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Chapter Text

There's some phrases of advice shared among people back where you're from that could be universally accepted as wise ideas. “Don't shit where you eat” is a rather crude one that is usually meant to warn its listener, “Don't sleep with your coworkers”. “Don't sleep with your roommates” is another sound bit of advice that can be construed from it.

Looks like you've hit the double whammy of how to completely ignore this advice. 

You return to your room after finally washing off all the dirt, sweat, and… grime off your body, only to notice a package left on your nightstand. It's small, painstakingly wrapped, so you suspect it's one of the pharmaceutical items kept by Monomon. And your stomach flips when you realize that you recognize the packaging, from having a curious eye for this stuff before. Despite your exhaustion, you dress quickly in some more modest sleepwear and leave the room, package in hand and bright red in the face.

The frantic nature of the knocks on the door told Quirrel that it likely wasn't Monomon looking to enter his chambers at this hour.

“Please, welcome in,” he called out to you from his bed.

You swing open his unlocked door and shut it carefully behind you, locking it this time. Still red in the face, you hold up the pharmaceutical-looking package in your hand for him to seek. “What is this?” You ask him rhetorically. You already know what it is.

“Ah, an emergency contraceptive meant to be administered orally?” He answers.

“Yeah, thanks smart-ass,” you retort. “Did you tell her? After I asked you not to?” 

“Well, you said, to tell her, ‘as little as possible’. So I did. I kept it brief, said there was an aphrodisiac incident, and she drew her own conclusions. The Madame is probably the cleverest in all of Hallownest, of course,” Quirrel answers matter-of-factly. In his eyes, she would've been able to deduce what had happened anyways. “Don't you think the contraceptive is a wise idea given, uh, the events of today?”

You're having enough of Quirrel acting wise. Quirrel and his stupid smug face, already laying comfortably in his bed, watching your flushed face trying to come up with a better retort for him now. Quirrel seeming all too comfortable with the implications of what Monomon knows given she sent you a contraceptive . Quirrel, all washed up and cleansed of your earlier deeds and ready to just go to sleep and call it a day and act like today was just another day of research.

Quirrel isn't quite understanding of your level of reaction to the situation, so he offers the same solution he always would when faced with a disagreement; he sits back up in bed, throwing the covers off himself, and patting the little space beside him. He's inviting you to sit with him and talk through your misunderstanding.

You find it so absurd right now, and downright rude . You completely misconstrue his usual attempt at talking through a disagreement, presuming instead that he's inviting you into his bed, probably for more of what got you the contraceptive delivery in the first place. You don't know why you think this, but the question of why is masked by the heat you feel in your face and in your body. The heat of your frustration. The heat of your embarrassment. And, the heat of your latent arousal.

You have half a mind to tell him this was all a big mistake, that you never should've laid with your colleague and roommate and best friend like this. You think you could turn around, slam the door shut, and tell him to forget about everything he saw and heard today, because how dare he?

Instead, you find yourself crossing the room from the door to his bedside, slamming the contraceptive on his nightstand. Instead, you find yourself climbing into his bed and pulling him in for a searing kiss. Instead, Quirrel's underneath you once again today and you can only bring yourself to part from his open-mouthed kiss to breathe.

You look over to the contraceptive on his bedside table, then back to him. “I'm taking it anyways, now,” you reason out loud as you lean back down towards him, “might as well get one more hit for it?” 

Quirrel can't find it in him to disagree as he pulls you back in to meet your lips again.

__________________________________

That night, after you both had come down from your climaxes, Quirrel held you in his arms as he began his questioning; “Now, where did that come from?”

You huffed out a heavy sigh against him. “Must still be feeling some residual aftereffects of the mosskin's attack,” you told him.

He chuckled, and you could hear it, feel it, the way it reverberated in his chest, “I don't quite believe you, my dear.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't have looked at me that way,” you deflected.

“In what way?”

“Like you were picking me apart, stripping me to my most vulnerable self, and indulging in my desires,” you muttered half-consciously.

“How very poetic,” he probed back. “I think I was just looking at someone who still wanted more of me, intimately.”

You shrugged. “I do. Well, I think… I'm not quite sure…”

Quirrel brushed your hair back, a gesture that made you shiver with how gentle he was. He hummed to himself for a minute, still stroking your hair, mulling over the situation. Thinking about what you want, what he wants, what it all should mean. “Will you tell me what you want this to mean? What you want this to make of us going forward?”

The loaded question. The thing that makes or breaks people. You don't want to think of the implications of it. You don't want to complicate your day-to-day life. You just wanted for things to stay as they are.

So you told him, “I don't want this to change things. I want to stay good friends.”

“Ah,” he said, but you could swear you heard the stutter of his heartbeat in his chest.

“But,” you began to clarify, “I, um, wouldn't mind if we kept, y'know, doing… this… when we wanted.”

The pillbug stilled his motions against you. You might've heard it, but he could feel every irregular beat from his racing heart. He knew, deep down, this would only make things worse for him. He knew that this would be putting him through the wringer, to be able to have you physically, any day, any way, but to still only call you a friend at best. He would be putting himself through hell just to get even a sliver of his heaven. He knew, for his own sake, his answer should be “no”.

But he knew he adored you even more.

You could feel Quirrel nod his head gently. “Understood,” he said. “Please, though, perhaps you should take the contraceptive before you fall asleep?”

You buried your flushed face into his chest at his remark. 

__________________________________

And, come morning, Quirrel found his bed empty of anyone but himself. You had slipped out and started the day as if nothing happened. When he arrived at the labs, you were there working on the same project you had from yesterday. You greeted him with a smile. But he couldn't tell if this smile was any different from the way you'd usually smiled at him. So, he returned the gesture, and got to his work, ignoring the way his insides felt twisted up in confusion. 

Chapter Text

So you remained good friends.

Friends that maybe took care of each other in ways that other friendships wouldn't tread.

But you're good friends who care about each other. 

Sometimes, that means noticing when your friend is getting extra frustrated at their research subject today, and wanting to help them take their mind off of it for a minute and “de-stress”. Quirrel obviously needed that friend today. It wasn't often that an experiment left him visibly frustrated, but you know that he'd been trying to inscribe very specific instructions for the lighting system above ground in Dirtmouth. It was not going well. He's been through several failed capsules of incorrect code at this point, with no clear cause as to the discrepancy. The pillbug collapsed at his desk, head hanging as his hands rubbed at his temples.

So you grabbed Quirrel by one of the hands that was rubbing at his head, tired and aching from the confusing experiment in front of him. You turned his chair around from his desk so that he was sitting facing you instead. And you dropped to your knees in front of him.

His excitement immediately began to grow at the sight, at knowing what your intentions were. He bent down, you leaned your head up, and you met him halfway in a kiss. A kiss that quickly heated up, lips parting so tongues may lash against each other as you traced your hand down the front of his body. His excitement was still growing by the time your hand reached his groin, so you'd opted to continue running them down along his legs, doubling back and tracing at his inner thighs. You inched closer and closer to where they meet as his arousal builds, and finally, he let out a long, low groan as his dicks unsheathed. 

You wasted no time with teasing him now that they're out. Your hands wrapped around the base in a grip so tight he hissed out a breath at the initial contact. You lightly traced your fingers along the seam of them at the base, before enthusiastically using both hands to grab each member where they'd separated. You gave long, firm strokes of each one, Quirrel moaning low at the action, but his moaning picked up in pitch and volume as you also used your tongue to trace along the seam towards the base. 

You ran your tongue up along the entire length for each one, from base to tip, before you chose a head to wrap your lips around. Quirrel gasped at the intrusion into your mouth and bucked his hips forward reactively. “S-sorry,” he muttered shyly at his eager reactions.

You moaned around the head of the cock in your mouth, the vibrations earning yet another whiney sound from him, before you released him briefly from your mouth to respond. “Don't be, baby,” you told him in the lowest, sultriest voice you could give him. “You're so hot when you're worked up like this. Why don't you see if you can even try to take control from me?” You teased him before taking the head of the other cock into your mouth. 

Quirrel bit back an even more voracious moan. Emboldened by your words, his hand found purchase at the back of your head, his claws curled lightly into your hair. You pumped the moistened dick outside of your mouth now in your hand, relishing in how slicked-up your saliva made it, your fingers grasped tightly each time you reached the tip. Your mouth worked up and down the other length, moaning wantonly around it. As you picked up speed in your attentions on him, Quirrel let himself give in slightly to the debased side of his sexual excitement, and he began to gently push your head down on him, thrusting his hips up to meet your lips as his grip on your hair intensified. 

You were greedy for this level of debauchery from the ever-polite pillbug. You rewarded his vulgar behavior with even more lewd moans, meeting obscenity with greater obscenity. Your hand around him gripped harder, moved faster, aided by the lubricating effect of how you drooled on that cock moments ago. Your other hand snaked its way down between your own thighs, and you rubbed yourself over your clothing at the profane scene before you. You made sure not to be subtle at all; Quirrel would only find himself hornier to see you pleasuring yourself.

And noticed he did, as with a raunchy keening escaped from his mouth he bucked back harder into yours. Your high-pitched, needy whines encouraged him further, as his claws knotted in your hair tight and he pushed your head down forcefully on his cock. You gagged as you felt him hit the back of your throat, choking as spit dribbled down his length. 

His panting was picking up, and his dicks were throbbing in the grasp of your hand and lips. You've better learned the subtle cues of his body by now, and luckily, so did he. “Oohh, ‘m close, hun. So close,” he warned you through heaving breaths.

You came off his cock briefly with a strong suck and he keened again at the sensation. You began to ask, “Mouth or–”

“Mouth, mouth please!” He cut you off as he begged. You dropped your jaw as wide as your mouth could open and managed to fit both heads in, although not being able to work your way as far down the lengths. He tested your limit anyways as he continued–involuntarily, by this point, being so close to his peak–to thrust up into the hot, wet, embrace of your mouth. You moaned, you gagged, you choked, you drooled on his cocks as you pumped the rest of their lengths with your hands hungrily. 

You didn't need to hold this position very long anyways, as his orgasm finally hit and he came in your mouth. The motion of his hips calmed down somewhat as he rocked them through his high, semen shooting into your mouth and down your throat. You swallowed his hot, salty seed as dignified as you could. Still, with twice the number of cocks you're milking through climax, he filled your mouth fast, some of his cum dribbling down your chin and down his lengths. You were finally, eventually, able to pull off his dicks with a wet, lewd popping sound, and licked around your lips to clean up as much of your face as you could. His head lurched down towards yours as he captured your lips in a kiss, the taste of him on them didn't matter in his post-orgasmic bliss. 

When he pulled away from you, he was still smiling. “Thank you, I needed that,” he replied.

“You sound like a dork, thanking me for making you cum,” you snorted in response. 

“Oh, sounds like you're all settled with yourself then after that,” he chirped back, spinning his chair back around to his desk. He appeared as though he was returning to work as usual, when in reality, he was just clearing his desk, making room for what he predicted came next.

And he knew your stubborn attitude too well, for he moved all objects out of the way just in time for you to sit yourself imposingly on the desk, facing him. You crossed your arms, folding them in front of your chest, as you pouted.

“Ah, that's more what I expected,” he teased, and your fake-grumpy demeanor melted as he pulled himself closer to you.

__________________________________

At the end of the day, when you'd still managed to somehow get your work done despite your… extended breaks, you had grabbed your pack and notified the others of your departure. Quirrel acknowledged it with a curt nod. Monomon and Quirrel were lovely people to spend your time with. But, every once in a while, you needed a night out, with people who don't still have the energy to discuss the day's findings in capsule coding or uoma cells research, somehow. 

So you had met up with a couple of friends you've made from wandering the City of Tears before. You would usually be heading to either the watch tower or the soul sanctum with some notes or a request for data from Monomon. But, on the way out, you'd treat yourself to a break from the constant drizzle pouring down over cobbled streets, and to a hot drink at a cute little corner cafe. Your semi-regular visits had earned you the attention of a mantis barista working the counter, determined to build herself a new life in the City and away from her rather traditional family, and a ladybug regular who came from wealthier parents, and had lived and worked in the capital her whole life. 

“Thank goodness you found the time to peel yourself away from acid capsules!” Curla, the barista, quipped as soon as you'd entered the door, introducing the ringing sound of the bell on its hinge and the raindrops that still clung to you to the quiet shop as you did.

You shook off what you could of your umbrella before joining her and Sierra, the ladybug, at a table. It was nearly closing time, which was Curla's favorite part of the day. She'd flip over the sign on the door, lock it, and come around the counter to sit and chat with her two pals. 

You briefly spoke about the project you had been working on, but in truth, the reason you came out here was to avoid more of the scientific chitchat. You eagerly cut yourself off to ask the other two about their lives in the past weeks. Curla says she's still trying to save money so she could afford to move into a nicer apartment, something closer to the cafe. Sierra talks of kissing ass to socialites you couldn't care less about.

“So,” Curla turns to you and asks, “has your pillbug boy asked you out yet?”

You choke for a moment on the sip you were taking of your drink. You don't register it as her usual teasing at first. Instead, your mind races over the false possibilities that you had let on to them your… change in relationship to him.

“Uh, no, Curla. That's not a thing,” you reply.

Sierra giggles at your reaction. “Good, because we need you for a triple date!” the ladybug tells you eagerly.

“Ugh, what did you rope me into this time?” You ask, annoyed.

“Sierra and I got to talking to her crush from the bank,” Curla explains, earning a playful shove and a blush from the ladybug. “And I so graciously scored a date, for her and myself. But apparently, homeboy only goes out with his two best bros, so bro #2 is still looking for a pretty thing to talk to.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together in a disappointed frown. “Did you at least get a look at the guy you offered me up for?”

“Nope!” Curla replies with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Pleeeeaaase, will you just go with us? No expectations on your end. I just, ugh, you know I really want this chance with Ash,” Sierra pleads with you.

You sigh, “when is it?”

“Next week,” she answers.

“And will there be drinks?” You ask.

“Plenty of it, don’t worry, I made sure of that for you,” Curla snickers. “We'll be meeting at the bar around the corner from King's Station.”

“... I'll accept it,” you tell them with less enthusiasm. 

“Yay! Oh, thank you thank you!” Sierra showers you with her gratitude.

Curla still prods at you, “So you think Quirrel will let you go?”

“Har, har,” you respond. Of course he won't like it. Even before... all of this, Quirrel had always been oddly protective of you when you're going out at night alone. But you're no strings attached, he agreed with you on that. You two will survive a blind date for your friend, surely.

Chapter Text

You have a bad dream again. Not of the usual stress from work, the unlikely scenario of you being fired by Monomon, or even the more dramatic nightmare of being caught in a malfunctioning tram ride. This time, the dream is about… Quirrel. Quirrel leaving the Archives, and being upset with you. He refuses to tell you what bothers him so much. He just tells you he found work elsewhere, and leaves without a proper goodbye. You don't know why this dream hurts so much. You only go on autopilot once you wake up from it, going to the place you've always found your comfort in.

So what if that happens to be the very same pillbug's bedroom?

He's just continuing to be your good friend.

He's being a good friend to you when you can't sleep, so you go to his room to try and calm down. He's being a good friend when he invites you into his bed for cuddles, which sometimes lead to kisses, which sometimes leads to wandering hands, which sometimes leads to him cooing sweet praises in your ear as he works you through your orgasm on his fingers… something friends do sometimes, right?

Quirrel's come to recognize you at his door more from the soft knocking, the brush of your knuckles against wood, than even from the hour of night that it is.

“Come in, friend,” he says, just above a whisper.

You open the door cautiously, still cringing at the creaking sounds it makes even when you know it won't wake anyone else up, and close it behind you slowly. You lock the door behind you. The only time Quirrel's door is locked nowadays is when you're with him.

He throws back the blankets covering him, opening his bed to you, inviting you in. You already know the pattern, striding towards his bed on light feet, crawling in with him. You've long forgone the stage of just laying side-by-side upon your initial entrance, skipping right to how his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace as you snuggle into his side. 

“Can't sleep again?” He asks. It's rhetorical, of course.

You still nod your head. “Another nightmare, this time,” you tell him softly. 

“Care to talk about it?” His head rests on top of yours, the claws of one of his hands at your back tracing soft, light circles against your skin.

You shake your head gently against his chest. You have your reasons for withholding such a topic. “It's half gone already, anyways,” you excuse yourself.

You can feel the soothing rise and fall of his chest with every breath he takes. “That's okay, then. Either way, I've got you.”

That's all you want to hear right now, anyways. No matter how tumultuous the night may seem, you can always turn to your… friend, for comfort.

You nuzzle your own head into the crook of his neck and he tilts his head down to almost “tuck” you into him. His face is at the top of your head, his mouthparts rest against your forehead. He purses them into a delicate kiss placed on your forehead, just once, before asking you, “Is this okay?”

He always asks you if it's okay. You've never turned him down, yet he still makes sure every time. You nod against him, and he continues his ministrations, placing tender kisses across your head. The kisses climb down your face, going from forehead, to temple, to cheek, to nose, before finally meeting your lips. It's sweet, it's tender, the way he kisses you. It makes your heart soar and your body simply melt against him. You could stay like this for hours, just making out with him, and you feel like some nights you do. Because the first wandering hand is always your own, never his. Even if you want him to touch you so badly , he needs you to make it known and make the first move. 

Your hand cradles his head during your kiss, lightly caressing him by the jawline. Then it moves down his neck, down his torso, palm flat and warm against him. Once you've reached his lower stomach is when he accepts your signal, moving his kiss to your jaws, then your neck. Careful, playful little love bites are placed, since you've told him once before how much you love those. How a careful, soft scraping of teeth against your neck can sometimes light a fire in your core. And, right now, the match is definitely lit, and he stokes the flames by continuing to bite you gently. He wants to leave a mark–you can't deny it, you want him to, too–but wisely surmises that the neck might be too exposed for one. His kiss follows down to your shoulder, and you shudder. The way you move against him helps him decide that this is where he wants you, and he bites down a little harder, and sucks . You whimper at the feeling of it as his hands trace your sides. He trades off the movements of his mouth in a gentle pattern, like a dance, almost. His tongue laps at your skin with soothing licks, before he bites down again. He nibbles delicately before deciding to suck a dark bruise into the spot. Then, he licks again. Bite, suck, lick. Throughout this, his hands reach between the two of your bodies and down, past your waist, past your belly. He holds them just below your stomach, claws softly scratching at your skin, making you plead for it with your moans. He doesn't move until you groan lasciviously, rocking your hips into him, and finally, his hand snakes its way down and under your sleepwear. You whine, and he groans, as his claws brush through your folds, already dripping wet. 

“You know,” he whispers to you in a half-joking tone as he removes your bottoms, “You could also come to me when you just want sex and say so.”

You huff at his accusation. “I really did have a nightmare, though. Maybe my body is just anticipating what usually comes next.”

Quirrel hums into the crook of your neck. “Well then, in that case, I shouldn't keep your body waiting,” he teases.

With that said, he inserts his claw into your wet heat. Your vaginal walls envelop him quite nicely, he always thinks. Your pussy is so warm, so soft, he could pleasure it with just his hand for hours and not grow tired of it. Your breathing is coming in as light, little pants, so he decides to tease a second claw in. You whine louder at this intrusion. His fingers plunge deep inside you as he works you open, his thumb coming down onto your folds, searching to give you even more stimulation. His thumb tucks up and under the hood of your labia and you gasp as it finds what he was looking for, rubbing your clitoris. 

The only noises coming from you two now, other than some creaks from the bedframe, are your lewd moans, as you try to restrain your noises of pleasure (but not trying hard enough). If it weren't for the hour of night, and the fact that waking your superior this way would be quite indecent of you two, Quirrel would make you sing for him your lovely little melody of pleasurable sounds louder and louder. 

You're whining and canting your hips into his touch, speechlessly trying to get him to quicken his pace. The only thing is, he has a problem with the ‘speechless’ part.

“Ah ah, dear, use your words. I want to hear what you need, beautiful,” he coaxes you in that breathy whisper of his again. 

“Ngh, please, Quirrel, faster,” you keen.

“There we go, darling, that's what I want to hear,” he tells you as he picks up speed, rubbing your clit in tight, little circles as his fingers pump in and out of your core with all their length. “I so love to hear you ask me to take you, to work you, pick you apart and put you back together.”

You groan as your walls flutter around his fingers, twisting and feeling you around for just the right angle to completely break you. He curls them against your front-most side and you forget to breathe. “AAahh, Quirrel,” you moan, louder still. Perhaps a little too loud to remain inconspicuous.

“Shh, shhh…” Quirrel leans into you, next to your ear, and shushes you. “I know, love, you're doing so good, taking me like this. Do you like the way I'm fingering you? Does this feel good?” 

You nod as you bite back your sounds. The pleasure is so overwhelming now, and you just want to scream it out. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from holding back your pornographic moans.

“So, so, good, darling,” he coos in your ear, feeling your cunt clench harder and faster on his claws. “Believe me, you know I would love to hear you cry out my name louder than you ever have before. But I need you to be quiet for me tonight. Soft, and quiet. Your noises right now are only for me, okay, love?”

You nod a little more eagerly this time, his praises swimming around in your ear and glowering like hot coals in the pit of your stomach. You can feel the heat of your release begin to bubble over.

The pillbug must sense it, too, because he doubles down on his efforts to satisfy you. His fingers enter you at blinding speed now, the thumb on your clit readjusting just a little bit so he can press into the nub at the right angle to set off all your nerve endings like fireworks. The tears threaten to spill over your eyes.

“That's it, my sweetheart. Such a good lover for me. Come for me, please. You're so beautiful when you come. Let me see you, gorgeous.”

The knot snaps as you cum, hard , on his fingers. Your tears overflow and spill down your reddened cheeks as you climax, your cunt spasming on his fingers and coating them in your slick. He continues to pump in and out of you, riding out your orgasm. Once your body is finished writhing in uncontrollable pleasure, he gently pulls his claws from you, his other hand wiping the tears away from your face as he returns to shushing you calmly. It's not in a condescending way, like how a teacher shushes a loud and unruly student. It's a tender, mellowing voice bringing you back down from such a high, brushing your tears away and continuing to praise you. “Shhhh… you did so well, dear,” he tells you. “How are you feeling? Better?”

You heave and hiccup as you regain control of your breathing. “I didn't expect to cry like a baby, I've never done that before. I'm sorry.”

Quirrel cups your face and kisses you passionately, with all the intention of shutting down any further self criticism. “You've nothing to be sorry for, darling.”

You inhale with a shudder, and exhale. “Okay then, as long as you say so…” your voice trails off as you're suddenly hit with how tired you are. Orgasms take a lot of energy, evidently. You look to Quirrel's other hand, still held awkwardly away from you due to your own fluids. “Um, do you want me to grab a tissue before that, uh, dries?”

Quirrel looks back to his hand and shakes his head, opting instead to lick your juices off his fingers. The lewd act still makes your face burn hot, which he seems to get a kick out of. 

“Delicious as always,” he smirks at you. “Hope you're not too tired yet, my dear. I think I want another taste…” he says, ducking below the covers and between your legs. 

When he's finally had his fill of you, he pops back up over the covers, laying down next to you with his arm draped over your torso. You feel elated. You feel so much calmer now, so much more relaxed… so much more wanted. You can't even imagine Quirrel leaving you now. So maybe, you don't want to leave him quite yet.

“Can I stay here tonight?” You ask him.

The pillbug rejoices internally, but externally, he merely replies, “Of course.” 

And he pulls his arm around you closer, hugging you to him, as sleep finds you much more easily now. 

Chapter Text

You can't deny, of course some things have changed. Embarrassingly so. Such as, for example, the way the two of you have turned into giddy teenagers whenever Monomon takes leave from the Archives, no matter how brief. It's suddenly just the two of you in the open space, and you make use of this alone time not sneaking around by fucking like tiktiks in mating season.

“I've some matters to discuss with Lurien in the City,” the Head of the Archives announced to you two, gathering her things for minor travel. “I should not be very long, certainly I'll return before nightfall,” she presumed, jelly-like tentacles waving. 

You and Quirrel bowed your heads to her, bidding her fair travel, however short it may be. Without her presence in the Archives, Quirrel faced you to wrap his arms around you and quickly lift you up, holding you from the underside of your thighs as you yelped at the sudden movement and latched your legs around his waist in response.

“Not even a moment's hesitation?” You asked the pillbug, bewildered, as your arms made their way around the back of his neck, and his claws squeezed a little tighter over their placement on your round bottom.

Quirrel chuckled as he carried you over to a flatter surface, deciding the table in the common room would do just fine for now. Uoma drifted past you two on the other side of the windows, suspended serene in the acid lake. “Last time she took this trip, the Madame was back for a timely lunch. Who knows how long we'll be alone today,” he replied.

You shook your head at his behavior, despite the stupid grin you couldn't wipe off your face. “She still has to travel the distance to the City Watch Tower and back, though.”

“Which I estimated to take her about 73 minutes one-way based on her last excursion,” he answered, abruptly and eagerly. “Ah, but who's timing?”

He carefully loosened his hold on you as you were placed on the surface of the table, peppering your face and neck with kisses. You let out a noise somewhere between a giggle and a moan, asking him in a teasing lilt of your voice, “146 minutes round trip won't be enough for you? What do you plan to do with me, Quirrel?”

Quirrel met your lips in a deeper kiss. Once he broke away, he looked you in your eyes as if he were staring into a sunset, and replied, “There’s not enough time in the universe to do all that I want with you. For example,” he gently pushed you down to lay back fully on the table as his hands hooked into your bottoms, pulling them down. “I want to hear you truly sing for me, my dear,” he told you provocatively, as he spread your legs open to expose your naked bottom half and brought his face closer between your thighs. 

You couldn't contain the full-body shudder that wracked you as he placed teasing kisses all along your inner thighs. He worked up one thigh, closer and closer to your slit dripping with arousal, only to switch over to the other thigh. He bit down on one part of your supple skin down there, sucking a bruise into it that no one other than you two would even know about. You writhed under his attention, rolling your hips up towards his face involuntarily. He didn't let this change his pace at all, as he switched over to teasing you with light kisses against your lower belly, drifting just above where you really wanted him. With all this teasing, you knew he really did want you to ‘sing’. Building up the tension in your gut so that once he actually starts pleasuring you, the feeling is so intense you couldn't keep quiet if you'd tried.

His mouth had traveled to your pubic mound. He hovered over the sensitive wet heat between your thighs, waiting ever so patiently as he lightly danced a claw over your mound. The delicate touch sent shivers down your spine as he brought himself closer, and closer, and closer to your core. You could feel his hot breath on it and it made you whine. His eyes darted back up to your face, flushed a bright red hue and dappled with drops of sweat from being overworked. Finally, he parted his mouth, his tongue wet and eager as he licked a stripe up your slit.

You whimpered wantonly at the much-awaited sensation. He dragged his tongue over your opening again, and again, a little bit more pressure behind his motions each time, until you could feel his tongue invade your hole. You whined and bucked your hips at the intrusion, yet it did nothing to pick up his speed. He just kept lapping at you with the same relaxed pace, savoring every drop of your essence he could taste. His tongue twisted and curled inside you as your breathing picked up and you felt your composure utterly shatter, what little of it you had to begin with. He eventually moved his way a bit upwards, toying with the little pink nub at the top of your slit with his tongue. Then, he enclosed his whole mouth around it and sucked, hard .

You squirmed and cried out his name at the sharp jolt of ecstasy this caused, “Aaah ooh, Quirrel!!” Clearly enjoying the sound of his name falling from your lips in such a raunchy manner, he responded with another harsh suck on your clit.

With every time you moaned his name in a louder volume than the last time, Quirrel rewarded you with increased efforts. He licked and sucked at your clit with greater pressure, and eventually added a claw to your dripping core as he attacked the nub with his mouth. His finger rubbed greedily at your cunt walls, quickly joined by another as you stretched and squeezed around him. 

As he felt your climax building, he switched mouth and hand focuses. His claw drew tight circles against your clit, as his tongue pushed into your pussy again. He thoroughly relished in the way your inner walls clenched around his wet muscle and your symphony of cries and moans for him grew in pitch. Your belly simmered with a building heat, tension tight like a knot. 

Your keening found words, as you shamelessly begged your partner, “Haah, Quirrel, please, I'm so close. Please. So close. I'm gonna cum.”

And with that, he withdrew from your core.

This only earned your ire, as you mewled your frustrated dissent. “Quirrel! Please don't. Why won't you let me cum?”

The pillbug only chuckled under his breath as he traced his claws along your trembling thighs. “I told you I want to hear you sing for me, dear. This will only make it so much better,” he answered you, returning his mouth to your slit with an unhurried rhythm. You whined unabashedly as he resumed his ministrations on your most sensitive parts.

Only this time, it wasn't quite enough. “Quirrel,” you panted, “Please, switch back. I need more.”

Quirrel obliged you, still eager to return you to that edge. His tongue left your slit as he wrapped it around your clit instead, two of his fingers replacing it as they penetrated your cunt. A strangled cry ripped its way out of your throat. It felt so good, his fingers filling you, his mouth working your clit. He arched his claws inside you, deep and prodding at that fleshy spot along your walls, and you practically screamed. Your peak was rapidly returning to you, and you were unsure if you should keep it to yourself, in case Quirrel was still looking to edge you and wouldn't be able to tell how close you were himself, or if you should fully give into the euphoria.

The pillbug answered your unspoken question for you, releasing your clit briefly to provoke you. “Ah, love, I sense you're pulling back from me. I know you're close to coming, that you want to finish. I'll take care of you, sweetheart, as long as you hold nothing back for me. Let me hear you, my songbird. Let me hear you as I make you come.”

Yes, yes Quirrel, you thought, you'd give him everything he wants. You'd do anything for him to reach that peak.

He returned his mouth to sucking at your clit, but not for much longer. It was so sensitive, and he used his fingers to pound you so well, that knot couldn't hold. It snapped, and you let yourself shriek in the overwhelming elation of your orgasm crashing into you.

“QUIRREL!” you sobbed, thrashing and spasming as he worked you through your climax. You kept whining his name as his mouth released your clit, his fingers pulled from your cunt, and he switched his attentions to lapping at your heat for every last drop of your cum. He continued to eat you out, like a man starved, long after the aftershock of your orgasm had subsided. After a very long minute or so of just your whiney breaths slowing down and the sloppy, wet sounds from between your thighs filling the room, Quirrel pulled away, the bottom half of his face shimmering and slick with your juices. 

The visual of him like this reinvigorated you as you surged forward to meet his mouth with a kiss. Your own mess on his face be damned, you kissed him with a fervor for a job well done. He moaned into your mouth as your tongues met, canting his hips forward into yours so you could feel how very rousing he found your performance. His members throbbed and leaked precum as he ground them against your inner thighs and against your thoroughly-loved slit. He retreated from your messy make-out session to lean in towards your ear as he whispered, “Still got a voice in you for me, love?”

You nodded, intoxicated by the endorphins still running through you from your high, from the pheromones of the two of you mating, from the way Quirrel spoke so sweetly to you as he stroked his cocks and lined himself up with your entrance. His teasing apparently not done yet, as he took his time with you once again, rubbing the tips of his cocks along your folds so they could gather and coat in your fluids. You threw your head back against the table and whined deliciously at the feeling of having him so close yet not there yet. You rocked your hips up into him and, with a giggle, he finally relented, pushing himself inside you.

The stretch never hurts as much as the first time anymore, but it was still substantial in its intruding pressure, and you hissed out your breath and clenched hard against him. He went slow, as he always does, in inserting himself inch by inch into your pussy. His hand held your thigh, his thumb brushing light and soothing circles on the soft inner skin of it to calm you down. About halfway in, he switched tactics as he ran his fingers through your hair to calm you down. His dicks are so thick , each one a respectable girth on their own even without having to take them both at once. In time, he bottomed out in you, his hips meeting flush with yours. A groan escaped Quirrel's mouth as he stilled himself inside you, despite his debased desires to ravish you so. His cocks wrapped in your slick, warm, velvety walls drove him crazy with the urge to start feeling some friction against you. But you needed a moment to adjust. His tongue could work wonders, but it couldn’t quite prep you for the stretch of his lengths.

After a moment, you whimpered and nodded your head. “Go ahead, Quirrel, I’m ready,” you told him, and he immediately responded with the drag of pulling himself back from you slowly, till just the tips remained inside you. Then, just as slowly, he thrust back in.

He managed to control himself enough to increase his speed very gradually, wanting you to enjoy the shift from slow to fast as much as possible. He knew he did, albeit a little impatiently, as your cunt felt so good around his cocks, he just couldn’t get enough. He was very much looking forward to pounding you as quickly and as roughly as he could, he just needed you to get to that level too. 

His efforts paid off, as you were beginning to also crave more of him. “Faster, harder, please,” you asked him so prettily, and he obliged. He rammed himself deep inside you on his next thrust, and this earned him a loud, shaky whine from you. “Ohhh Quirrel, so good, you feel so good inside me,” you moaned lewdly.

And thus, the praises began to pour out of the pillbug in response. “Oh darling, you feel absolutely amazing. You take me so well , I still can barely believe it,” he purred to you with a slight chuckle of his disbelief. “Your walls hug me so tight, so warm and wet, I never want to leave. I could make love to you forever like this, all day of every day.” You love when he begins to ramble on like this, his praises hitting you straight to your needy core. His syrupy sweet words compounded by the way his dicks pumped in and out of you drove you crazy. “You must be an angel, my dear, how you take me so well, how you make me feel so utterly elated like this. My perfect, sweet angel,” he cooed as his hips slapped against yours, rough and wet. 

All you can do for him at this point is moan his name lewdly, filling the air with your voice saying “Aaahh, Quirrel!” over and over again. And that's all he could even want from you right now.

He continued to plow into your slit so fervently, so hungrily, delighting in the wet squelching sound of his hips meeting yours with every rough cant forward. Oh, you felt so warm and wet and tight, he felt himself lost in the elation and the pleasure and in you . And for you, his cocks slamming into you drove you up a wall with blinding, white hot bliss. 

His members throbbed inside you. You felt heat pool into your stomach. You were both coming apart for each other, and fast.

“Q-Quirrel!” You keened for him. “Oh, Quirrel, you're so good for me. I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum for you!” That building pressure made you squirm and jerk against him.

He hissed out a breath at your words. They did things to him that he didn't need right now, if he was to make you finish before him. You'd wrapped your legs around his waist as he pumped in and out of you, which made his hold on you easier, honestly. It meant that, while he could continue to grip your soft, curvy hips with one hand, the other could snake down in between the two of you so he could play with your clitoris. You nearly screamed at the contact, buckling underneath him and squeezing his cocks like that–

“Ah, darling, please, please come for me. I need you to come for me, and soon, b-because I won't last much longer myself,” he whined with a shaky breath, speeding up the circles his claw was drawing against your clit. You clench down, and he groans, “Oh, stars above– ”

You cut him off with a guttural cry of “OH, QUIRREL!” as you came on him, spasming on his lengths as your heat gushed with your juices. You couldn't help the way you writhed against him, bucking your hips up into his as you rode out your orgasm. 

“Oh, my angel!” He cried in response, “I'm going to–”

“Yes! Cum inside me, Quirrel!” You cut him off again as you tightened the hold of your legs around him, locking your ankles behind him. There was no way you weren't gonna get your fill of him, so to speak.

So, he bottomed out inside of you deeply as he came, your name spilling from his lips as he spilled himself inside your cunt. You were both moaning, panting messes as he rolled his hips against you and worked through his own climax. When he stilled, still whimpering your name quietly, he leaned back down to capture you in a kiss. You could feel him pull out of you and you groaned at the sensation, the sudden emptiness in your core and the way you could feel his seed leaking out of you. You felt like a gross mess, your skin still burning hot and sticky with sweat and cum. But, to the pillbug, you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

As he pulled back away from the kiss, as he looked into your eyes with all the affection and adoration in his, you find yourself beginning to mumble, “Quirrel, I…”

And then you stopped yourself. 

Because, for some reason that you couldn't figure out, the next words out of your mouth were about to be “ I love you ”. 

Where the hell did that come from? Your stomach did flips as you tried to comb through the confusing tangle of emotions in your mind. You weren't sure if it was instinct, or what you felt should be said after a lovemaking session like that, or… or if it was even how you truly felt. Of course, Quirrel was your best friend. You loved him on some level because of that, but…

“Is everything okay?” His words pulled you back out of the turmoil of your head. 

“I, ah, yeah,” you'd finally responded. You decided he didn't need the whiplash from hearing something like that. Especially since you were the one to insist on your friendship remaining the same, more or less. “Everything's fine.”

“Good. I wasn't sure if I went too far or…” his words tapered off.

“No, no, you were good. You were great, even,” you chuckled, earning a smile from him in response.

“And so were you~” he teased you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, before pulling back to ask, “shall we get cleaned up then? Before the Madame comes back,” oh, Quirrel and his logic.

You nod your head in agreement as he helps you down from the table and back on your own two feet.

Chapter Text

Now, while a lot of the eagerness to please and take care of the other partner fell on Quirrel, you wouldn’t say you never returned the favor. Because he is still your friend. And you always want to help your friends out. So, when you see he needs the boost in return, you’re happy to see to it.

It was probably because he was so often a stoic bug, proud of being able to always hold a positive outlook on the day, regardless of its events or his own inner unrest. There was sparsely a moment where he’d even not fuss about you, nevermind leave an opening into his own mind when it was anything less than confidently stable. But today, instead of staying out in the main room after finishing his work for the day, he’d retreated back to his own chambers. Red flag number 1 in his abnormal behaviors that would cue you into his own distress. Something you found you couldn’t leave for him to nurse alone in his room.

You knocked gently on the door. “Ah, come in,” was the reply from the archivist behind it. Even retreating into his own shell, he didn’t lock the door. You carefully opened it, trying not to disrupt the hinges so much that they’d creak in agitation. He was simply laying in his bed, atop the covers, his claws nervously bunching into the blanket for some reason.

“My turn to ask,” you told him as you closed the door behind you, “are you okay?”

He offered a shy smile in return, which you thought was useless, because you knew him well enough to read right through this type of expression on his face. “Ah, of course, although some days come with more satisfying closures,” he said.

“So, is it to do with your work?” you continued to probe him for answers to his shift in demeanor.

“Somewhat,” he’d relented, “somewhat. Maybe a mixed blend of a less-than-successful day in my research, and…” he trailed off. He never liked to admit that his own thoughts could bother him enough to display his discontent outright.

“And your own insecurities?” you offered as an end to his sentence. He didn’t confirm or deny, which, to be fair, your words jumped to a much harsher assumption. “I mean,” you began to justify your own train of thought that led you to say as much, “I know that when I have an unproductive day, it certainly doesn’t help my self-esteem.”

He nodded in response. Why were you doing this? Why were you prodding your way in through his self-defenses, insistent on seeing him vulnerable to his own thoughts? If you’d just wanted to get it on with him, why wouldn’t you just wait until he came to you? Because, in time, he always did. He’d always come back to you.

Gods, was he such a sucker for you.

Sensing his silence as hesitation, you told him, “We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I just wanted to check in with you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

Best friend. Oh, how he loved and loathed the title at the same time.

You sat on the edge of his bed carefully, waiting for him to refuse your contact. When he didn’t, you reached out your hand to him. He took it.

“I appreciate it, dear,” he said. “Thank you.”

You smiled warmly at him. “How about some cuddles instead?” you asked him.

His heart fluttered in his chest. Like it always does, even still. “That sounds quite nice,” he replied.

So you’d laid yourself down at his side. You curled against him, reversing your usual positions of big spoon and little spoon. This time, you wrapped yourself around him, his back to your chest as your arm laced itself around his middle. He could swear he felt you smile into his neck, an act that made him melt.

He always enjoyed taking care of you, being the big spoon or the top in bed. But oh, it felt so splendid to be cared for.

His mind wandered to fill the quiet air of just the two of you breathing steadily, and the occasional rumple of fabric as either of you shifted against the bed. He didn’t want to admit it, but you’d unfortunately hit the nail on the head with your presumption of his behavior today, and why he chose to hide himself away as soon as he could reasonably declare his work finished. His project wasn’t going the way he had hypothesized and needed it to go, and the frustration of this compounded with his own distasteful thoughts about himself. He was foolish. Foolish far beyond his own research, he was foolish in his desire for you. Foolish to think he’d ever have the chance to be more than your friend. Part of him wishes to curse you for it, to blame you for proposing the very agreement he had also chosen to take part in. How dare you hold him so kindly, so softly, like you’d cared for him as more than a friend, yet refused him the honor of being worthy of such a title? Even now, as he feels your breath against his neck, the rise and fall of your chest against his back, you taunt him so with the mockery of what he could never have. However… you are not to blame. You have no idea of his own tumult. This is solely his burden to bear, how infatuated with you he finds himself. He shall deal with the whys himself. Why you seek him for comfort. Why he confides in you so. Why you even choose to mate with a bug such as himself. How could you possibly find him so attractive?

“Why would you even want to be with me?”

“Hmm?” you lift your head up, looking over to his.

“Ah, I said that last part aloud. Pardon me,” he says, the shame worsening his bitter thoughts inside his head.

You change your positioning and reach out to gingerly touch his face. He turns to you. “Quirrel, is that what this is about?”

“Um,” he begins, struggling to find his words. “Well, of course, I’m probably not the most appealing bug to look at.”

You never thought the pillbug would be the type to feel self-conscious about his physical appearance. “Why would you think that?” You ask him softly.

He chuckles nervously. “I’ve, uh, had a few more years in this world, a bit more time for life to wear me down and age me out of my youthful glow. My musculature isn’t very well-defined, and the, er, roundness of my midsection…” he can’t believe the words he allows to tumble out right now. A crude assessment of his physical self. How superfluous. How pathetic, he must seem. “... I suppose it helps that we’re both more inclined towards an intellectual lifestyle…”

Your hand cups the side of his face as you look in his eyes. “Quirrel, enough of that silly talk. I find you plenty appealing, handsome,” your sweet flirting burns his face with a blush. “Not to mention, the girls in the City did also find you attractive, the one time you’ve met them.

Of course, he remembers the one time he joined you on your romp into the capital. It’s not really his ideal pastime, going out and gossipping over a cup of pricey coffee. But, you’d said your new friends would like to meet him, and of course, he had to oblige you. They were pleasant enough company, but you’d both agreed that perhaps he’ll leave the three of you to chatter about boys by yourselves, and spare himself being bombarded with, frankly, ridiculous questions to assess his “date-ability”. Well, at least, according to you, he passed the “not ugly” test.

You shift again, and now you’re above him, curled over his frame. Your legs kneel on either side of his body, your hair falling to frame your face as you look down at him with those hungry eyes he recognizes all too well. “Would you like me to show you how handsome I really find you?” you ask him in your low, seductive voice.

He should say no. He should say enough of this, your bedroom escapades are part of the damage to him anyways. You need to stop teasing him with making him feel truly cherished as a partner, and he needs to stop falling so easily for the way your hand caresses his face, or the way your voice drips with want, or the way you look in his eyes. Eyes are windows into the soul, are they not? Can’t you see how tortured his soul is by now with his want for you, his need for you? His… love for you?

So he opens his mouth to say no, that’s enough. He’ll find his own way to rebuild his self-esteem, once he shuts down this playful romp you share. Once he accepts that it’s never meant to be.

“Yes, please,” are the words that come out instead.

You smirk in response, and lean down to steal him in your kiss. He stills, his heart skips a beat. He’s caught in your affections once again. And he returns the kiss.

As your lips move against him, as your mouths part so your tongues can tangle in each other and explore your partner’s mouth, you drop your body against him. You’re straddling him now, as you grind your hips down into him. You moan into his mouth at the friction of your crotch against his. You're hot between your legs, and probably already wet, too, he thinks. He wonders if sex is the only reason you came to him after all. He wonders if sex is the only thing you want from him anymore. 

He pushes those thoughts down for now, supposing it doesn't matter as your movements are working on him, and he can feel his own arousal beginning to push through the plating of his shell. He can feel you grin against his mouth, as you must start to feel it too. You reach a hand down between you two, your fingers teasing at the heads as they just barely become visible. He groans now, more willing to accept his arousal now that he can feel you against his dicks. You continue to slowly tease them out of him with your hands as you kiss him, hot and wet and messy but so utterly filled with need. Once he's fully emerged and erect, your mouth leaves his as you trail sweet little kisses down his face and neck and chest. He finds he lets himself moan at the feeling of your kisses drifting closer and closer, his members twitch in anticipation. When you've had enough of taunting him with kisses along the inside of his thighs and the plates now moved to the side, his hips jerking involuntarily at your motions, you lean down to lick soft and sweet at the tips of his members, earning a whimper from him. 

You begin to take his lengths as you usually do, with a hand stroking one and your mouth engulfing the other. He sighs at the feeling of your lips wrapped around him, your mouth sinking further and further down his shaft until you meet the seam of where they’re joined with a slight gag from the head hitting the back of your throat. You feel delightful as always. You really do know him well by now, know how to work his two cocks in a way that riles him up, without fail, every time. Your tongue strokes at his member in your mouth as you move up and down the shaft, sucking lightly once you come back up so that your lips are just around the tip. Gods, that gentle bit of added pressure where he's sensitive always has him inhaling sharply. Your other hand works just as hard, tightly gripping at his penis as you rub up and down, your movement matching the rhythm of your mouth. He moans, lightly bucking his hips against your movements out of habit. You don't mind the reaction at all. If anything, you encourage it, doubling down on your efforts to get him to repeat it. When he does roll his hips back up into you again, you moan around his cock, sending vibrations down the shaft that make him shiver from the elation. You release the phallus from your mouth and switch focuses, now pumping the length soaked in your saliva with your hand and taking the other into your hot, wet mouth. 

He can't lie to himself about how much he enjoys this. How much pleasure you impart on him with the way you stroke and suck him off. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back in bliss, letting the little gasps and sighs of his elation escape his mouth in “ahh!”s. He can feel the pressure begin to build in his core as you speed up your ministrations, his cocks throbbing in your mouth and hand with the need for release. He suspects that the peak he's building to isn't going to, well, come, believing you to not be satisfied without something more penetrative to yourself. And he guesses right, as with another keening sound from his mouth and a pulsation of his cocks, just as he feels he's within reach of that climax, you stop, releasing your hand from his wet dick and pulling your mouth off the other. He tries not to let himself get too disappointed by the feeling of that knot in his stomach sitting like a dull ache as the quivering, white-hot pleasure begins to recede. 

Nevertheless, once you pull away from his erection, he helps you undress yourself, completely. You reach for his head as well, insistent, and he relinquishes the kerchief he had wrapped over his antennae “You're quite tasty yourself, y'know,” you tell him as you wipe a stray bit of spittle from the corner of your mouth. 

He chuckles. “Fine, I'll believe it, given how fervently you suck at my cocks,” he answers, returning your hungry gaze with his own. You blush, as you always do, hearing such vulgar words from him. It is amusing, he thinks, how you can blush like that even after blowing him like a pornstar. 

You grab his hand, bringing it to your nude body in encouragement for him to touch you, to trail that hand over every inch of your skin, every curve, every dip. He does, his claws delicate as they trace from your collarbone down your chest. He even runs them over your perked nipples, earning a shiver from you when he does. He decides to continue playing with the hardened peaks of your chest as you gasp and sigh through it, shuddering under his attention. Meanwhile, you're stroking at his cocks again, trying to keep him at full hardness as you spread your folds and line him up with your slit. His breath hitches when he feels his tips against it, rubbing at your folds and gathering your slick. You push him gently back down, wanting him to lay back and enjoy the ride–so to speak–as you do the work. He obliges, his stare enraptured by the sight of you over him. His earlier fraughts, ire, and insecurities are long forgotten. He can't think of how upset he initially was at your proposal. Why would he be upset at this, he wonders, as his eyes run over your frame above him. Like this, you look like an angel, like a goddess, about to treat him to his eternal reward for his worship of you, his devotion to you. 

You sink yourself slowly onto his lengths, clenching as they enter you and stretch you. The last time you rode him, you had plenty of workup to the intrusion of his cocks inside of you. This time, it's the first you get to feel of him as you split yourself on his dicks. You sink down on him completely, releasing a gasp from both the pain and the pleasure of how he fills you. You hold still for a moment, trying to get used to the stretch. He hisses out a breath at the way your cunt squeezes around him so tightly.

“Ngh, ah, y-you okay?” he asks in a panting breath.

You nod. “Feels good. Just, a lot,” you reply.

Finally, you begin to slowly roll your hips. He sighs, oh, the relief of feeling friction against you is so heavenly. You rock your hips against him, then begin to deliberately lift yourself off of him and come back down, adding inch by inch of his length each time you repeat the motion. Soon, you're bouncing on him completely, and he can't help but watch the way his lengths reappear and disappear within you. The sight of it is fascinating, the feeling of it is wonderful, and he feels once again inclined towards his affections for you. You're fantastic. You're marvelous. You're amazing, and he should tell you as much. But when he opens his mouth to do so, you cut him off.

“Ohhh Quirrel, mmm honey, you feel so good,” you moan to him as you thrust yourself down on him. Your eyes were closed at first, as you were still adjusting to his penises inside you, but now they're open. And they're trained right on him. “Ah, fuck, baby, such a handsome lover I have~” you continue to praise him.

You, praising him. Oh, this is something he could get used to. Even as he tries again to say something, to tell you you're doing a good job, you shush him. “Baby, this is about you. Let me take care of you, like how you've taken care of me,” you coo to him. He relents, laying back down a bit while holding your stare. His hands still find your hips as he begins to thrust back up to meet you, relishing in the wet slapping sound from your arousal added to your coupling.

A hand of yours travels to meet one of his antennae, an action he was anticipating since you made him take off his kerchief. You feather your fingers across it at first, causing him to shiver as a pleasurable feeling bubbles up inside him from the almost-touch. He whimpers, and you reward his noises with a firmer grip as you wrap your hand around the antenna and stroke it like you did to his dicks. He whines fully at this, his head tilting back and his eyes screwing shut as he gives himself over to the bliss.

You briefly take your other hand away from where it was holding you up against the bed. He feels your pace falter slightly at this, but you quickly resume your bouncing, pounding yourself on his cocks. Your other hand traces down the front of him, touching his chitin so tenderly and adoringly. “See, so gorgeous,” you croon to him, your hand traveling over his rounded front in admiration, “You’re such a handsome bug, Quirrel. I feel so lucky that I get to ride you like this.”

Your words are working their magic on him. As you pull your hand back to support you and switch the antenna your other hand is rubbing, he begins to feel that pressure again. That heat, pooling in his lower belly as he savors your praise, your touch, and your cunt wrapped around him. He bucks up into you sloppily as he moans, “Ah, ahh, oh darling, I’m going to come.” His hand tentatively reaches down for where your bodies are joined, as he asks, “W-will you…? With m-me…?”

You slam yourself down on him with a lewd cry and a shudder. You’re already working yourself there, riding him at just the right angle to feel him plowing into that sweet spot, brushing against it with each pump inside you. “Ohhh yes, Quirrel! I’m already so close, riding your big, thick cocks!” You throw your head back for emphasis as you thrust down hard into that spot, an absolutely pornographic moan escaping you as you feel him throb inside you. “Ahh, like that, baby!”

He loses himself in you, driving himself further up into your slit and fucking you as deeply as he can from underneath. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, like his soul has already separated from his body due to the sheer pleasure pulling him apart. You twist your hand that’s pumping his antenna in just the right way and he sees stars. You absorb the look of total bliss on his face, just as he’s about to tip over the edge, and whisper to him, “Gods, that’s my pretty little bug, Quirrel. Such a good boy for me. Let me be good for you. Let me make you cum, handsome.”

And he does.

He whines nearly pathetically as his orgasm hits him, so warm and intense. He bucks himself up into you as your hips ram down and comes inside you, long and hard. He feels he’s blinded by the ecstasy of it for a moment, the waves of climax crashing into him much heavier than he’d anticipated. He’s near breathless as his orgasm tears through him, and you steal that last bit of breath away by prolonging it when you cum, too. The spasming of your cunt on his cocks is so intense, milking him for all he’s got. You slow the rhythm of your bouncing down as you cry out his name and work yourself through your own peak, squelching sounds coming from your hips meeting his as both your releases spill out over you. He’s unable to look anywhere else but where your bodies join, watching your pace decelerating, watching his cocks form a ring at the base from your slit oozing his seed as they disappear within you over and over, and then you still, with him hilted deep inside. It’s so much, he thinks, and it’s so beautiful. Gods, you’re so beautiful. And he’s so in over his head with you he might as well deem himself a lost cause.

You gingerly lift yourself off of him and wince at the mess that immediately begins to dribble down your thighs. Luckily, he’s got tissues on his nightstand for, well, reasons, and he passes you a handful of them to hopefully help clean yourself up somewhat. You take them with gratitude, and attempt to do just that, kneeling at the end of his bed. He lifts himself up, swinging his feet over the edge and sitting there silently as he waits for you to finish and for his breathing to steady. He’d like his heart to steady too, but he won’t get his hopes up.

Once you’re done, you look back over to him. “Feeling any better?” you ask him as you lean in for a kiss.

He is, but he isn’t. He feels lighter, and the endorphins from his orgasm cloud him in a pleasant feeling, a feeling that he’s loved and wanted. But then, the earlier angst settles back in, even as he returns your kiss. None of this is real , he tells himself. You’ll still be sleeping in an empty bed tonight .

When you pull away, he merely tells you, “Yes, I… Just return to the common area without me, I’ll only be a minute longer. I’ll follow shortly behind you.”

Chapter Text

The week had passed before you even knew it. Suppose there's some truth behind time flying when you're having fun, and you have certainly been having your fun with Quirrel. You almost wanted to swing by his room, tell him of your plans with the girls in the City, and ask him to give you an excuse to shrug it off. Tell him to tell the girls sorry, you're with him now, and instead of getting dressed up and going out with a stranger, you could stay in bed, riding your favorite archivist until he sobs your name. 

But, maybe that sounded too desperate.

Your heels clicked down the steps as you made your way to the entrance. Quirrel was in the main room and couldn't help but turn his head to the sound. He recognized them as raised-heel shoes against the floor. For obvious reasons, Monomon didn't wear heels, and you only wore them for sparse occasions. Like going out on a date.

“Where are you heading?” he called over to you.

“Oh,” you swung your head back around to him, looking nervous. You had worn this outfit before, yet for some reason, Quirrel had never thought you'd looked better than you did right now. It twisted at his heart. “I… guess I forgot to tell you. I got volun-told to join the girls on a triple date,” you told him. You conveniently forgot to tell him until now, mostly because you didn't wanna see the way his face would drop when you did. Kinda like it was doing now.

“You know, you could tell them ‘no’ every once in a while,” he tried to laugh off the unsavory things he was feeling right now. 

“I know, but, Sierra really wanted to score a date with this one guy, and he wanted to score dates for his buddies, so… here we are,” you replied.

Quirrel narrowed his eyes at you skeptically. “But you don't look very excited for this,” he stated.

‘I'm not,’ was where your first thought went, but then that train wandered off its rails. What if this is his way of assessing how needy you are for him? What if by saying you're going on a date you don't want, you're coming off as even clingier?

“Actually, I'm quite looking forward to it. It's been a hot minute since I've had an excuse to go out,” you replied haughtily. Quirrel could tell you're just being stubborn, but nothing pushes you to double down on that bullheaded behavior quite like being called out on it.

“Will we see you later?” He asked instead.

Even with him playing along, you still pushed your narrative adamantly. “Depends on how the night goes,” you giggled playfully as you waved him goodbye. Quirrel didn't laugh with you.

The girls were right, fortunately, that the bar wasn't far from the King's Station stag. These heels were already killing your feet. Why did you wear these heels again? Why did you wear this outfit again? You usually didn't care that much, even on going out for girls’ night. Sure, you looked hot, with those heels extending your slender legs and the clothing hugging you tight in all the right places. But now you feel stupid, fidgeting with the parts you feel are riding too high up and showing too much skin.

Even your friends weren't expecting it. “Whew, look at the smokeshow!” Curla hypes you up as you playfully bat her hands away. 

“Wow, what did we do to deserve such an honor?” Asks Sierra. “We haven't even seen your date yet!”

“It's because she wanted to flaunt herself to whoever's left at home,” Curla chirps with a side-eye to you.

You glare back at her. “Of course not,” you respond, regardless of the fact that she might've hit it head on, but even you aren't willing to even consider that for now. “I just haven't had an excuse to go all out in a while. It's quite nice, isn't it?”

Your chatter is interrupted by the bar door swinging open, inviting in some group of guys suspiciously counted as 3. 

Of course, it's Ash, the cockroach that Sierra seems to find herself enraptured with, for some reason, accompanied by two others. As Ash points over to your table, you find the extra dates seated across from each of you respectively. Curla is paired off with a bee, claiming to be a former soldier of the Hive, so a transplant like herself. Huh. If Ash could rub two brain cells together enough to come up with that pairing, maybe your night isn't so hopeless after all. 

A large beetle sits himself across from you, and he doesn't look so bad, either. Until he opens his mouth.

“Name's Gordy, try not to wear it out tonight, shorty,” he greets you with a wink and a call to the bartender to order some boring light beer. 

Alright, well, at least there's plenty of booze, like Curla promised.

Sierra seems to be on cloud nine for the rest of the night, totally tuned out of what the rest of the table is going through. Curla doesn't seem to be getting that spark of good chemistry, but at least her date can offer her decent conversation in the exchange of experiences of both being transplants to the City coming from tight-knit communities. 

And yourself?

“Archivist? So, what, you go digging for fossils all day?” Gordy asks, clearly uninterested. He finishes his beer in one last big gulp, belching, before he loudly waves down a server for another one. You don't bother trying to correct him that maybe the word he's thinking of is ‘archeologist’. You find it's more entertaining to make a game of downing a shot of liquor every time he says something moronic or self-absorbed. You find you quickly have to switch to ordering standard drinks, lest you keel over and die of alcohol poisoning in the middle of the bar.

The booze you've consumed begins to sit heavy in your stomach, your liver not able to keep up with the rate at which you're drinking. You begin to find yourself lightheaded, then find that everything Gordy says is hilarious, then stupid again, then downright boring. You nearly fall asleep in your seat, except for the fact that when you get up to use the restroom you find that everything around you is spinning. 

Luckily, your triple date wraps up before you've even realized it. Sierra's wrapped around the arms of her cockroach lover boy before they even exit the bar, while Curla looks over to you as she and her date exit. 

“Do you want me to walk you to the stag station?” She asks you.

Gordy steps in to respond before you can. “Don't worry, I got her. Let a gentleman be a gentleman,” he tells her.

She scowls at him, looking back to you. She does not see a gentleman accompanying you. “No, I think I've got her,” she says.

You do finally respond, only to wave her off. “Nah, nah I got it. I don't need either of you two,” you slur your words.

“Oh, you're definitely–” Curla begins.

“Noooo, it's okay,” you tell her, stubborn and defiant now of your better instinct. “Besides, I still haven't decided if I'm looking to get laid tonight,” you mumble to her with a wink.

Curla frowns. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she replies.

You shrug your shoulders, leaving them up for much longer than a sober person would. “What can I say, it's been a while,” you giggle. She doesn't need to know that it has, in fact, barely been 24 hours since the last time you've gotten laid. She doesn't need to know that you're doing this more for yourself, to be able to tell yourself you're still nonchalant about sex and can totally enjoy it with someone other than the pillbug you find by your side every day (and, sometimes, night). 

You leave the bar in a very much not-straight line before she can further protest. The dumb meathead you unfortunately get to call a date rushes out after you.

You find yourself stumbling through cobblestone streets and pathways, as the big beetle next to you tries to inconspicuously direct your tired and swaying body back to his studio. At least you're drunk enough to ignore the rain coating you, or the burning ache in your feet from those stupid heels.

Once he has you inside his flat, he wastes no time with you. There's no movie to watch, no coffee poured, not even a chance to talk about what you do like in bed. He just throws you down and helps you get undressed, as you're too drunk to find some of the buttons on your outfit by yourself. 

“How about some foreplay?” You mumble as he lays you back on the bed and immediately teases his cock out of his shell.

“Don't worry, baby, my dick will have you begging for more in no time,” he tells you confidently. You look down at it. Eh, it's only one, you think to yourself.

You're too exhausted, too out of it to even notice he's put it inside you already. Too inebriated to respond to it. And certainly too displeased to give him any kind of interest in response to the jackhammering of his hips.

“C'mon, baby, uh. Talk dirty to me,” he gruffs as he continues to thrust himself into you.

You groan, your mind pretty muddled. You're not really able to think of anything, so you let yourself go on autopilot. You let your mouth moan out the name it knows on instinct by now whenever you're being mated like this.

“Oh, Quirrel.”

The brute above you stops abruptly. “Quirrel? Who the fuck is Quirrel?” He shouts at you as he pulls out. You don't respond. “You know what, get the fuck out of my place. Stupid slut,” he says as he throws you out of his bed, rushes you to put your clothes back on, and shoves you through the open door before you've even secured the last button. You're dismissed with a loud *slam!* as he shuts and locks it behind you.

What the hell did you just do?

You're forced to sober up a bit as you take the long walk back to the stag station by yourself, the rain soaking through your clothing and hair, the heels agonizing beneath your feet. You didn't bring a lumafly lantern, so as soon as the stag drops you back off at Queen's Station, you find yourself stumbling through the dark of Fog Canyon, still inebriated, trying to find your way home off of memory.

You do eventually make it back through the entrance of the Archives, and you collapse in the entryway of the main room. 

Quirrel hears you stumbling in. He's still up, and he emerges from his room to greet you. He's still up? Oh, that means he really does care, your buzzing mind thinks. Your body begins to burn again, from the alcohol, the stress, or something else.

“What are you doing here at this hour? Did you just get back?” He asks you, trying to help you back up to your feet. 

You giggle and just tug at his arm instead. “Noooo, the floor is nice. Come join me on the floor, Quirrel,” you reply.

You're definitely drunk. He can smell the alcohol, he can clearly see the disheveled state you're in, and he can hear you slur your words still, albeit slightly. He could come up with a hundred ways to scold you right now for such impulsive, such unsafe choices you've made tonight. But he doesn't.

Instead, he asks you, “I'm assuming that means the date didn't go well?” 

You're already beginning to block parts of the night out from your memory. What are you still doing up? Why did you go out again? “Date? What date?” You ask him with a hiccup. You look back up at his face, painted in concern for you, but all you can see is the handsome pillbug you'd like to get a piece of. “Hahahaaa, ooooh, we should go on a date,” you lilt to him.

He pulls his mouth into a grimace. “Oh, you're very out of it.” He tries to help you to your feet once again, and to his thanks, you take it this time. You lean much of your weight against him once you're upright, though, feet still pained. “Let's get you to your room and settled in for the night. Maybe you could tell me during that.”

He guides you to your chambers as you limp against him. Once you're in, he throws on a lantern to address the condition you're in. To his dismay, he can now see that your outfit is on backwards. It wasn't when you'd left. 

“Are… are you okay?” He asks carefully, not sure if he's worried more about upsetting you or upsetting himself. “Were… you planning on staying the night anywhere else?”

You follow his gaze back down to your outfit. What about it? It's a cute outfit, is that what he likes…? You wore it for him, after all. But you wore it backwards. Hmm, why would you do that? 

Suddenly, it comes back to you. “Oh, right! I was!” You respond, a little too loud for this late at night. He shushes you, so you take the volume down a notch. “Yeah, I was gonna hook up with the date, but then he threw me out.” 

Quirrel tries not to dwell on your admittance of pursuing another to bed tonight, despite the incredibly bitter taste it leaves him with. Against his better judgement, he asks, “why? What did you do?”

You hum and haw for a moment. What did you do to upset that jerk so much? He was just another lug, and you looked so hot tonight, he should've been lucky he was hooking up with you! And as you recall that he did, for a minute, have sex with you (take advantage of you), you remember what you did to piss him off.

“Ohh, I moaned your name instead of his,” you tell Quirrel nonchalantly.

He feels his heart catch in his throat. “You, uh, what?”

Now you're back to your giggly self, drunk and alone with an object of your desire in your room. “Yeah, it like, wasn't even that good. He kinda sucked, to be honest. So I zoned out, aaaand I guess I moaned your name instead because I'm so used to it.” You begin to close the distance between you and the pillbug, and he swallows audibly, shifting his stance. “I bet you could more than make up for the disappointing night I've had so far, handsome~”

His face flushes, but he steps back from you. He says your name with a sigh and a shake of his head. “No, you're too drunk for that. I won't do that with you. I'd never take advantage of you like that,” is his answer.

“Awwww, c'mooooon Quirrel, baby,” you whine again. “You don't wanna take me to bed now, hot stuff? Y'know, he had only one dick. He couldn't even fill me right. But you, honey…~” you try to approach him again, but he just gently shoves you back into your bed. Your face lights up for a moment. “Ooh yes, Quirrel! I want you to get dirty with me tonight! I've been a bad girl, put me in my place!” You gasp, only for your expression to fall again as he leaves. He returns to your room after a couple of minutes, but only with a glass of water, an electrolytic pill supplement, and a bucket. “How're you gonna fuck me like the stupid slut I am with that stuff?” You ask him all too casually. “D'you know that that's what he called me when he kicked me out? Stupid slut. Am I a stupid slut to you, Quirrel?”

Quirrel shushes you as he pushes down his own emotions bubbling up in his chest. He gently presses a hand to your chest, guiding your upper body to lay back down against your pillows. He kneels next to your bed to place a soft, tender kiss to your forehead. But before you can lift yourself up to try and meet him in a much more passionate kiss, he stands back up.

“Of course I don't think of you that way. He's completely wrong,” he tells you soothingly, before his voice takes a sterner edge. “But I'm serious. You're still very out of it. I want you to stay in your room and sleep some of it off. I've brought you water and electrolyte to drink in the morning, you're gonna need it. And a bucket in case of nausea… but you can't come sleep with me. I won't allow it.” He sees the pout on your face and softens back up a bit. “I… I'm flattered that you feel these things about me,” he mutters with a blush, “but let's see what you still think once you're sober. Goodnight, my dear,” he parts from you with that, turning off the lantern as he leaves. 

You're now left in the physical darkness of your room, but you've left him in the mental darkness with what you've said tonight. The way he sees it, you left him to see what options you had other than him, and now that you were left unsatisfied, only now do you come back to him. Looking for more sex. Is that all he’s good for? 

No, no, he's letting his own emotions get in the way of helping his friend. You didn't sleep with that guy consensually. He took advantage of you, of the fact that you were alone and horrendously drunk in order to use you for his own pleasure. Quirrel's almost grateful that you did get kicked out, that you've made it back home tonight, that you're in your own bed, and much safer for it. Here, at the Archives, you have him. Quirrel will look after you.

But who will look after Quirrel, when he pushes himself too far? When he breaks his heart for the final time and can't put it back together? Will you change something before he's begun to resent you, and your friendship is ruined beyond repair? Will he change something?

Once he's back in his own bed, he tosses and turns, but struggles to find sleep again.