This story takes place in an imaginary universe, but it's heavily inspired by Mass Effect.
It’s a 2-part alien x reader (for now, because I might write a bonus part with more smut). The alien is an oc, but no real background about him is given (because who cares, we're here for his d-).
I drew him because I like to draw, but feel free to imagine him (even tho some physical details are given in the story)
Also, English is not my first language!
If you spot any mistakes, feel free to let me know! I'd love to improve my English (and the story).
Part 1
Warnings (for both part but mostly this one) :
MDNI (+18), afab reader, alien cock, mention of alien way of breeding, story starting soft and ending wild, piv, fluff, smut, blowjob, oral (both are recieving), definitly alien kink, green dick, no protection used (wrap it before you tap it), no use of y/n, alien oc, long plot for the porn
Masterlist
The door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss that seemed louder than it should have been in the small space of your quarters.
You watched him take in the room. It wasn't much. A narrow cot against the far wall, a desk cluttered with datapads and spare parts, a locker where you kept your clothes and the few personal items you'd accumulated over the years. A holoprint of a sunset on some colony world you'd visited once, the name long forgotten. A plant that had somehow survived despite your neglect.
Kharlas moved through the space like he was cataloguing it, his yellow eyes passing over each object with that same clinical attention he'd given your welding. He stopped at the desk, picking up a small circuit board you'd been repairing.
“You live simply,” he said.
“It's a station. Nobody lives with excess here.” You watched him set the circuit board down, his fingers tracing the edge of a datapad. “What did you expect?”
He turned to face you, and something in his posture shifted. The way he held himself, the angle of his head. It reminded you of how he'd looked when he first approached you in the hangar. Careful. Measuring.
“I do not know what I expected,” he said. “Your broadcasts show many things. Large homes, open spaces, rooms filled with objects people collect over a lifetime. But those are likely curated images.”
“Mostly. The wealthy colonies have that kind of space. Out here, you learn to live with what fits in a single room.” You gestured around you. “This is luxury compared to some quarters I've seen.”
He took a step closer, then another. The room felt smaller with him in it, his height and the breadth of his shoulders making the space seem almost cramped.
“You led me here,” he said. "Why ?"
The question caught you off guard.
“Because I wanted to,” you said. “Because dinner was good, and I wanted to continue talking. Is that enough?”
He considered this, his head tilting in that birdlike way you were starting to recognize. “For most of my species, it wouldn’t be. We do not invite others into our private spaces without purpose. It implies an expectation.”
“What kind of expectation?”
He stepped closer again. Close enough that you could see the texture of his skin up close. Not smooth like you'd thought, but covered in the faintest pattern of tiny ridges. Close enough that you could smell him, something clean and slightly herbal, nothing like the recycled air of the station.
“Intimacy,” he said. “Physical intimacy. The kind that leads to mating, or at least to the exploration of it.”
Your breath caught in your throat. He said it so directly, no hesitation, no reading between the lines. Just a statement of fact.
“Is that why you followed me?” you asked. Your heart was beating like it was trying to get out of you.
Please say yes.
“I followed because you asked me to.” A pause. “But I also followed because I wanted to learn. I told you this already. I have never met a human before. I want to understand how your species experiences intimacy, how you connect with each other on a physical level.”
“You want a demonstration.”
He didn't flinch. “Yes.”
The word hung in the air between you. You could feel the heat coming off him, standing this close, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. The green of his skin seemed to deepen slightly, a subtle shift in color that you hadn't noticed before.
“Your skin changed color,” you said, trying to change the subject. To give yourself time to process what was happening.
He looked down at his own arm, then back at you. “It does that. When I experience strong emotions. I thought I mentioned this at dinner.”
“You mentioned it could change color. You didn't say what the colors meant.”
“Green is my resting state. Darker green means arousal. Or anger. The two are sometimes difficult to distinguish.”
You laughed, the sound surprising you. “That sounds inconvenient.”
“It has its complications.” He reached out, his hand hovering near your face, not quite touching. “May I?”
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
His fingers brushed your cheek, feather-light. The touch was warm, warmer than human skin would have been, and you felt a shiver run through you that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
“Your skin is soft,” he said. “Softer than I expected. Our texts describe humans as having a thin epidermal layer, but I did not imagine it would feel like this.”
“What did you imagine?”
“More resistance. Like the surface of a fruit that has not yet ripened.” His hand moved from your cheek to your jaw, tracing the line of it. “This is different. More pliable.”
You reached up and caught his hand, turning it over in yours. His palm was broader than yours, the skin there much thicker, rougher. Calluses in places you didn't recognize, probably from handling weapons or the controls of his ship.
“What about you?” you asked. “Can I touch you?”
Stupid question when you're already touching him
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he took your hand and pressed it flat against his chest, over the spot where a human heart would be.
The first thing you noticed was the heat. His body radiated warmth through the fabric of his undersuit. The second thing was the rhythm—two distinct pulses, not quite synchronized, beating against your palm in a counterpoint that felt almost musical.
“Two hearts,” you said.
“One for each lung. They work in sequence, not simultaneously. The left pumps while the right rests.” He placed his own hand over yours, pressing it harder against him. “Can you feel the difference?”
You could. One beat was stronger, the other fainter, like an echo. You closed your eyes and focused on it, letting the sensation fill your awareness.
“That's incredible. You're incr-”
“For you, perhaps. For me, it is simply how I am built.” He cut you, released your hand, and stepped back, just enough to look at you properly. “I want to see you. All of you. Will you let me?”
Your heart hammered in your chest, a single frantic rhythm compared to his dual one. The room felt too warm, the air too thin. It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. But you nodded anyway, reaching for the fastenings of your coveralls.
His eyes tracked your movements with an intensity that made your fingers fumble. The zipper caught, and you had to stop and pull it free before continuing. When the fabric parted, you shrugged the coveralls off your shoulders, letting them fall to the floor.
You stood before him in your undershirt and shorts, suddenly aware of how plain they were. Functional, like everything else in your life. Nothing designed to impress.
He reached out, touching the fabric of your undershirt with the same careful curiosity. “It is very thin.”
“It's meant to be comfortable, not protective.”
He tugged at the hem, a gentle pull that asked a question. You lifted your arms, and he drew the shirt up and over your head, letting it join your coveralls on the floor.
His gaze traveled down your body, taking in the curve of your breasts, the plane of your stomach, the faint scars you'd accumulated over years of working with machinery and not always being careful enough. His expression was unreadable, but the color of his skin had deepened to a richer green, almost dark enough to be called forest.
“Different,” he said finally. “From what I expected.”
“Different how?”
Not a blush, not a smile, not a lip biting. It was hard to read him, to see if he liked what was standing in front of him. But the simple fact that he couldn't take his eyes off you was enough to turn you on.
“More... vulnerable. The bone structure, the way the muscle sits over it. There is less protection than our species has.” He reached out, his fingers tracing a line from your collarbone down to your sternum. “But also more beautiful than the diagrams suggested.”
Was it a compliment ?
You laughed, a nervous sound.
He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you against him. The heat of his body through his undersuit was almost overwhelming. “I want to touch you more. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes.”
His hands moved over you slowly, deliberately, mapping the landscape of your body with softness. He traced the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips. Every touch was measured, almost scientific, but his skin had darkened further, and his breathing had grown heavier.
“You tremble,” he said.
“I'm nervous.”
“Why?”
“Because I've never done this with someone who wasn't human. Because I don't know what you expect, what you want, whether I'm doing any of this right.” The words came out in a rush. “Because I brought you here and I don't know what happens next.”
He tilted his head, that birdlike gesture that was becoming familiar. “What happens next is what we choose to happen. There are no rules here. No expectations beyond the ones we create together. I won't push you. And I have time. Enough time for tonight, at least.”
His hands slid down to your waist, then lower, cupping your hips. He nudged a knee between your thighs, spreading you open, and the pressure of his leg against you was a promise.
“But I do want something,” he said. “I want to know what your body feels like. I want to know what sounds you make, what reactions you have, what gives you pleasure. I want to learn you the way I learn a new ship's systems—by taking you apart and understanding how each piece works.”
Your breath caught. “That's... very direct.”
“I am a direct person. Or at least I've been told.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Now. Will you let me learn you?”
The answer was already forming on your lips, but instead of speaking it, you reached for the fastenings of his undersuit. The clasps were different from human ones, requiring a specific sequence of movements to release. He guided your hands through the process, patient even as your fingers fumbled.
The suit fell away, revealing the body beneath.
His chest was broad, the muscles defined but not in the way human muscles were. They seemed to flow into each other, softer edges, more organic. His skin was the same green but with subtle patterns running across his torso, lines that seemed to shift as he breathed.
And below his waist, you saw the evidence of his arousal.
And oh lord, it was big.
It stood upright, thick and longer than any human equivalent. The color was the same green as the rest of his skin, but the shape was different—not perfectly cylindrical but slightly tapered, with subtle ridges running along the length. Small bumps dotted the surface, each one a slightly darker shade than the surrounding skin. The tip was darker still, almost brown, with a small opening at the center.
You reached out, your fingers hovering near it. “Can I touch you?”
“I would like that.”
Your hand closed around him. The skin was warm, almost hot, and the texture was unlike anything you'd experienced. The bumps were soft but present, giving the surface a kind of grain that felt intriguing against your palm. The ridges provided natural grip as your hand moved along his length.
He made a sound, low in his throat. A groan, you realized, that rumbled through his chest and vibrated against your palm.
“Good?” you asked, proud of the reaction you were getting from this stoïc individual.
“Very good.” His voice was deeper now, rougher. “Continue.”
You tightened your grip slightly, experimenting with the pressure. Another groan, this one louder. His hand came up, resting on the top of your head, not pushing but present, a reminder that he was there.
The thought of tasting him crossed your mind. The way he'd reacted to your touch, the sounds he made, the warmth of his skin against your hand—you wanted more. You wanted to know what he tasted like, what sounds you could draw from him with your mouth.
You could ask him. Or you could surprise him. Try to get a better reaction from the green man.
You lowered yourself to your knees, the deck plates cold against your bare legs. He was at eye level now, that beautiful alien body standing before you.
You leaned forward and took him into your mouth.
The taste was strange—not unpleasant, but different. There was a saltiness to it, mixed with something herbal, something that reminded you of the soup he'd brought you. The skin was warm against your tongue, the bumps creating a texture that made your mouth feel full in a way you hadn't expected.
His hand on your head tightened, fingers curling into your hair. Another groan escaped him, longer this time, and you felt a shudder run through his body.
"What... Why are yo-"He was cut mid-sentence by his own breathing.
You moved your head, taking him deeper, learning the rhythm that made him react. His breathing grew ragged, his hips beginning to move in small, instinctive thrusts. The sounds he made filled the small space, a language of pleasure that needed no translation.
After a time, he pulled away gently, his hand cupping your chin and lifting your face to meet his gaze.
“Your turn,” he said with a deep voice.
He guided you to the cot, pressing you down onto the thin mattress. The fabric was rough against your back, but you barely noticed. His mouth found yours, and the kiss was different from anything you'd imagined. His lips were softer than they looked, but the texture was wrong, almost rubbery, and his tongue (if that's what it was) was longer and more flexible than any human tongue.
He kissed down your body, slow and deliberate, his mouth tracing the same path his hands had taken earlier. He paused at your breasts, his tongue circling each nipple until you arched into him, then continued lower, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.
When his mouth reached the junction of your thighs, you held your breath.
He looked up at you. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just... explore. Learn.”
He smiled. A strange expression on his face, one that stretched his lips in a way that seemed almost unnatural, but the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. Then he lowered his head and pressed his mouth against you.
The sensation was overwhelming. His tongue was longer than a human one, reaching places you didn't know existed inside you. It moved in patterns that felt alien and right, probing and circling and stroking in ways that had you gripping the thin sheets beneath you.
Your orgasm built slowly, a pressure that grew with each movement of his mouth. You tried to warn him, to tell him you were close, but the words came out as incoherent sounds. He seemed to understand anyway, his tongue pressing harder, faster, until the pressure crested and broke.
You came against his face with a cry that echoed off the metal walls.
He pulled away slowly, his chin glistening, his skin flushed a deep, rich green. He crawled up the length of your body, his mouth finding yours again. You tasted yourself on his lips, strange and intimate.
He pinned you against the mattress, his body covering yours, the weight of him pressing you into the cot. His arousal pressed against your thigh, a reminder that he hadn't finished.
“Do you want it?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you want it inside you?”
“Yes.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “I want it inside.”
He positioned himself between your legs, the head of him pressing against your entrance. He paused, meeting your eyes.
And then he pushed inside.
The stretch was immediate, a fullness that made you gasp. He was larger than any human lover you ever had, the ridges and bumps creating sensations that sent sparks through your entire body. He moved slowly at first, letting you adjust, his mouth catching your gasps in a series of soft, sloppy kisses.
Then he began to move.
The rhythm started slow, a gentle rocking that built a new pressure deep inside you. His hands found yours, fingers interlacing, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your head. His body moved against yours, the warmth of him surrounding you.
The pace increased. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, the cot creaking beneath you. The sounds he made filled your ears. Grunts and groans that mixed with your own moans until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
“Close,” you managed. “Are you close?”
“Yes.” His voice was strained, barely recognizable. “Where? Where do you want it?”
“Inside. I want it inside.”
He groaned, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest. His pace became sloppy, losing rhythm, and you felt him tense above you.
He came inside you with a shudder that shook his entire body. You felt the warmth of him spreading through you, filling you in a way that felt almost primal. His mouth found yours, kissing you deeply as the last tremors passed through him.
He collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest. The dual beat of his hearts pulsed against your back, a steady counterpoint to your own racing pulse.
You lay there, tangled together, the small room quiet except for the sound of your breathing.
"You know, I could get used to some human intimacy."
"Well, if you bring me more damaged ships... I guess that could work as a kind of payment."
You didn't hear his answer, as you shifted to sleep in his arms.