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sol-consort · 3 months ago

Note

My brain got bodyslammed today thinking about Pervy Quarian Roommate again and his method of "boosting his immune system" by making out with reader. The bodyslam came with extrapolating of off the theory of humans inventing kissing as a means of innocculating others to our germs to a pipeline of how breastmilk is also said to help a babies immune system and Quarian Roommate learning about this and just plummeting down a rabbithole of fantasies about reader pregnant and swollen and needing milking and he's all to happy to offer to help them. He can't see his helmets foggier than normal, can't even speak without risking saying something completly unhinged to the reader about the sites he's been visiting lately, he's a mess. Someone help him.

(Sorry if this is too much, just had to yeet this into the aether to clear it from my mind)

You know what? I'm proud of you for yeeting this into my aether. It takes courage!! This is a kink positive blog. Also, lowkey really motivated me to write like damn this is a minty fresh prompt that I haven't done before, I'm intrigued, I'm curious, imma take a dip in the milk pool. Was supposed to be a drabble, turned into a whole fic, bon appetite? (pun intended) Will crosspost it to AO3 later.

Quarians Can Get Humans Pregnant, You're Just Not Trying Hard Enough!

(yes this is the title I settled on)

[Heavy smut, breastfeeding kink, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, perversion, male quarian being a degenerate, health kink if you squint? SOME plot]

[AFAB reader has a vagina/breasts, Ambiguous gender, GN pronouns]

Loosely follows this roommate series as part one, but can stand on its own.

The thing about human breasts is that because it's such a common fact of life, a lot of sources and wiki articles on breastfeeding fail to mention that milk production is mostly only possible by pregnancy. In the majority of mammals, their breasts only visibly swell with fat after pregnancy, then gradually decrease post birth. Humans are a minority with our constantly visible round tits 24/7.

And that fact might slip by other species, most importantly the sheltered alien who can't make it two paragraphs into the Human Anatomy Wikipedia without getting a raging boner and losing all focus. The words blurring into one another as all he can think about are the hard nipples he saw poking through your shirt one cold morning.

Because he is such a bad reader and an incredibly perverted person, he might just think that you're already pregnant. Incubating a life inside you. That it's just a matter of time before you become groggy, sleepy, and cuddly all day long. Swollen and heavy, always craving something to munch on, always cozy in bed with fluffy blankets, chest even bigger than before, tits swollen and spilling over your now tight top.

But ah, that fantasy falls apart if the alien in question is a quarian. It would've worked with literally any other alien species besides them and the asari since they also happen to share this rare anatomical trait of humans.

So he knows you're not pregnant. But you know what they say about yearning? The harder something is to reach, the more tantalising and desirable it becomes, and the more delicious it is to achieve.

The fact that you are currently not pregnant is borderline blasphemous in his eyes. It's a crime! Your fellow humans must have lost their mind or something to let someone as strong, healthy, smart, and beautiful as you just stay barren.

This isn't his rose-tinted views talking... well, maybe it is. But nonetheless, you're a prime candidate for breeding. So fertile and healthy. Your body will be accommodating to any cock it takes inside, your womb practically begging to overflow with cum.

You need a baby inside you. Plain and simple. He swears he can't understand the human mind at times.

It's so infuriating. He's like a starving person watching a bunch of people pass up on a literal feast in front of his eyes. It's so unfair that he can't get you pregnant himself.

Be it nurture or nature, fantasies of breeding you constantly plague his mind. Seemingly popping at the most innocent times... and some not so innocent times.

Oh, trust him. If he could, he would.

If only.

On one hand, he is turning green with envy at the mere thought of a human courting you. On the other hand, he knows there is a zero chance of you getting pregnant without another human being involved.

He could stuff you with his cum all day long until your legs are wobbly and your tummy has a subtle bulge to it. An opaque fluid seeping from your cunt and onto the mattress below, hole gaping and closing in rhythm with your heavy breathes as you lay there all spent and oversensitive.

He wants to have his cake and eat it too.

He wants your boobs heavy and leaking, your tummy full and round, whilst being the only person allowed to creampie you.

Not that he actually ever got further than kissing you under the pretence of training his immune system—all the antibiotic shots he needed to take in secret afterwards were totally worth it—what matters is that you believed him! That you happily and enthusiastically smothered him with kisses until your lips were shiny and glossy.

If only he could get over his fears and confess... alas, each time he comes close to it, he chickens out. Especially with the uh other roommates' eyes digging into his back whenever he attempts to have a "private" chat with you in the hallway. Yeah, the walls are really thin in here.

A man can dream, at the very least.

Weave his own fairytale of sharing a house with you, just the two of you. Maybe a modern apartment in the Citadel overlooking the persidium, maybe a house with a spacious yard in an upcoming colony, maybe saving up for a good domestic ship and touring the galaxy together.

What matters is, in his fantasy, you're always waiting for him back home. Greeting him at the door, barefoot with your face all flushed and pouty, already mad at him for something. You forgot what it is, but you're still mad nonetheless.

He has to restrain himself from melting into a puddle on the floor right then and there, how adorable you are whilst being all huffy and puffy.

Of course, he'll make it up to you. He'll do whatever you ask. He'll get you whatever food you want. Want him to massage your feet after he makes you a cup of hot tea? Want to sit in his lap and let him rub your round stomach in a comforting motion?

He'll play the role of the dutiful husband to the nines!

Or is his pretty human all moody because your chest is too heavy? Did it get too swollen with milk while he was away? Is that what's been bothering you all day?

Poor baby, let your husband help you with it. You always liked tracing the star patterns on his galaxy skin while cradling his head to your chest.

A dark purple tongue littering kitten licks atop your soft nipple, watching it harden against the cold air, coaxing the tender thing into his mouth, twirling it around with his tongue.

Just to prolong the process, just to get to play house with you a little more. And you're just so needy for his mouth to relieve you of all of this milk weighing down your chest, that you don't even have the energy to tell him off for deliberately teasing you.

Your eyes glossed over the second he took your nipple into his mouth, your brain turned into mush, the heat in your core intensified.

It feels so right, having someone drink from your chest. Your body knows it feels right and it rewards you for fulfilling your purpose, it makes you so happy and pliant, makes you so docile as you sit there slightly squirming, gentle hands cradling his head, burying it against your tits even more in hopes he'll take the hint and start drinking.

Why isn't he drinking yet? You really need to get this milk out, it's too much. You're almost brought to tears, he is being too mean...

You're still in your new clothes and all—the fresh ones you had to change into merely minutes before his arrival because the previous ones were all stained from your chest just leaking all day long—comfortably nuzzled on his lap, facing him with your back against the headboard of the bed.

Nursing bra pushed under your boobs alongside your low-cut top, making your tits literally spill over your clothes. You did all of this for him, and he's still not drinking from you.

The quarian learned how to read human emotions while living with you, or maybe it was you who became more and more of an open book around him the more time went on, especially with you pregnant with his child, how vulnerable and treasured this made you feel.

Before it became too much, you felt that familiar sensation, his lips tightening around your nipple before sucking against it. Great relief washed over you.

It's weirdly vulnerable, having someone nurse from your chest, the most intimate act you can imagine. There is no room left for shame, or else, this is as bare and exposed as you can ever be with another person without merging your souls into one.

A soft sigh escapes you, eyes closing, your head tilting back against the headboard.

He's draining the milk out of you, sucking until he collects a generous mouthful, and then the sound of a big gulp follows.

You hold him tight through it, keep tenderly cradling his head to your chest, encouraging him to drink up to his heart's content.

Gradually, one of your boobs begins feeling lighter. Like a boulder lifted off of your shoulders. At the same time, a new sensation begins taking place. Now the nipple squished between his lips is all sore and aching. Half your breast is completely shiny with his spit as he licks it entirely clean, not letting a single drop of milk go to waste.

It's always hard getting him to stop latching onto one and move to the other breast; his whines as you cup your boob away from him almost breaks you, that subtle vibration in the quarians' voicecords always tug at your heartstrings.

But he doesn't move to stop you, merely attempting to chase it with his lips for a few seconds before accepting his fate. Giving you these puppydog eyes, dark pupils fading into the sclera, blurring at the edges, a light iridescence to his irises, shifting in hue as he tilts his head to the side.

Mewling for more of your milk, of your love, of you.

It's always hard. Not because he's stubborn, quite the opposite, but because it's emotionally taxing. You'd think you were betraying him from the way he looks like a kicked puppy, silently pleading for more.

Sometimes you glimpse moments of lucidity, just how bizarre it is that you're really sitting in here, nursing an alien, and a very pretty one at that, while pregnant with his child.

That somehow across the planets and stars, somehow fate deemed it amiable to make the milk humans produce not only very compatible and safe to consume to a certain group, but that very same alien species seeks it out like liquid gold. It lights up all the right spots in their brain, it's the tastiest thing they could possibly consume.

So imagine their deflated reaction when the human race turned out to be too prudish and unnerved by the quarians' enthusiasm and apparent shamelessness in their giddy request.

But not in this house. Sure, if another alien had asked you for such a thing, you'd send them into orbit with zero hesitation.

Never with him, you could never refuse him a request. How lucky he is to have someone so understanding and accommodating like you.

Cupping his cheek with your hand, your tilt his head up, lips brushing against his own in a soft kiss. He's more than receptive as he deepens the kiss, making you taste yourself, traces of your very own sweet milk evident in his greedy mouth.

Pulling you even close on his lap, squeezing your thighs, kneading the doughy thing. How can someone so beautiful be so strong? At times, you swear he appears as delicate as a flower made from star clusters painted across a dark abyss.

At other times, when he picks you up so easily at the front door, carrying you to the bed without breaking a sweat. Simply cooing at your adorable upset expression, leaving light pecks across your face and neck as a way to kiss the moodiness away. And you're reminded of who you're dealing with, the wolf in sheep's clothings.

Especially now, with these "delicate" fragile-looking fingers squishing the fat on your hips and thighs, completely massaging all the knots out, a steel grip keeping you secured to his lap.

To think all this beauty was hidden away behind a metallic environmental suit for years and years... finally blossoming in front of your eyes.

You break the kiss just as he begins rolling his hips from under you. Knowing exactly what's the thing poking under your thigh is. You got him all excited and worked up from a simple kiss, or maybe getting easily riled up is just one of the side effects of a quarian being milkdrunk.

Cupping your other breast, the still full one, you attempt to slightly nudge it up a bit. Your hand is clearly not big enough. The soft fat spilling from the corners. To add insult to injury, you only served to aid gravity into squeezing it flat against the palm of your hand.

Pursing your lips in an attempt to suppress the embarrassing groan leaving you at the sensation of having your swollen breast squeezed, even by accident. The tip is already covered in a sheer milky liquid, leaking droplets of your precious milk, feeling it trickle down the underside of your breast, soaking the fingers still holding it up.

The hands under your thighs secure their grip, lifting you slightly in the air, pressing you against the headboard. Your thighs squeeze together under your round stomach. The quarian has a better ease of access now, lowering his head to reach the underside of your chest.

A shiver runs through you at the feeling of his tongue licking stripes down there, moving across your fingers, cleaning them from the precious droplets of milk. Not letting a single one go to waste.

Tongue tracing from the underside of your breast up to your nipple, flicking it with the tip of his tongue as you whine and squirm at the sensation, watching it leak even more into his open mouth, and down your chest, making another mess.

Repeating this agonising process for a few minutes before finding mercy in his heart to lower you down and back into the safety of his lap.

You're so mad at him you want to chew him out for behaving like that and deliberately teasing you, it's not safe to lift a pregnant person like this! You had to carry your stomach with your thighs just so it wouldn't droop, really he needs to be more responsible.

But all that comes out as you open your mouth is an obscene moan, one straight out of a cliche porno. You don't even register this lewd voice as your own for a few seconds.

While you were busy stewing over him in your brain, not only did his hand sneak under your clothes, but flick your clit as well, before his thumb rolled the bundle of nerves around, eliciting that lewd sound out of you.

You were completely drenched, and you didn't even know it. While he sucked your tit dry, you were only getting wetter and wetter down below, head in the clouds and consumed by bliss, none the wiser to your leaking, aching cunt.

Both your arms wrapped around his neck, guiding him by the nape to your full breast again, silently pleading with him while your clit was being toyed with.

Just as his mouth latched around your nipple, one of his fingers squeezed itself between your tight walls. Burying itself all the way to the knuckle, bending and pressing against your walls, before sliding almost all the way out.

Fucking in and out of you, causing more of your wetness to pour out, while your milk poured down his throat. Greedily sucking against you with feverish intensity, as if he's man starved to quench his thirst, as if he didn't just get his fill and more from your now empty sore breast.

He can't help it. Your milk is ambrosia to his senses. Its creamy taste, sweet smell, and even the mouthwatering colour of it. It drove him mad with desire.

He'd drive his finger into you whilst sucking deeply around your nipple, pulling it out just as he swallows down all the delicious liquid. A vulnerable expression painted across his soft features, eyes locked into yours. Looking up at you as if you're his whole world, his sun and moon, his sole reason for existence, the one carrying his child in your belly.

You sacrifice so much to him, indulge his every whim. How can he not appreciate all that you do? How can he not treasure you? You've let his seed alter your entire body just to grow his baby inside you, to offer him a healthy child.

Going through all of the hardships of pregnancy, of seeing your own belly bulge more and more out each day, until your favourite clothes won't fit anymore. Until you're swollen, stomach round, flesh tender and jelly-like.

Having to abandon your favourite bras as your tits grew too big to fit inside them, and too heavy for you to comfortably walk around. Going without a bra just meant ruining all your new pregnancy tops as your breast kept leaking all day long.

One time, you were just finishing cleaning the table, only to notice recent droplets of opaque liquid seemingly appearing from thin air, always returning no matter how many times you bend over the table to wipe them. Only once you passed by a mirror and glimpsed your completely drenched top did you realise the cause.

The deeper into your pregnancy months you reached, the harder and harder it became to think and function. Everything ached. Everything was sore. You are constantly wet in some shape or form. Be it your tits leaking milk in the middle of the night, or your needy cunt ruining your nice panties with silky wetness because your libido shot through the roof overnight.

It was all too much, you just needed to be taken care of.

Sitting on your husband's lap, emptying your swollen tits in his mouth as he sucked and nursed against you. Mewling out as he spreads your pussy with another finger, thumb still abusing your clit to no end.

Allowing you to completely turn off your brain, no more overthinking. Muffling the mess of hormones nagging you with absurd thoughts, driving you up the wall with the intense waves of emotions that constantly wash over you.

You're glowing. Your husband would constantly whisper against your skin, littering every inch of you in kisses, worshipping your whole body at the end of each night. Driving all the bad thoughts away and reminding you of just how radiant you are, how mesmerising your silhouette is.

He loses his track of thoughts sometimes because he stares at you a little too long and forgets what he was going to say, enraptured by your beauty and sweetness.

Minutes blur into each other, and two fingers become three. Your body sprawled across the bed, a pillow under your hips for comfort, another under your shoulders and head.

Your husband is kneeling over you, bowed legs with claw-like feet. Careful not to scratch your soft human skin.

Now properly emptied of all milk you could give, sucked dry to the last droplet. You can't help but feel proud of yourself for doing so well, proud of your body for producing so much milk, for feeding the man you love most with it so he may be strong and healthy.

The thought of your milk inside his stomach right now is so satisfying, as equally parts endearing. He must be so full and sated with your milk. Now you wonder if there was a point to the lunch you cooked after all.

Your chest feels tremendously lighter, albeit your nipples are extremely sore, puffy with a deep hue. So sensitive, even to the simple air brushing against them.

He really nursed to his heart's content.

His cock's been throbbing in the confines of his clothes. All this time, he's been neglecting it for the sake of overindulging in your body.

You might have ruined the man beyond repair, causing him an irreversible oral fixation. Licking his lips, he's still not satisfied, eyes drifting lower between your spread legs.

Lowering his body down the bed until the heat of your cunt is inches away from his face. Looking over the mess he's made out of your soaked pussy, keeping you at the edge for so long... he knows it's cruel, but can you blame him for wanting to drink your cum as well?

He was too busy with your milk. He didn't want this to go to waste. Now, he'll more than make it up to you.

Hungry mouth latching onto your clit just like he did to your nipples, nursing against the sensitive thing, swirling it with his tongue. Bringing you endless waves of pleasure, as he takes in the sounds you make, only serving to motivate him further.

Not that he did need any motivation in the first place, from the way he's lapping at your cunt without shame, groaning in delight at its taste.

His last thread of self-restraint snaps, hand moves between his own legs, practically wrestling his cock out from his pants.

You only get a glimpse from this position, but fuck, is it pretty. It's such a crime for a man to have such a pretty looking cock, even his pre-cum is a sheen rose blush tint. Sometimes. The quarians feel too unrealistic for this world, even for aliens.

And despite all of his apparent beauty, you've reduced him to a feral man, desperate to drown himself in your cunt as he fists his cock harshly. Your husband is a needy mess, tugging as his cock in frustration, smearing pre-cum over his hand.

He's so close, he's so close but he can't, he won't cum. Not without the taste of your cum down his throat, he outright refuses.

Pretty moans spilling from his lips, a vibrating undertone to them that just feels heavily against your pussy as he drives his tongue further inside you. Thumbing at your clit, kissing and making out with your wet hole, completely beyond the point of no return. Even if the world was ending he wouldn't move an inch away from your cunt.

Your moans, the sinful sounds you're making, they'll be his demise.

He needs you to cum, he's desperate.

His free hand stretches forward, gently taking hold of your round belly. That brings a hitch into your breath, he takes it as a good sign.

Soothingly rubbing circles around it, tracing the tips of his fingers alongside your stretch marks. A sensual experience that'd appear romantic and sweet to onlookers, wasn't it for the obscene sight of him eating out your pussy just down below, the shameless sounds of his moaning and sucking against your cunt, of the wetness he swallows.

You can't see his eyes with your swollen stomach in the way, left to helplessly lay there after you fed him all your milk, only to have your pussy eaten out next.

The orgasm has been building up very slowly ever since his finger first flicked your clit, simmering at low heat, gradually increasing in intensity. You're ever sure you had a mini-orgasm along the way somewhere, but you're not about to let him know.

Instead, you relish in the feeling of utter bliss this slowburn climax brings. It wasn't electrifying, nor like a bullet shooting through you.

No, it's intense like a ripple in the ocean, a wave so steady and silent as it approaches the shore. An impending pleasure that you've seen and anticipated from a mile away, less explosive with its instant gratification, and more akin to a heavy embrace, engulfing all of your being, fulfilling your every need. The kind of orgasms that leave you feeling whole afterwards, with a relaxed mellow demeanour rather than an overwhelmed spent mess.

And he gets to drink it all up, suffocate himself between your thighs as you go through the motions of climax. Leaving him both pussydrunk and milkdrunk, tugging at his leaking cock, rubbing the swollen pretty purple head. the aftertaste of your cum fresh on his tongue, while the warmth of your milk still sits in his stomach.

He's overwhelmed by your love through and through. Shiny eyes and bitten lips, he can't suppress his embarrassing cries any longer as he melts into a puddle between your thighs, burying his head into the doughy fat of your inner thigh as if it's his comfort plushie.

Stripes of adorable milky pink escape his cock, pretty lips shiny as he cums his brains out. Still fucking and grinding into his own fist. Your name at the tip of his tongue in between the choked moans, your face on his mind, your innocent human eyes, your whole angelic being is only further driving him into depravity.

He opens his tightly shut eyes.

He's alone in his room.

In the safe confines of his bed's sterile field. His environmental suit discarded outside the bubble, set on disinfecting mode.

The waves of the orgasm have passed. Slowy stroking his pulsing cock to relish in the aftermath, milking the very last droplets of rosy cum from it.

A content sigh leaves him.

He should really throw his sheets in the washer before they stain. The whole room reeks of sex... well, not that humans can really pick up on the scent of quarian cum. Last time you caught him sneaking to the laundry room in the middle of sleeping hours, ruined sheets in hand, you complimented his choice of "detergent" and said it's adorable that he prefers flowery fragrances.

Yeah... flowery fragrances. He didn't have the heart to tell you it was his spilled semen on those very same unwashed sheets you were innocently sniffing, thinking they just came fresh out of the wash cycle.

On the other hand, this really explains the uncomfortable feeling he'd get whenever passing by a human-owned flower shop on the Citadel.

He'd like to pretend that he's a better man, that his brain wasn't immediately flooded with shady ideas that take advantage of this new information, lewd at best, and immorally perverse at worst.

But he isn't a better man. He's not the gentle, thoughtful, and badass husband in his own fantasies.

He's even quite mid in his own species' terms of attractiveness. Yet you claim he is the epitome of beauty. Complimenting his galaxy-like dark skin, claiming his eyes rival the stars.

A cynical part of his mind tells him you only think that because he's the only quarian you've seen up close without an environmental suit, courtesy of your "kissing practice" days together to boost his immune system.

If you only knew what lurked underneath that delicate beauty. What degenerate thoughts brewed behind those iridescent eyes.

Sometimes, he takes advantage of your nativity, or more accurately, you let him get away with things that you wouldn't let slide for a human male.

You don't question his wandering hand; he's just a cute curious alien. You don't try to cover yourself after bumping into him while you're fresh out of the shower, even when the tantalisingly short towel you're wearing starts peeling off your body.

You can't see where his eyes are staring at from behind that helmet, the way they're completely focused on that peaking colour underneath the seam of your towel, where you have it loosely wrapped around your squished boobs, a hard nipple threatening to peak through while you're not the wiser, busy talking to him about some human work drama.

Normally, he is very invested in anything you have to say, but right now, he can't hear a single word.

You don't bat an eye when his hands immediately move to the upper edge of your towel, fingers catching the fabric before it completely gives out. His face burning a darker hue underneath his tinted helmet, trembling fingers as he fixes your towel for you, sparing your dignity.

As tempting as it was, a sight to behold that'll be etched into his brain for eternity. He really didn't want you to catch a cold. So he stepped over his own heart (and semi-hard cock) and ushered you to go dry off in your own room.

As sturdy and healthy humans have proven to be in comparison to his own kind, he still can't help but fuss over you, panic whenever you get a papercut, check on you every hour when you fall ill with a fever no matter what risk it puts him at.

He can only dream of having someone as healthy and capable as you carrying his children. Oh, how your body would nurture them. It's the perfect one for him and his seed.

You're just so capable and cool, so full of life and energy... he wants his kids to be like you. To have your milky looking human eyes, your earthly toned skin, this weird fur-thing you call hair. Even that he grew to adore with time.

Alas. Reality is calling. He will clean himself before leaving his room, finding you in the shared common room being chummy with the other aliens, because that's just how you humans are.

Your stomach is neither round nor swollen...

Your chest is the same size it's always been...

And he'll go over and say hi, like he always does. And you'll ask how his health has been faring, if there is anything you can do...

If the lessons have been helping.

And he'll answer yes with a chipper tone, voice slightly distorted by the filter of his helmet.

And the salarian and asari sitting on the opposite couch will give him that knowing side glance, because they know the truth, how much of a bullshit excuse these lessons are to make out with you.

But they'll say nothing. The asari would rather keep her trump card close to her chest until he has something she wants, and the salarian prefers to mind his own business, although he won't go through the effort of lying or if you directly asked him about the effect of the lessons.

#☆smut #☆quarians #☆human kink #☆humans #alien human kink #alien x reader #alien x human #mass effect x reader #afab reader #smut #quarian x reader #☆roommate quarian

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