I’m literally on episode one of CR, not even two hours in, and I have brainrot for Caleb and Molly. 4 and 7 from the prompt list with Widomauk, if that’s ok? 🥺 // @tickle-bugs
widomauk brainrot is a disease and i never want to be cured
4. “I don’t like the look you’re giving me.”
7. “I happen to know a weakness of yours.”
“So, what is it today, Mr. Caleb?”
Despite his instinct toward self-preservation, Caleb does not turn to look at the source of the voice. “A moment, please.”
“Fire again? Ooh, or something to beef you up a bit, make you less squishy?”
A violet tail drifts through his field of view, and—fine. Fine. He sets his quill down. “Can I help you, Mr. Mollymauk?”
Mollymauk’s scarlet eyes are gleaming in the dim tavern light. “I don’t know, can you?”
“I am not playing this game with you tonight. I have work to do.”
“Perhaps I can convince you otherwise.”
Caleb picks up his quill again. “You can certainly try.”
He can hear Mollymauk’s purr. “That’s dangerous.”
“I don’t like to look you’re giving me.”
“Well, I happen to know a weakness of yours.” A toothy grin appears by Caleb’s ear, just in his field of view, and. Scheiße. Fine.
He sets his pen and book down to the side, swinging to face the object of his attract—er, distraction head-on. Mollymauk’s smiling at him.
Caleb narrows his eyes. “This feels like an excuse for something.”
“Ah, darling, everything I do is an excuse for something.”
Caleb opens his mouth to say something, not exactly positive what it will be but certain that it will at least put Mollymauk off long enough for him to finish his transcription, but what comes out is decidedly not a witty comeback. A claw pinches delicately at his side, and Caleb jumps, unable to hold back his—well, his yelp, really, and oh, no.
“Oh, dear.” Mollymauk’s smirk is lethal. “You are in trouble, aren’t you?”
Another pinch, this time to his hip. “Why don’t you set that pen down,” Mollymauk is saying, and gods, if Caleb could focus for even a moment this would be so much easier, “and keep me company, hm?”
Caleb’s face feels warm, and his shirt far too thin. “I, ah… what—hm—whatever you say.”
Mollymauk’s fingers trail over his ribs, delicate and magnetic in their path over his most ticklish spots. “Excellent.”