Gods, that sounds– Scheiße, he doesn’t know. Thrilling and terrifying in one. There’s a part, a large part, of himself that would very much like to see Molly… unraveled… in such a way, in reality. Not through a screen. The same part of him revels in the idea he gets that opportunity, could have that privilege if he agreed.

… but then the other part wants to shrivel up and die at the mere thought of being in the same room as a salacious, naked, aroused tiefling and just watching it all unfold. And that embarrassment wins out, just a little bit.

“I, ah… appreciate your offer, Mollymauk, but…”

“But you aren’t comfortable with that. Got it! Totally fair and I understand.”

“I think we should maybe tackle something of that nature together before I, um, tackle face to face voyeurism.” He pauses, and then has to rush to continue, “not that that is a proposition. Just a– um…”

“Just a statement,” Molly interrupts, and nods happily. “Got it. If that comes up, that’s great, too. Take it one day at a time.” He leans in closer, and now Caleb finally dares to glance at him as he continues, wheedling, “does that mean I can be invited to your house for purely nonsexual reasons, then? My place is so crowded. I love Brev, and Cree, but, shite. I’ve never really wanted for privacy but I never realized how much I really don’t have it there, you know?”

“Ja,” Caleb repeats. Roommates. He understands. And he likes Mollymauk’s friends, he trusts them as much as he can with the limited information he still has, but… it is a little awkward. They are not unkind to him, but their fierce protectiveness and sense of loyalty to their shared purple friend is… a very obvious thing. He would not mind time together, uninterrupted by work or friends. “Give me a couple of days and I’ll have you by?”

Molly nods, as enthusiastic as ever. “Sure thing, love. I am so ready to cuddle on a couch that doesn’t have people watching over their coffee.” His tail twitches, and he nudges Caleb’s shoulder. “I mean, I have no problem with exhibitionism or voyeurism, but…”

Caleb interrupts hurriedly, with the rolling of eyes and a playful shove. It is easier to tease and joke. It makes hiding the nerves that much easier. He knows there are no expectations, but… even that asides? It has been a very long time since he has invited anyone back to his place at all.

He spends the next two days deep cleaning his apartment, achieving misplaced scrolls and aching knees, and… invites Mollymauk over on his next day off.

His palms sweat when the buzzer rings, and he palms the intercom after a moment of hesitation. “Ja?”

“Found you!” Molly’s voice says happily, through the crackling static that never goes away. The fact that he can hear the excitement in his voice through the static makes him smile fondly before he knows he’s doing it. “Sorry I’m a little late, I had to pick up a little something.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Molly skipping out on him had not even crossed his mind. He swallows, and presses the button again. “You can come on up. I’ll buzz you now.”

“Great, see you in a sec.”

Caleb nods, releases the door, and goes to just– wait. This should not be nerve wracking. This is not his first rodeo. It’s just… different, than Astrid and Eadwulf. It is so different than how it had been with Astrid and Eadwulf. Theoretically, he knows that is a very good thing, but he could do without the nerves.

Mollymauk knocks a minute later, and Caleb tries to steel his nerves and wipe his palms and pulls open the door. “Mollymauk. Willkommen,” he greets, and gestures him inside.

“Hi… hi! I love your building, it’s so– I don’t know. Charming?” He considers, and then offers a small, nondescript paper bag to Caleb. “Present! I didn’t want to bring wine because, well, I thought that might be a bit of, you know. So, this instead.” He dangles the bag, and Caleb eyes it even as he closes and latches his door again.

“You didn’t need to bring anything.”

“Nope, but I wanted to. I like getting presents. I like giving presents. Thank you for inviting me into your home.” He sweeps into an extravagant bow that makes Caleb chuckle, and then offers the bag back to him again.

This time, Caleb takes it. “You’re vastly overestimating my shitty one bedroom home,” he remarks, and… and, for a minute, he forgets the nerves. He forgets that he’s been anxious about this, all of this, but mostly sharing this part of his life with Molly. And that is… pretty on par, actually. Mollymauk has a way of making him comfortable in situations that might have otherwise been so. (He knows that’s saying something. He knows.)

“Nonsense, you’ve seen my house with our tiny cluttered bathroom and oven that doesn’t work.” He keeps talking, but his red eyes are trained on Caleb as he reaches into the presented bag. “I already love your place, because you’re in it. We can cuddle on the sofa and watch shitty sci-fi until it’s ungodly late and I’ll be super happy.”

“That sounds very simple,” he remarks, as if he is complaining. It sounds… charming, actually, but his attention is taken by the small, leather bound book he pulls from a scrap of wrapping tissue.

It’s a journal, an easily recognized thing similar to the one he uses for his own spellbook. It’s a dark, rich brown, not faded like his own books, and he can’t help but stare at it for a moment, just taking in the feel of it in his hands. It’s nice, nicer than his have been in a while. Not that he minds the aged feel of his own leather, the opposite, in fact, but… it feels good in his hands, like promise and potential. He fingers the strap, and winds it out of the way, letting it fall open to the heavy, off white pages that line the inside. They’re different from his own books, too; a relic of bygone times, feathered edge paper that is uneven but charming, and he runs his fingers over the texture of it and is struck by the immediate urge to bury his face into the pages and take a deep breath.

Promise and potential. The pages itch for magic. His arms ache, and his fingertips burn. Yes, this will be a new spellbook… he’s been meaning to make a copy of his for some time, anyway.

“I know literally nothing about, uh, journaling and stuff,” Molly says. The tip of his tail twitches just beyond his shoulder. “Like, it’s fun! I can scrapbook. That’s fine, but I know it’s a bigger deal for wizards. And I don’t really know how your books work, but I figure you’re going to run out of space in yours eventually, with how much studying you do.”

Caleb doesn’t have the heart to tell him he has been regularly adding paper to it.

“Or, like, I know you do normal writing in the other one, I think.” Part of him tenses at the mention of his journal, the actual one, and not his spellbook. It’s rare that he writes in the café, but Molly must have noticed, or glimpsed the book in passing elsewhere– “So if this isn’t good for spells, I figured you can just use it as your diary! Or, you know, sit it somewhere and let it look pretty, I don’t know.”

His anxiety over his own journal doesn’t linger. How can it, with Mollymauk looking at him with such happy, excited eyes? He doesn’t know what you’ve done, Caleb tells himself. Your sins are still secret for now. He pushes the worry away for another time. “Mollymauk…”

“Oh, and if anybody tries to get ideas about hijacking your book,” Molly reaches a purple hand over, and flips the journal over entirely. “Got your initials,” he explains, and taps a black nail on the engraved letters emblazoned at the top of the book. CW. “If anyone ever tries to say it’s theirs, we can fuck ‘em up after proving it’s not.” His smile is easy and wide. If there is a hint of nerves in those red eyes, Caleb does not clock it over his own turmoil of emotions.

He doesn’t know. You can still be safe, Caleb Widogast. He lets out a deep breath, and runs his own fingers over the lettering. “Mollymauk. This is– how can I accept this?” He looks back down at him. “Independent bookbinding is pricy, nevermind a custom order…”

Molly shrugs. “Winter’s Crest was good to me last year. I wanted to be good to you, too.”

“As if you have not paid for so much of my coffee.”

“One of my love languages is gifts, what can I say?” He holds up his hands, and curls his tail back at his side. “But, c’mon, you’re leaving me in suspense! Do you like it? Was I sort of on the mark with what I should buy?”

“Ja, it is beautiful.” He looks between the journal and Molly.

“Just like you,” Molly chirps, and leans up to peck a kiss to his cheek.

“Mollymauk…” He puffs out a sharp breath, in a way that he can’t tell if it’s exasperation or fondness or… disbelief that he has found himself in this situation in the first place. Like making friends with Veth, or Jester, or any of the Nein… he does not deserve them. He does not deserve Mollymauk, or this leather bound book that would mean so little to anyone else. Caleb clasps his hand to the back of Molly’s neck, and presses their foreheads together. “I do not know what to say. Thank you,” he says. “But that doesn’t feel at all adequate.”

“More than adequate! Completely unnecessary, too, love.” He lingers for a moment, and then retracts and kisses Caleb’s forehead before pulling back entirely. “And I fully support you hyperfixating on the new book, but, show me around your place first?” His eyes glimmer, and the excitement is palpable in his gaze and posture. Endlessly drawn in by the tiniest things. Caleb… likes that about him. He has since their first real conversation in the coffee shop. “I want to know what you like. Where you live. What kind of cologne you use that smells so bloody sexy whenever you work next to our fire.” He nudges his shoulder, and Caleb chuckles.

He closes his hand around the journal. He traces his fingers against the leather, and laughs. “Ja, of course. But I think that is usually the hearth you smell, Mollymauk, and not me. I do not generally smell very good.”

“Nah, you smell good enough to eat.” Molly loops his arm around Caleb’s waist, and Caleb– fond– smiles as he begins to show him around his shitty one bedroom home.

… somehow, it feels more like a home everyday, he thinks. In no small part to people he has begun to love.

He pats Mollymauk’s arm with one hand, and clutches tightly at the journal with the other.