Hey girl!
I usually write Delulus with Ryan Gosling in my free time as a form of consolation.
You can enter the little flower corner and welcome!
+18, Ryan Gosling all fandoms, hyperfixation with Ryland Grace.
I need friends.
In the Little Flower Corner, we have many fanfiction selections written by a girl with absolutely no sanity who loves Ryan Gosling.
Please feel free to explore and share, as well as interact with the author. I'm friendly!
Requests are welcome.
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(I apologize in advance for any spelling or translation errors. English is not my native language, so I would appreciate it if you could let me know about any mistakes. Thank you very much.)
Warnings: Adults only (18+), mdni, explicit sexual content (smut), fluff, affection, plot-driven porn, breast stimulation (breastfeeding + light nipple play + computer that extracts), mention of possible abortion and loss of baby, little daddy kink, reader penetrated with a strange sex machine from space?, dildos and vibrators, many mentions of milk, Ryland crying and screaming (so hot), swallow cum, use of gag, anal sex, p in v unprotect, fetishism, chronic pain, glasses stay on, emotional vulnerability, tenderness, distress with comfort, established relationship (married couple though she doesn't remember), invasive medical procedures, AI-assisted treatment (Armando, computer robotic arms), Rocky and Armando voyeurs, (Rocky see, they fuck), caregiving dynamics, emotional dependency, loss of identity (amnesia), psychological distress, protective partner, gentle dominance dynamic (not explicit at first), use of pet names (good girl, little cow, space slut, whore, sweetheart), fear/pain and comfort, boundaries between humans and machines, ethical ambiguity in medical AI, bonding in survival situations.
Word Count: 9.3K
Summary: Rocky suggests that Ryland and the reader get together, so they do… very deeply. Grace has to take care of you.
Author’s Note: This was incredible. It gave me a headache. I need Ryland Grace so badly. I think after this I'm going to check myself into a hospital. I can't take it anymore. I can't live without him, please… send help. If you like this, thank you… you're as crazy and horny as I am. It starts off super soft and romantic and ends… PERVERTED PERVERT. As you know, like, share, and comment (if you're brave enough). Remember, requests are open. :)
One of the rooms at Hail Mary had become a complete mess. Dr. Grace and Rocky had agreed to sleep together, so they made a shared room with all their belongings. Ryland had a study, and Rocky… well, he had a lot of things scattered everywhere. So, Grace decided to help him tidy up. Then the conversation turned to their past lives on their respective planets when Rocky revealed he had a partner who was 186.3 years old. He asked if you had a partner too, to which you simply shook your head with a small, innocent smile. You were bothered by the wedding ring on the ring finger of your right hand, even though it's pretty. You'd like to be reminded of who your husband or wife is—if you're supposed to have one. Then he asked Grace, and he told the story of his breakup and that his ex, Linda, was now with someone named Mark. Rocky replied with what seemed to be seriousness:
"Rocky hates Mark."
They both laughed at the endearing comment while Rocky paced in circles, lost in thought.
"Why don't you two get together, question?" he asked.
You're sitting in an odd position, one leg bent on the chair while the other is extended, your foot resting on the desk. It seems to be a way your body soothes the pain in your hip. It happens when you sleep too: huddled against a pillow, face down with half your body on its side and only one leg raised. You're wearing a light pink babydoll, made of a light, flowing fabric, with an elastic neckline and soft ruffles, paired with matching shorts for a delicate and comfortable look. You and Dr. Grace, as the only humans on this ship, have developed a special (and/or space) bond and trust. It feels good not to be alone in space. You remember how unpleasant it was to wake up covered in tubes, naked, and scared… with those cups on your breasts. The machine that was monitoring your induced coma seemed to have its own electric breast pump. Disturbing. You assume you're a mother. Ryland gives you your space and doesn't ask questions about it, but you have to pump every few weeks. If you don't, you could get an engorgement or mastitis. It's been like a nightmare for you. But things have improved since then. Although your amnesia is proving quite difficult to cure. You still don't remember several things about yourself.
The atmosphere is calm as they chat with their alien friend. Your hands hold a Rubik's Cube that you try to solve, confused. Until Rocky's sudden question almost makes you choke on your own saliva. You lower your face to look at him. Sometimes he's as adorable as a small child. Your voice is sweet, low, and maternal as you answer, gently explaining to him.
"We're in this together, Rocky. We're a team. With you, too."
Grace laughed softly, sympathetically, and looked at you calmly, though a slight blush had appeared on his cheeks. Rocky made a small noise of confusion, as if he didn't quite understand what you were saying. The little alien again wore a curious expression, as if trying to process this new information.
"But you and Grace aren't doing anything to produce offspring," he asked. "Why not, question?"
Your cheeks also flush when you feel Grace's gaze and hear his laughter; you're a little shy too. You answer while I move a piece on your Rubik's Cube, trying to complete the face with the red squares. It gives you a nerdy look, like a virgin girl. You assume you aren't, even though you act like one. Your wedding ring sparkles on your finger.
"Produce… offspring? What would be the point of producing offspring? We're in space, we're going to die. We're far from Earth. It's not convenient."
Perhaps your words sound rather bitter or melancholic. But it's true. Besides, a spaceship isn't a good place to raise a baby. There are no toys, no stimulation, no garden to crawl in, or a sky to gaze at. It's sad. You speak about this topic in the most cultured way possible, like when you debate science, engineering, or numbers. Rocky is an engineer, just like you.
Grace seemed slightly taken aback by the somber tone of your words, but he understood. He had his own concerns. Rocky seemed to notice the melancholic tone in your words and expression, and made a small, worried noise. The little alien didn't have the same understanding of society and reproduction as humans.
Ryland decided to respond, trying to maintain a more neutral tone. He adjusted his glasses with a finger.
"She's right, Rocky. It wouldn't be appropriate or convenient to reproduce in a space environment."
You agreed with Grace, so you nodded slightly before turning your full attention back to the Rubik's Cube. Your fingers moved delicately and gracefully, assembling the figure with the corresponding colors. You didn't add anything else; you didn't want to upset Rocky with your depressing answers. A brief silence settled in the room until Rocky spoke again. He was curious and still interested in human sexuality. Also, he was very concerned about the fact that you had to pump. He didn't understand why. He was worried about you.
Grace remained silent as you focused on the Rubik's Cube. His thoughts were preoccupied, and he occasionally glanced at you as you played with it. The silence was broken by Rocky's voice, who seemed quite intrigued by the topic of human reproduction and sexuality. The little alien spoke again, this time bringing up a subject that seemed to be troubling him.
"Why do you have to express milk from your breasts, question?" he asked.
Rocky's sudden question made you feel more self-conscious than usual; you didn't know how to approach the subject. A shiver ran down your spine, along your back, as you remembered waking up naked with all the tubes and breast pumps attached to your chest. Your first thought was that you were in the middle of some strange medical or fetishistic torture. But it was something even stranger: you were in another solar system on a suicide mission. The point is, you didn't know how to navigate the topic of breastfeeding, and although you had thought about it on your own to draw your own conclusions… perhaps you needed to talk to someone about it. Despite being quite withdrawn, you worked up the courage to answer. After all, you trusted them.
"I could get sick if I don't. The ship has been doing it while I was in a coma, so I have to keep doing it. Besides, the Hail Mary stores it."
Both Grace and Rocky listened to your words carefully. Grace looked worried about you, while Rocky seemed even more intrigued. The idea of the ship extracting milk from your breasts while you were in a coma sounded quite disturbing. The little alien made another small noise of concern, his dark eyes fixed on you, while Grace kept his gaze on you, his expression full of empathy and worry.
"And what will happen to the milk the Hail Mary stored?"
"I don't know. I'm certainly tempted to make myself a coffee with my own milk."
Your voice loses its somber tone when you make that little joke. Although it could also be a possibility. The bitter coffee was too bland, unappetizing. It lacked milk, cream, vanilla, cinnamon… sugar. So many things. Even though Rocky didn't have eyes, you could feel as if he were intently analyzing you with them, or perhaps they were Ryland's little blue eyes. You were still engrossed in your Rubik's Cube, now assembling the color blue… thinking of his eyes.
Grace chuckled at your joke, relieved that you'd lightened the mood with a bit of humor. He'd been thinking about it too, but it seemed a little odd. He adjusted his glasses, dangling from one ear, which kept them tucked under his oval, well-defined chin… framed by his soft beard. Rocky remained silent for a few moments, still processing your words and expression. Eventually, the little alien spoke again, curiosity still in his voice.
"Is your breast milk sweet or salty, question?"
"Sweet, I think it's sweet. I've never tasted breast milk."
You answer honestly and suddenly feel very uncomfortable in your seat, shifting around, searching for a more comfortable position. However, your attempts to get comfortable seem futile. Your hips hurt a lot; you can't understand why. It's a little irritating, it's annoying. You wish someone could hold them… or massage them. The ruffles of your babydoll sway, making you look adorable.
Grace, noticing your discomfort, bit his lip for a second before answering. His voice sounded softer than usual—almost as if he were choosing each word carefully.
"Um… Do you need me to help you massage them?" he said quickly, as if the question had slipped out without thinking. Then he added, "I mean… just because of your pain. It's nothing unusual. It's basic science about muscles and joints…"
Rocky turned his body in circles with dramatic slowness (like a living statue), emitting a low, musical-like sound:
"♩♫♫♪♪ (Liar)."
Your gaze lifted from the Rubik's Cube to see Ryland… sorry, Dr. Grace, biting his lip. He looked… cute. With his glasses dangling and his dark blond hair slightly tousled. You couldn't deny he was an attractive man. His questioning, the way he offered himself so religiously, took you by surprise. It was almost as if he'd read your mind. It was just what you needed. You laughed when Rocky called him a liar; you'd learned that word on since you hearded it.
"Yes, please. May I sit on your lap, Dr. Grace?"
You were comfortable enough to use the informal "Ryland" form, but you chose not to because you wanted to be polite and respectful. You stood up from your chair, approaching him shyly.
Grace didn't wait a second to answer. His voice came out quickly, almost too quickly. He shifted slightly in his seat to make some space, then replied:
"Of course. Come, snuggle up in my lap."
A small smile appeared on his face as he looked up at you, waiting for you to settle in. Rocky, the little alien, just stayed silent… spinning around excitedly with his five arms… legs?
Ryland's enthusiasm didn't go unnoticed. It was so obvious. Yet, you took it as a good sign. You was too deeply moved by these small displays of affection. You remember that you had no intimacy until you earned your engineering degree. So you know what it's like to be alone… it's not fun. It's stressful. You're glad they're alone in space… but together. Besides, the fact that they're completely exiled from the world was a brilliant idea. At least, it seemed that way to you. You'd always dreamed of moving to a small house in the middle of nowhere, in a remote field, and escaping society… or perhaps a cabin on a mountaintop. This was similar, but taken to the extreme.
You approached, trying to remain professional, your face calm even though your heart was racing… your cheeks were flushed, and you were practically drooling over him. You lifted one leg onto his lap, then the other, straddling him. Then you placed your arms over his shoulders and snuggled up to Grace, while you continued playing with the Rubik's Cube behind his back.
Grace leaned back slightly in his seat as he felt you settle onto his lap, and he placed his hands on your hips and thighs, holding you firmly. He noticed your heart beating rapidly; he could feel it even through the soft fabric of the babydoll and shorts. His own pulse quickened as he watched you, noticing the flush in your cheeks.
"You look adorable," he whispered, a smile still on his face.
"I don't want you to see me as adorable. I'd like you to see me as attractive. I don't know how to seduce you."
Grace chuckled a little at your statement, but his expression shifted to a more serious and thoughtful one. His hands still rested on your hips as he gazed at you calmly, his fingers gently stroking the skin of your thighs. He couldn't help but notice how adorable you looked in that outfit and the way you were snuggling up, but he knew you needed his to tell you otherwise.
"You're attractive."
He whispered softly, gently stroking one of your thighs.
"I'm not… I look like a virgin, nerdy college girl."
You said without warning, reaching for the glasses dangling from his chin and adjusting them on his face. To prove your point.
Ryland couldn't help but smile again at your comment as you adjusted his glasses. It was clear that, for you, looking like a nerdy, virginal college girl was a bad thing. Grace, on the other hand, found it adorable and exciting, but he knew that wasn't what you wanted to hear, so he tried to think of something else…
He moved a hand from your hip to your thigh again, gently caressing your bare skin as he replied:
"You're beautiful."
"You can say what you really think, you know?"
Ryland remained silent for a few moments, his hand still gently caressing your thigh. He looked at your face and noticed your expectant eyes. He wanted to say something, but didn't know how to phrase it. Finally, he decided to simply say it, without hesitation or censorship.
"See these clothes? This outfit? This Rubik's Cube?"
He asked, gesturing to each item with his free hand.
"Yeah."
Ryland took a deep breath, as if he were about to make a confession. His voice dropped a little lower, almost to a husky whisper.
"You drive me crazy."
His hands tightened slightly against your hips as he looked at you intently. The frankness in his expression made it clear he wasn't joking.
"A brilliant engineer dressed like a good girl, playing at solving problems…" He swallowed. "It's the most dangerous combination in the universe."
"You're not serious..."
Ryland maintained his serious expression, not taking his eyes off you or hesitating for a moment. He raised a hand to gently caress your cheek, his fingers tracing a soft path across your skin.
"I'm completely serious. You're intelligent, astute, confident, and with a touch of innocence."
His thumb paused at your lower lip, tenderly caressing the soft skin.
"And you look absolutely adorable in those clothes."
"Can you give me a kiss…?"
The words of your request came out as a sigh. Grace's heart fluttered slightly in his chest, and he couldn't help but smile gently at the longing in your eyes. His hand still cupping your cheek, he leaned forward, his face slowly drawing closer to yours.
"Yes…"
He whispered, before finally pressing his lips to yours in a slow, soft kiss.
Your lips follow the calm rhythm of Grace's, and you feel better at the contact, the surge of dopamine and oxytocin. Your hands release the Rubik's Cube to surrender to the kiss; the object clatters on the floor. Your hands go to the nape of Ryland's neck, your fingers weaving through the strands and gently tugging at his hair.
"I love you…"
The kiss grew more passionate and deeper as your hands played with his hair, gently tugging at it. He let out a soft moan at your touch, the sound vibrating against your lips. His hand slid from your cheek to your neck, cupping the back of your head to keep you close as he continued kissing you with increasing intensity.
When he finally pulled back a few inches, his breathing was rapid and his cheeks flushed.
"I love you too…"
You smiled calmly, noticing with affection how tenderly Ryland reacted to the kiss. You leaned in to give him another quick kiss and then shyly hid against his chest. Rocky, meanwhile, swayed from side to side and made joyful noises. He seemed happy that, somehow, they had become a couple. It was simply inevitable.
Grace gently stroked your back as you snuggled against his chest, feeling your heart pound against his body. His hand moved in comforting circles, trying to soothe you. He also noticed Rocky's commotion in the background, glancing at the little alien with a gentle smile.
"Looks like someone else is happy."
"Yes…"
You answered calmly, observing the alien who was now much stiller. If it had lips, you're sure it would be smiling like humans. Rocky then spoke again.
"I have to sleep now. Are you watching, question?"
Grace looked up at Rocky and smiled gently at his request. He understood that the little alien needed to rest, and at the same time, he had other things on his mind. After all, he had a beautiful, intelligent girl on his lap who needed some attention.
"Yes, we were watching. You can go to sleep peacefully, my dude. Good night."
"Goodnight, Rocky."
His alien friend, made up of rock-like objects that resemble a spider, flops down, asleep, knowing he's being watched and cared for. Someone always has to watch him sleep; it's an Eridian custom. Rocky's people have developed a deep-rooted cultural practice of monitoring each other during their paralyzed slumber to ensure everyone's survival. Rocky doesn't sleep in the traditional human sense. Instead, he enters a state of controlled metabolic inactivity, something more akin to light hibernation or "going into rest."
Ryland watched as Rocky lay down and closed his eyes, entering his controlled state of torpor. It was fascinating, and at the same time, a little unsettling, how the Eridians slept like that. After a few moments, Grace turned hos attention back to you, and a mischievous smile appeared on his face.
"Well… now that we're alone…"
You feigned an innocent expression when you noticed Dr. Grace's mischievous smile. It was a new side of him, one you'd never seen before. You blinked a few times with your big eyes and tilted your head like a little girl. You were interested in what he was going to say.
"Yes?"
Grace chuckled softly at your feigned innocence. His hand moved back up to your cheek, stroking it with his thumb as he gazed at you with a mixture of affection and mischief.
"Do you still want me to massage your hips?" he whispered playfully, making it clear he wasn't just talking about physical pain anymore.
"Of course."
You commented calmly and cheerfully. Kissing someone after so long had stirred up your hormones. You felt flustered because of it.
He noticed the enthusiasm in your voice and the excitement in your eyes. It was clear the kiss had affected you as much as it had him. His hands slid from your cheeks to your hips, holding them firmly as he adjusted you slightly on his lap.
"Good. Can you lie down?" he asked calmly, but with a hint of authority beneath the surface.
You were used to hearing orders from Dr. Grace sometimes, regarding activities on the Hail Mary while they were conducting analyses or investigations… but never with that tone of desire. You swallowed, remembering how men behaved when they wanted something carnal. However, Ryland wasn't like that… he was a little tender, and clumsy… and polite.
You moved the chair until you were facing an empty table and let your sword fall onto it while still sitting on Grace's lap.
"Like this?"
Ryland watched you as you settled back on the table, still on his lap. He could feel the warmth of your body against his and the softness of your skin beneath his hands. Your sweet words quickened his pulse even more.
"Yes. Like that…" he replied huskily, as his hands began to gently massage your hips.
You felt completely exposed in that position. But for some reason, you liked feeling vulnerable under Ryland's gaze; it was like a safe haven. After all, it was an instinct… the need to be cared for by someone. Especially given your delicate state. You placed your hands docilely beside your head, your arms raised. Everything about your pose seemed to scream for him to take you.
"Do you think NASA denies sexual practices in space because they're real, Dr. Grace?"
A mischievous smile appeared on Grace's lips at your question. His hands continued to gently massage your hips, moving with a firm yet affectionate touch. He leaned closer, his face almost touching yours, and answered in a whisper.
"I don't know… although I have a feeling you're going to find out."
The close proximity and intimacy of the moment created an electric tension in the air, thick with desire and anticipation.
Ryland's comment makes you burst into a genuine, warm laugh. You never thought you'd laugh in a situation like this, on a space mission. But with him and Rocky, it's commonplace. The tense muscles in your hips begin to relax beneath his touch.
"Maybe we'll figure it out together."
You dared to reply, playing along. In the middle of space, you didn't seem like two awkward nerds… you were actually quite good at flirting. You dared to kiss him again.
Ryland was surprised to hear you laugh, but he couldn't help but laugh too. There was something contagious about how you reacted to his words. His hands paused for a moment on your hips as you began kissing him again.
"Together," he murmured against your lips, his voice full of promise as he returned the kiss with more intensity than before.
Rocky remained motionless in his corner, "asleep," though if he'd had eyelids and could have woken up, he would have lifted them to spy on the scene with alien curiosity.
The whole situation made you feel good and more relaxed, calming your stress and cortisol levels in the most human and easiest way: simply loving. You were grateful not to be alone on the Hail Mary. Ryland pulled away when he finished kissing you, his hands still on your hips. You, for your part, maintained your submissive position against the table. Then… that thing that terrifies you so much happens again. This system is strange. Why does it have to be so disturbing?
"Stimulation and extraction process initiating…"
The computer speaks with that robotic, emotionless voice. The Hail Mary's arms find you easily. However, this time they aren't so violent. They hold your wrists and keep you in place. The Hail Mary's artificial intelligence is… interesting, to say the least. An extraction of your breast milk with Ryland so close has never occurred before. So, at this moment, the Hail Mary seems to have detected him as the person in charge of you.
"Dr. Grace detected. Will he be in charge of the extraction?"
Ryland watched in surprise as the Hail Mary's arms appeared to grab him. He hadn't expected anything like this, and at first, he tensed up at the computer's unexpected intrusion. But upon hearing the AI's artificial voice, he quickly understood what was happening. He couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed when he realized what the Hail Mary was suggesting. Although, to be honest, he didn't dislike it either…
He took a deep breath and replied to the AI in a firm voice.
"Yes, I'll take care of it."
This usually happened in the dormitories while Ryland worked in the lab. It gave you some privacy. However, that didn't make it any less traumatic and painful. Your face looks scared, but when you hear Grace's voice speak with such certainty… you think you feel a little better. You trust him.
"Understood, Dr. Grace. Instructions will be given."
The robotic arms still grip you tightly, but you don't resist. At least they aren't holding your legs like they usually do because you're sitting on Ryland's lap. You don't understand why it has to be so invasive. You suppose it's because it would endanger you if you didn't want to do it. The ship drops the funnels for your breasts.
Grace watches intently as the craft continues the extraction process, holding your wrists and lowering the funnels into your breasts. His expression softens, filled with empathy at your obvious discomfort. His left hand instinctively moves up and gently strokes your cheek in a calming gesture, trying to ease your anxiety.
"Everything will be alright," he whispers in a comforting tone.
He moves his other hand to grasp one of the funnels, preparing to begin. You give Ryland a small smile.
"Yes, that's fine. I trust you."
Then the computer speaks again.
"First, you must remove her clothing to expose her mammary glands."
Grace nods at your words, grateful for your trust. He returns a comforting smile as the computer speaks again. His voice sounds somewhat uncomfortable at the command to remove your clothes, but at the same time, he understands the logic behind it.
"Yes, I understand…" he replies softly, his hand still gently caressing your cheek before removing it and beginning to unbutton your babydoll. His movements are gentle and careful.
Once Ryland removes it, your round, full breasts are exposed. You're very embarrassed by this, so you end up closing your eyes and your cheeks flush. Even so, you seem to enjoy that Grace is doing this and not the robotic arms.
Ryland can't help but feel a shiver run down his spine at the sight of your exposed breasts. His eyes fill with admiration for your beauty, while at the same time he feels an overwhelming sense of protection and care. His hand reaches out again and gently cups your cheek, his thumb softly caressing your skin. His pulse begins to quicken.
"You're beautiful…"
"Th-Thank you…"
The computer gives the following instruction.
Ryalnd tenses at the sound of the robotic voice again, its fingers lingering on your skin for a second. The computer speaks with a coldness that leaves no room for shame or modesty.
"Apply sterile lubricant to the nipples before inserting the funnels."
Dr. Grace glances down at an automatic dispenser extending from a nearby wall. He swallows and lets out a nervous sigh… but then nods firmly.
"They hadn't used lubricant before…"
He freezes for a second, his gaze darting between the lubricant dispenser and your nipples. His voice comes out huskier than he intends.
"That explains why it hurt so much before."
He takes the dispenser with slightly trembling hands, applying a small amount of the cold, sterile liquid to the tips of your breasts. He bites his lip as he watches your reaction, ready to apologize if it hurts.
"It feels good."
You confess, though you think it's mostly Ryland's massage.
Ryland is relieved to hear that it doesn't hurt and that you even like it. He continues gently massaging your breasts, now with the lubricant, his fingers gliding over your smooth skin. His gaze is fixed on you, observing every small gesture and reaction. He feels his own body reacting to the situation, but forces himself to focus on you and the present moment.
"I'm… I'm going to try inserting the funnel then, okay?"
"Do what you have to do… Ry… I really trust you more than those arms…"
He nods gently at your words, his gaze clear with determination. He sets the lubricant dispenser aside and carefully picks up one of the funnels. His pulse quickens slightly as he holds it, but he does his best to remain calm.
"Here I go. Relax."
Carefully but firmly, he inserts the funnel against one of your nipples, watching your reaction intently.
You inhale and exhale deeply to stay calm, though you can't help but let out a soft moan as the funnel takes hold of your nipple. It sucks quickly and with some precision, seeking to stimulate your breasts to draw milk.
Ryland watches you intently as the funnel sucks on your nipple, noticing the small moan that escapes you. His cheeks flush at the sight, yet he continues to calmly massage your other breast. His pulse quickens and his breathing becomes slightly heavier than usual, but for some reason, this also makes him feel calmer in a way. After a while, he whispers in a soothing tone.
"Can you handle this?"
Your eyes remain closed; you want to reply, but your parted lips only manage a gasp. The computer answers for you:
"She can handle it, Dr. Grace. Please proceed to the next funnel."
He listens intently to the computer's commands, trying to control his pounding heart and rapid breathing. He nods at the system's command and carefully picks up the second funnel again. Gently, he places it on your other breast, watching as the other one is also suctioned. His hand moves from your cheek to your waist, gripping it firmly but gently to offer you some support.
You squirm as the funnels do their work. However, feeling Ryland hold you by the waist makes you feel less alone, making the process less traumatic and painful. The computer speaks again, leaving you breathless.
"Stimulation in progress. Dr. Grace may remove the patient's shorts and underwear. He may then remove his own lower garments to take her."
Ryland jumps at the computer's words, shocked by the outrageous and explicit nature of the command. His body tenses, and he bites his lip, realizing what the computer is suggesting. He forces himself to take a deep breath and look at you for a moment before silently nodding. His face is red with embarrassment, but he knows he has to follow orders.
"Okay… I'll do this, alright?"
"O-Of course…"
You don't know if the system would let you go if Ryland gave the order, but you certainly don't want to leave and you don't want to escape this situation. It doesn't seem like a bad idea to satisfy your sexual desires with your crewmate. You need more focus to complete the space mission; this will do you good. It will do you both good. One of the robotic arms extends a condom to Grace.
Ryland looks at the condom the ship offers him, and feels his pulse quicken even more. His breathing is heavy, but there's a clear determination in his eyes as he takes the object with trembling hands. He looks at you intently before speaking.
"I'm going to take your shorts off."
With slow, careful movements, he slides your shorts down along with your underwear. Then he pauses for a moment to look at you again.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, please…"
You open your eyes to look at him, pleading. At that moment, Grace's heart leaps at your gaze, sensing the plea in your eyes. With firmer hands, he removes his pants and carefully places them to one side. He takes a moment to put on a condom and then gently positions himself above you. His gaze remains fixed on yours, seeking your approval.
"Tell me if you need me to stop at any time…"
"Okay…"
You reply, trying to reassure his, though you know you don't want his to stop at any point. Ryland gets up and positions herself between your legs. The robotic arms also hold your ankles, spreading your thighs and positioning you for Grace. Meanwhile, the funnels continue to suck on your breasts.
Ryland settles between your legs, the robotic arms holding you in place. He looks down and sees the funnels sucking on your nipples as your body is fully exposed to him. His breathing is heavy, but there's an unusual tenderness in his eyes as he gazes at you.
"I love you…" he whispers before slowly thrusting inside you.
"I love you more…"
Although your next comment is innocent.
"You're so… big."
Ryland lets out a small laugh at your comment, though his smile is somewhat embarrassed because he knows what you're talking about.
"It's not that big…"
He replies tentatively, trying to remain calm despite what's happening. A small, mischievous smile plays across his lips.
"Do you like it…?" he whispers, as if it were a secret.
"Yes, very much…"
The computer speaks again.
"Do you require a gag for the patient, Dr. Grace?"
Ryland glances at the computer when he hears the question. His expression is one of surprise for a second, but then it shifts to utter horror. It's clear you're crossing a line with him.
"NO! NO! NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT. I'm not going to use that on you, I don't want to hurt you."
Despite his repeated refusals, he can't believe what he sees through his glasses because you're giving him puppy-dog eyes… as if you really want it. You even open your mouth and stick out your tongue.
"Yes, that's a good idea. A gag, please."
Ryland's mind is a little reeling from the situation, but at the same time, he feels a kind of excitement. He's never done anything like this before, but he likes it. A lot.
"This system was created by a fetishist."
Ryland chuckles, almost involuntarily, as the computer obeys and slides a soft gag toward him. He takes it carefully and studies your expression before placing it.
"You're right…" he murmurs conspiratorially, "But I'm not complaining."
With an expert movement (one he'd never practiced), he adjusts the gag over your lips to prevent any unnecessary sounds… or perhaps just to make this more intense.
"Mmmh…. mmmmh…"
Grace looks at you with a malicious smile as he adjusts the gag and watches you try to speak.
"What's wrong, little one? Can't you talk?" he says in a soft but almost mocking voice.
"Ehmm… ehmm… Ry… Ry…."
Ryland leans forward slightly, propping himself up on his arms, and moves closer to your face. His smile widens as he hears the frustrated sounds escaping through the gag.
"Huh? What's wrong? I can't understand you," he says provocatively, almost mockingly, his eyes gleaming at you.
"Ehmmm…. ehmm… um…kiss…t… mmm… Ry…"
Your hips move, seeking more friction; it's obvious you want him to thrust into you.
Ryland remains still for a second, processing what you're trying to say. Then, his smile widens and his eyes gleam mischievously. He left a pretty kiss upon the gag with love.
"Do you want me to fuck you harder?" he asks softly, gripping your hips more firmly.
Without waiting for an answer (though he knows the truth perfectly well), he begins to thrust inside you with slow but deep movements at first… only to gradually increase the pace.
"Oh… oh… mmm… mmm…"
As you enjoy watching Ryland move, the computer speaks again and the breast pumps suction harder: milk is visible in the tubes.
"Excellent. Starting stage 2, pumping."
Ryland hears the robotic voice and feels the funnels suction harder, noticing the flow of milk in the tubes. His breath catches for a second at the sight, but then he grunts softly.
"Fudge it…" he mutters through gritted teeth as he quickens his thrusts inside you, "Do you like being milked like this?"
His hands now grip your hips tightly, almost leaving bruises unintentionally. The computer seems to be enjoying this a little too much.
Damn, you love it. This is so much better than how the process worked before. You want it to be like this forever. You want Ryland to do it from now on. You want him to milk you like a cow.
"Aaaah… mmm… mmm… hmm…"
Your moans are muffled by the gag, but they're meant to be affirmation. The computer speaks again:
"Dr. Grace, continue stimulating the mammary glands with your hands."
Ryland doesn't need to be told twice. His hands, still tracing your hips, slide eagerly upward and grip your breasts firmly. The suction cups continue to work as he kneads your skin gently at first… but then harder.
"Just look what you make me do…" he growls against your ear. "Do you like being my little cow?"
All you can do is nod, your teeth pressing against the gag as a way to hold back the orgasm you're about to have. Because Ryland hasn't stopped moving gently against you, alternating between faster and slower rhythms. You think men are all wooden logs, hard and immobile… and you assume Grace was the same. Yet he seems to move his hips the way a woman twerks. Can he never take his cock out of your vagina, please? Your pussy can be his home from now on.
His fingers play with your nipples between the suction tubes, twisting them just to hear you moan more. He can press them against the soft, suction-enhancing plastic.
The computer emits a beep of approval, as if it were observing every tiny detail. It's a voyeur. Grace feels a little embarrassed but also excited at this moment; all of this no longer feels like a routine process for him.
"I need to do something," he murmurs as he takes the small robot from the ship by the arm and places it close to your face.
"Open your mouth."
The computer's small robotic arm removes the gag and extends a tube toward your mouth. The top has a small, round opening, like a tiny baby bottle. It seems to be trying to feed you something… but what? Before you can even ask, the computer answers for you.
"Nutritious liquid."
The small arm gently pushes the tube toward your lips as it waits for you to start sucking.
Ryland watches you as they place the bottle to your lips and you begin to suck from the tube. His eyes darken even more as he sees you like this. It's as if a new side of him awakens at the sight of you consuming the substance… and he loves it.
"You're such a good little cow… my little space cow."
The computer emits a satisfied beep as the liquid fills your mouth. It has a slightly sweet taste, similar to soy milk, but not unpleasant. The way the tube slides into your mouth and sucks it in, along with Grace's comment, makes you feel even more like a real cow.
"Good cow," the computer repeats. Ryland smirks and throws his head back as he thrusts into you with gentle swaying motions, the system's mechanical tone saying those words. His glasses fog up as he breathes heavily, then he lowers his head to watch you continue sucking on the tube and moves faster and more roughly. His glasses fall off and dangle from one ear, resting on his jaw.
"Please, more."
You manage to say it as you swallow. Rylad bites his lip at the sound of your plea. His hand instinctively moves to stroke your hair as the computer adjusts the flow of the nutrient solution, making it go down faster.
"Look how hungry you are…" he murmurs hoarsely. "Do you like being treated like this? Like a little animal?"
His fingers gently press against your scalp as he watches you swallow everything without protest.
"I love it, I'll take it all for you… Dr. Grace."
Ryland feels a shiver run down his spine at your words. His hand pauses in your hair for a second, then he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and lust.
"Fuck…" he growls, his voice rougher than before, "Since when are you so dirty?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pushes the tube deeper into your mouth as he quickens his thrusts inside you.
The computer responds calmly and casually as it monitors your condition. The Hail Mary's small robotic arm (Armando) continues to deliver the fluid regularly, the tube now deeply inserted into your mouth. The fluid spills slightly down the sides, wetting your cheeks like milk.
"Patient shows signs of arousal. Suggestions: Increase stimulation and production accordingly." System announces.
The computer's comment doesn't go unnoticed by Grace, who had already sensed your arousal. The comment confirms what he already knew, and he feels a mixture of satisfaction and lust upon hearing it from the system.
"Yes… yes, make it produce more," he replies in a raspy voice. "Produce more, cow."
The computer beeps in approval, as if obeying your commands, and the small robotic arm begins to subtly push the tube inward to make you swallow more liquid. A soft sucking sound is heard.
"She's in need. Production is increasing."
Ryland grunts at the computer report, his hands gripping your hips tighter. The sight of your mouth full and your breasts dripping is too much for him.
"Fudge… it…" he gasps. "See what you're doing? How you drive me crazy?"
His thrusts become chaotic, without a fixed rhythm, driven only by pure desire. The constrictors suck so hard it almost hurts… but he loves it.
The computer emits another approving beep, indicating the system's satisfaction that production is increasing. Armando continues to provide fluid regularly, and the computer adds a new tone to its report:
"Time to change position."
The robotic voice sounds almost as if it's observing a laboratory and taking notes on every detail. The small system's robotic arm lowers again, removing the bottle from your mouth and preparing to change the tubing.
Ryland freezes for a second, processing the computer's suggestion. Then he looks down and sees Armando coming down with a new attachment… one clearly designed for penetration.
"Pfft, seriously?" he mutters through gritted teeth, his voice raspier than ever.
But there's no time to protest. The mechanical arms are already rotating you onto your stomach as the system prepares to continue "the process." Grace can only swallow hard and adjust his position behind you. Even his hands move to lovingly settle you on the desk.
The position is new and a little awkward, but the robotic arms manipulate your body with ease. Your breasts hang like firm drops over the edge of the desk while the rest of your body rests there. Your ass is at a perfect angle to be observed in this upside-down position, and Ryland has never left you. So you still feel his cock bumping against you and being squeezed by your vaginal walls. Armando adds more lubricant to the new tubing, which flows smoothly from the dildo's opening, and Ryland adjusts the funnel tubes to fit your breasts, gently adjusting their position to rest on your nipples. After a few moments, the robotic voice is heard again:
"All set, Dr. Grace. Proceed."
Ryland watches the new robotic attachment extract some lucrative fluid from the orifice with a mixture of surprise and lust. His breathing quickens as the computer grants him permission to continue.
"Fuck…" he murmurs, gripping your hips tighter this time, "Are you going to let this thing fuck you too?"
Then he begins thrusting inside you again… but now there's a third element at play.
The dildo held by the robotic arm between you, from Ryland's side, slides between your buttocks and quickly finds the tight little hole you've never given to anyone. But which you'll most likely give to Grace as well.
"Yes, yes… daddy. So you can take it later."
Ryland feels a shiver at your response. His hand slides forward and grabs the back of your neck, turning your face and forcing you to look at the robotic arm impaling you. Your cheeks are flushed and you have a pained expression on your face; you feel feverish from the double penetration. But god, it feels so good. Ryland leans back on your back and then his hand loosens its grip. Instead, noticing how dazed you feel… he lovingly strokes your neck.
"Tell me again…" he pantes against your ear, "Do you like being treated like a whore?"
The system accelerates its movements in sync with his, thrusting into you mercilessly while the computer records every muffled moan. Your tight hole takes it very well. Each time your pussy feels excited by Ryland's cock, your anus opens wider and trembles
The words tumble from your mouth almost automatically, filled with pleasure and excitement:
"I love it… daddy."
The robotic voice gives a small beep of approval, but Grace barely notices. The only sound he needs is your voice saying those words. His hand moves to your face and his thumb gently strokes your cheek.
"Good…" he says softly. "You're a good cow. Such a cute little space cow. My little space cow."
Ryland gasps at the sight of you in that position, the robotic arm thrusting deeper inside you. His hand releases your face only to grab your hair and pull you back, arching your back. Your breasts, dangling from the extractors, sway with the movement.
"Look at yourself…" he growls against your ear again. "See what you are? A space slut."
The system adjusts the speed of the mechanical arm to perfectly synchronize with his thrusts, now slower and more intense. You whimper softly.
"Yes… yes…. Dr. Grace. I am. I am…. your space slut."
Ryland lets out a soft moan at the sound of your voice, your words catching in your throat…
"You're my space slut. Understand?"
"Yes… I understand. Am I your little cow too?"
"Yes, you're MY cow. All mine. I'm going to milk you every day, whenever I have the time."
The words sound even better now that he's accepted them. He can sense the excitement in your voice… and that only excites him more.
The computer beeps again in approval, as if confirming their words. Armando, with the dildo, continues moving, observing the couple's every gesture and movement. Carefully, the computer adds more fluid to the tube hanging in front of you, waiting for you to suck. That damn arm came back wanting to feed you.
"Come on… drink, cow."
"Yes, Daddy."
You open your mouth to receive the bottle again, or some other extremely strange, unidentified object that is just another damn tube from the Spaceship. You eat again.
Ryland grunts at your words, his hands tightening their grip on your waist as the robotic arms immobilize you in that position. He's clinging to you like a baby koala.
"Fudge it…" he gasps. "Since when are you so obedient?"
The system adjusts the pressure of the mechanical arm inside you, making it vibrate slightly to heighten the sensation. Grace can't help but chuckle at how perverse this has all become. You can't help but moan and gasp with whimpers as you are penetrated through both holes and drink the nourishing fluid.
Ryland grunts at the sound of your voice, his pulse racing even faster as the robotic arm penetrates you with precision and watches you eat. His hand slides to your mouth, forcing it open and making you release the tube. He covers your lips with his palm as he hears your moans.
"Shut up…" he murmurs against your ear. "Don't let that fudge computer hear how much of a slut you are."
But his eyes gleam with lust as he says it, as if he actually wants to hear you scream it louder. You also notice that he's crying while doing all this, just like you. This is too much for both of you. Ryland cuts off your breath with his strong, veiny hands, then lets you breathe again as he releases you. As if that wasn't enough, Armando brings him a vibrator, which he quickly places against your needy, aroused clitoris and turns on. The sudden vibration, plus the sensation of your two tight holes being filled and stretched, makes you scream in pain and move your hips up and down, seeking release.
This way, you reach orgasm, and your belly lingers with lingering spasms of pleasure. You cry, you give thanks, you moan, and you scream as if you're in a manic frenzy. It's intense.
"Thank you, thank you, sir. Thank you so much, Dr. Grace."
Ryland's hands move over your body, trying to comfort you, affectionately caressing your curves. Then they return to your hair and stroke it gently. He's never made a woman feel so wild. God, he loves you.
The computer responds with a beep of approval, its robotic voice still sounding almost as if it's enjoying the show.
"Dr. Grace: The second hole is ready for you."
The mechanical arm momentarily withdraws from your anus while the computer adjusts its program. Then, without warning… the system pushes you further face down against the table and lifts your buttocks into the air.
"Ready for alternative procedure."
Ryland stares, eyes wide, as the computer positions you like that. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of your exposed ass, and for a second he seems to forget how to speak. He's crying like a baby because he doesn't want to hurt you and hides behind a dominant demeanor.
"Fuck…" he finally manages to say, "Are you going to let me fuck you here too?"
He closes his eyes for a second and bites his lip to keep from moaning too loudly. Then he licks them needily. The computer waits a second before speaking again, as if it knows exactly when to wait to be heard. It sounds excited too. You feel like a guinea pig in a lab, they're doing weird experiments on you in the middle of space at the Hail Mary. But hey! You like it.
"Proceed, Dr. Grace. Proceed."
Ryland doesn't need to be told twice. With a low growl, he thrusts forward without hesitation (now in your other hole), his breath ragged and his hands gripping your hips with an almost painful force.
"Fudge it…" he gasps. "Look what you made me do."
"Ry… Ry… my little ass."
Ryland freezes when he hears you, his eyes darkening with lust. His hand slides forward and grabs your hair, forcing you to look at the robotic arm that's thrusting inside you again. This time, it's his beautiful cock penetrating you. He also hasn't moved the vibrator away from your clit.
"Say it again…" he growls against your ear. "Do you like having your little ass fucked?"
"Yes… no… it hurts…"
Ryland immediately pulls away upon hearing you, his gaze filling with concern. His cock withdraws from your hole, and your anus closes instantly, but the sensation of it having already been opened and stretched lingers. It burns slightly. The computer also seems to notice the discomfort and removes the nipple covers, awaiting commands.
"Recommended interruption. Proceed to the next position," it asks in its robotic voice.
Grace moves completely away from you, still looking at you, concerned.
"Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"
Stupid, cute, and clumsy Ryland Grace. Where the hell is it going to hurt? He just penetrated your ass.
"Next position?… I'm… fine."
Wow, you recover quickly. Your chest rises and falls, and your head aches from the pressure. You feel feverish and dizzy, but incredibly horny. Your brain has shrunk to being a tiny space cow and a whore. You don't want to be an engineer or a savior of the planet anymore. Screw the world, you just want Ryland Grace to keep fucking you.
The computer beeps in approval, and the system places you in a different position. This time you're lying on your back, your legs raised over Grace's shoulders. His concern seems to lessen slightly, but he's still staring at you. His glasses are dangling, and tears are in his eyes.
"Are you sure it doesn't hurt, sweetheart? We can stop…"
A small alarm sounds from the robotic arm, which is still in the air. The computer beeps a warning to Grace.
"Dr. Grace, the patient is showing signs of agitation."
"Please… I need you, Ryland. Please continue…"
Ryland lets out a sigh of relief mixed with lust, caressing your legs and then your cheek before repositioning himself between them. His cock now slides back into your tight pussy. The vibrator of the sex toy pulsates between you.
"Just tell me if it hurts…" he murmurs as he begins to push inside you again, slower this time. "Is this better?"
His voice is rough but filled with genuine concern.
"Yes, but we have a problem."
Grace's face paled with terror.
"The glasses stay on."
He lets out a relieved sigh and quickly adjusts his glasses with both hands behind his ears. Once they're in place, his hands return to your body. Now he caresses your breasts to soothe what the dildos have done to you while sucking. You moan softly. All the roughness is over; now they only move inside you calmly and lovingly as he strokes you.
After a while, Ryland leans forward and hugs you tenderly, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is soft in your ears as he moves a little more firmly, careful not to hurt you.
"Everything's going to be alright, my precious cow."
He strokes your cheek with his thumb, gently kissing your forehead before shifting his weight onto one arm. His other hand moves to stroke your hair.
Moans fill the room as he makes you feel safe and pampered. You can feel the pace of his thrusts quicken, but he stops every now and then, as if he's still afraid of hurting you.
"You're… so good," he gasps. "So beautiful…"
However, he doesn't get your answer. Your eyes have closed. Ryland notices how you relax and your breathing slows. His hand gently caresses one of your breasts as his voice drops to a husky whisper:
"You're falling asleep, aren't you?" It's not a question; he knows.
The system beeps with a warning: "Fatigue levels detected. Proceed with caution." Grace frowns but doesn't stop… he just slows down even more.
The computer beeps in approval as the speed slows, and Ryland takes a moment to adjust your position so you're more comfortable. He lowers your legs from his shoulders, so they now dangle over the edge of the desk. Then he places his hands behind your back to lift you and pulls you close. Your arms move lazily, resting on his shoulders in the embrace, and your legs wrap around his hips as you remain seated on the desk. The position changes the angle, allowing him to penetrate you more deeply. His hand moves to your hair and gently strokes your strands.
"Relax… I'm here," he whispers in your ear. "Sleep… I'll take care of you…"
This is how Dr. Grace finds release. With slow, deep movements, aided by the vibration of the toy that's still there, lovingly embracing you as you feel numb, precum oozing from the tip of his erection. He kisses your face: cheeks, the crown of your head, your forehead, your nose, your chin, and finally your lips. You, for your part, have had orgasms throughout the entire process, which you haven't been able to identify because of how overstimulated you are. But you feel incredibly happy and tired. Your belly seems to have a life of its own, moving with each gentle, sweet thrust as it has throughout the session: spasming, rising and falling like your breasts.
Ryland lets out sighs like a kitten, first a long one… and then a shorter one. While his penis can no longer hold back and he ejaculates inside you. His semen fills you to the brim; now he's the one who seems like a milk cow. You moan, somewhere between reality and dream… coming with him.
Once he calms down, he moves away from you until you're lying on your side and his arm is around your waist, as if you were a stuffed animal. He remove the vibrator from you and turn it off.
Ryland whimpers and cries with emotion; he needs to calm down. With your last bit of strength, you bring your hand to his face and stroke his cheek. Grace squeezes his teary eyes shut in anguish as he sniffs and presses his face to your belly. They both rest while you gently stroke their hair.
bro i’ve never seen blade runner and im confused is officer k a boy or a girl
Oh, hey… Officer K is a boy! I didn't understand your confusion at first, so I had to go back to my original text. I'm sorry I confused you; it was a translation error. I think it's fixed now. Thanks for pointing it out. I invite you to read more of my work!
Warnings: Adult content (+18), smut, mdni, explicit sexuality, unequal power dynamics, established relationship (marriage?), use of affectionate nicknames (honey, sweetheart, darling, good girl), emotional distress, exploration of desire and control, body alteration/first menstruation of a replicant reader, feminine hygiene products are mentioned, sexual awakening linked to physiological changes, reader does not know she is a replicant, retro Joi model, identity confusion, emotional dependency, tension between care and control, intense arguments, crying and emotional breakdown, references to reproduction and desire for pregnancy, p in v unprotect, quite humiliating and degrading, the reader mentions feeling like a baby or docile most of the time.
Word Count: 6.9K
Summary: After an unexpected anomaly in his replicant partner, K must face changes that blur the lines between programming and humanity, as they both grapple with desire, control, and a connection that begins to escape all logic.
Author's note: I feel like K is actually super tame and gentle, but hey! I'll allow myself to imagine him as Dom and write about taboo and rarely discussed topics because I thrive on this. I hope you like it, feel free to like, comment, and share. Remember that requests are open. :)
K's footsteps blended with the constant background noise of the building and the shadowy, cybernetic city that surrounded him. The wound throbbing on his arm reminded him of the need to heal, and the hunger churning in his stomach only amplified the Blade Runner's weariness.
His apartment was a small oasis in Los Angeles. Not very big, but a place he could call his own, a place he could return to momentarily between tasks and to take care of himself. It was certainly an advantage to have someone always waiting for him; and K double-checked that the Emulator was safely tucked away in his jacket pocket. He took off his jacket and hung it up, then went into the bathroom to tend to his arm wound.
It was as familiar as having a TV remote, a vintage object from decades past. However, K didn't think you were just a training tool. If anything, he had forged a much more meaningful relationship with you. You were the only thing that made him feel less alone.
Wallace Corporation had created you as the perfect retro model: a 1950s housewife ideal for housework and childcare. Despite this, you didn't have any babies to look after. So you took care of K whenever he came home tired from work. The best thing about your model, without a doubt, was that they had managed to combine a new Nexus-10 replicant with an Artificial Intelligence system that allowed the user to enjoy a more personalized experience and one that was much easier to control than previous versions. Furthermore, you were unaware that you were a replicant, which made your reactions and responses more natural.
Your hands trembled slightly as you held the children's book when you heard K arrive. Not having heard his voice announce his arrival made you feel a little uneasy. Today wasn't an ordinary day; ever since the officer had abandoned you in the double bed you shared in the early hours of the morning, everything had felt strange. You felt unwell, with a fever and an irregular pulse. Perhaps you were sick. (Although, unless it was a program trying to imitate reality, you didn't know that was possible.)
You placed the book "The Little Prince" on the small nearby table and got up from the sofa. You usually read classic literature, history… anything more intellectual or serious. However, your maternal instincts compelled you to secretly read that children's book. Your bare feet felt the cold floor as if it were real as you walked toward the bathroom, a slight pout on your face. You didn't like that K didn't say hello when he came in.
When you got to the bathroom, you found K without his usual long-sleeved black shirt. Instead, he was shirtless in front of the mirror above the sink, closing a new wound on his arm. Your pout softened at the sight. You leaned against the doorframe and crossed your arms over your chest, accentuating your bust.
"Weren't you planning on saying hi?" you teased, with a hint of playfulness.
K tensed up when he heard your voice behind him. He hadn't noticed you when you came in; his mind was too scattered and overwhelmed at that moment. The small sigh of protest that escaped his lips was an involuntary gesture, but the playful tone in your voice made him relax a little. He turned his head to look at you, resting his hands on the sink.
"I was busy, honey."
The everyday nickname was simply a way to remind you of the closeness between you. Sometimes you couldn't remember how you'd gotten here or why you loved this Blade Runner so much… but when K called you "honey," the answers seemed to come in that tone of love and in the trust you yourself placed in him.
You can tell how tense he is, and you feel bad about it. You move closer to K and uncross your arms. You stand behind him and hold his waist, resting your face against his strong, masculine bare back. K can't see how flushed your cheeks are. You look like you even have a fever.
"You're hurt, love."
K let out an almost inaudible sigh when your hands rested on his waist. His skin, cool to the touch as always, contrasted sharply with the abnormal heat radiating from you. He noticed the fever even without looking at you; replicants didn't get sick… and neither should you.
"A graze wound from a bullet," he explained briefly, turning slightly to glance at you. "It's not serious."
His voice was rough, but there was a hidden concern beneath those curt words.
"And you?" he finally asked, feeling your high temperature against his back. "Are you feeling alright?"
K's sigh doesn't escape your notice, but you can't quite tell if it's frustration or relief. Your fingertips continue to trace circles on the bare skin of his waist, sliding down to his abdomen. You caress every inch there with delicate tenderness… though for some reason, your hands innocently drift down to his Adonis-like girdle. You also can't control how your chin rests on his shoulder and your gaze drops to his groin. His black pants cling to his… Why are you thinking about that? This isn't like you.
"I'm fine… better now that you're home. But you're hurt."
You're not going to admit you're feeling bad so easily. Instead, you show concern for the officer.
K clenched his jaw at your light touches; physical contact was something he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. The Adonis belt accentuated his defined abs, and K noticed your gaze innocently drift down. However, realizing what you were doing, he pushed those thoughts away and continued the conversation. Carefully, he took your hands in his, gently moving your fingers away from his belt.
"It's just a minor cut. It's nothing serious."
You felt a little restrained when K gently moved your hands away from the beautiful spot where they were. For some reason, he was trying to subtly hold you back, like someone dealing with a small child who wasn't fully aware of her actions. You frowned slightly and blinked a few times, puzzled by the situation. However, the officer didn't mention anything about your behavior directly. He wasn't good with words. This made you think that perhaps you were overanalyzing the situation. Could he also sense that there was something odd about you?
"Were you able to close it? Do you want me to help you heal it?"
K let out an almost imperceptible sigh upon seeing your expression, as if gauging how much of your actions were truly yours and how much was simply the program following routines. However, there was no reproach in his gaze—only a mixture of confusion and… concern?
“It’s not necessary,” he said in a softer voice as he finished bandaging the wound. “It’s already sealed.”
He paused briefly before adding, as if to distract you:
“What were you reading? I saw the book on the table.”
K watched you analytically, as if meticulously trying to figure out what on earth was wrong with you. Was it a new system update? Had I accidentally installed a pornographic program on you? Or perhaps you'd played with the remote control without realizing it and now you were malfunctioning? Whatever the reason, knowing the cause of your behavior wasn't important right now. It seemed more crucial to make you feel better and comfort you.
"Okay…" You finally agreed, though you still wanted to take care of the officer. "Nabokov's Lolita."
K froze completely for a second, as if his system had detected a critical threat. His blue eyes narrowed slightly toward you—not with anger, but with genuine alarm.
"…Lolita?" he repeated slowly, his voice flatter than usual. "That's not your typical reading."
Although he knew the books weren't the problem here; it was the way you'd pronounced the title: too soft to be a coincidence.
"You don't have access to that work," he added, almost as a reminder to himself, while staring at you. "Where did you get that?"
Your hands trembled again when K froze, as if you were afraid he might suddenly be angry with you. The officer had never been angry with you before. Apparently, he wasn't about to start now either. You placed your hands on your back.
"On a pirate site…"
You explained calmly, your voice lower than usual. Perhaps you should have told him the truth: that you were reading The Little Prince. And not confessed your little internet search from last week.
K frowned at your response, his expression turning serious. Carefully, he turned fully toward you, placing his hands on your shoulders so you were facing him.
"You know you shouldn't access forbidden information," he said. His tone was grave, but not aggressive. It was more concern than censorship. Why were you straying so far from your assigned schedule?
It wasn't just your hands that were trembling anymore, but your chin too, which had wrinkled when your face pouted in a somewhat distressed expression… unsure exactly how to react to K.'s scolding.
"I know, I'm sorry…"
K noticed your apologetic tone along with your pout, and his expression softened slightly. His hands still gripped your shoulders firmly, but now also as a comforting gesture.
"It's okay," he said in a gentler tone as he looked into your eyes. "Just… be careful what you find online. There are things that aren't right for you."
It was strange, but at that moment K was reminded of a father scolding his daughter.
K's hands rested firmly yet gently on your shoulders, maintaining closeness and support in that small gesture. Your hands remained obediently behind your back. Being scolded was a new sensation for you, strange… yet satisfying. Almost as if he were correcting you with your best interests at heart. It also created a dynamic of care and power between you that was appealing. You nodded calmly when he treated you kindly.
"Yes… forgive me. I didn't mean to."
You replied in the same polite manner. Meanwhile, the skirt of your retro dress was stained with blood.
K noticed the bloodstain, and his expression hardened slightly again, though concern and confusion still lingered in his eyes.
"Wait here," he instructed gently, releasing your shoulders to go to a small cabinet where he knew he kept medical supplies. He rummaged through it until he finally found what he was looking for and turned back to you.
He stood before you, his hands full of ointments and bandages.
"Lift your dress."
You hadn't noticed your dress was getting stained. However, when K pointed it out, you could feel the liquid trickling down your inner legs. You didn't understand why… What was that supposed to mean? Were you dying? Your gaze followed the officer, who was going to get the medical supplies… used to your clumsiness and your minor injuries. You also had very sensitive skin and often scratched your legs… so you sometimes had scrapes that he would treat.
When he returned, your hands went to the hem of your skirt and you pulled it up to your waist. Sure enough, you had several small cuts on your legs… but they weren't the ones bleeding. Instead, the blood was coming from the inside of your thighs. Your underwear (which was supposed to be white hipster panties with a dark blue decorative bow, pristine and innocent) was soaked with blood.
K's eyes darkened with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty as he took in the scene. Your pale skin was covered in blood that trickled from your thighs, soaking your underwear with that innocent pink hue… And amidst all of this, your expression was one of almost childlike innocence, completely bewildered by what was happening. The Blade Runner was speechless for a few seconds, too shocked to utter a word.
"K, am I dying?"
Your question was like a low blow; the mere thought of you being dead made the officer uneasy. He couldn't allow that under any circumstances. He was more than willing to take care of you. However, your blood wasn't a wound… but something more human. You couldn't stop your eyes from filling with tears, which then streamed down your cheeks. It was then that K took you in his arms and carried you to the living room, extending the bed that was hidden against the wall. You, for your part, clung tightly to him as you continued sobbing.
"No… No, darling, no," K murmured, trying to calm you. His tone of voice, though it didn't show, also reflected a great deal of agitation about the situation. His mind was trying to process and rationalize what was happening as he helped you lie down on the bed, gently stroking your hair.
"Shhh… I'll take care of you, don't worry, you're okay… You're okay."
He sat down next to you, his hand gently stroking your cheek.
K's gentle words, meant to comfort you, offered a little solace, but they couldn't soothe your confusion or anxiety. You simply didn't know why this was happening. It was incredibly embarrassing and made you feel flawed. You remained shyly silent, still sobbing, your cheeks burning red. You lay meekly on the bed, arms at your sides, letting out a few sharp whimpers as you watched the officer stroke your cheek. A box from Wallace Corporation, delivered that morning, sat beside his apartment door.
K continued gently stroking your cheek, trying to soothe you. His gaze also drifted to the box that had arrived that morning, reminding him that he hadn't opened it yet. However, at that moment his priority was taking care of you; he needed to know what was wrong.
"Sweetheart, I need you to try to calm down a little, okay?"
He leaned closer, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand.
You pressed your lips into a thin line and couldn't help but make those high-pitched whimpers again, like a wounded puppy. Your anxious gaze was still fixed on K, trying to find answers in his attempts to distract you. Your hands at the sides of your head were still trembling slightly. You sniffed several times to stifle your sobs until you managed to calm down a little, though your breathing had become ragged. You nodded to the officer as he tucked the strand of hair behind your ear. Perhaps the box contained something that could help you.
K sat up and went to the box, his face still etched with worry. Your distressed and hurt expression pained him. It was like seeing a small child, frightened and confused by something beyond his control.
Carefully, he opened the box and examined its contents. Among the supplies was a manual with instructions. After a moment, K took out a small package and returned to the bed with it, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Open your legs, honey."
K's sudden departure unsettled you, but it also gave you a moment to breathe and control your embarrassment. You inhaled deeply, holding your breath for a few seconds before slowly exhaling, forcing your body back to its normal state. You had been lying submissively, your thighs covered in blood, arms and legs spread wide on the bed. Besides being a tender and innocent sight, it also made you look vulnerable.
When the officer opened the Wallace Corporation box, he found a label labeled "Joi-10 Upgrade Kit - Retro Model" and a manual titled "Physiological Cycles in Nexus-10 Female Replicants - Owner's Guide." The box contained everything needed: wipes, tampons, sanitary pads, painkillers, and a calendar to record the dates. It was like playing with a doll and her own period kit. K chose a pack of wipes and came back to you. You didn't know what he wanted to do with your legs, but you trusted him and shyly opened them. His hands grasped the edges of your soaked underwear, sliding it down your legs and off. This left your usual tight, pink pussy (or the perfect imitation of it) exposed: it was dripping blood and… looked wet with excitement.
K took some of the wipes, but he was taken aback by the sight that greeted him when he removed your panties. His rational mind knew what was happening; he'd read the package insert. But his emotional mind was still trying to process it: his retro Joi, his beautiful, tender Joi, was menstruating. At first, he simply stood there, gently holding your legs open while he couldn't stop staring at your crotch.
Your knees tremble gently as you hold them open for K. When you have the embarrassed urge to close them, his strong hands rest on your thighs to hold them. You know his hands are used to wielding weapons and being firm and violent, yet when it comes to you, they become delicate and careful. Whoever designed you had put a lot of effort into the prototype between your legs to achieve this incredible final result. They had arrived at a detailed and perfect model. After all, you suppose genitals were something important to a… housewife. Perhaps that could also explain your sudden heat and your need to get so close to K. As the officer stared at your genitals, your hands moved to the hem of your dress and pulled it higher. Because it was long, you were able to cover your face, flushed with embarrassment, with it.
Seeing that you were trying to cover your face with your dress, K quickly took the skirt in his hands and pulled it aside, once again exposing your face and embarrassed expression. He didn't want you to hide from him; he wanted to see you, to comfort you, and to understand you. His eyes returned to the blood and your groin, and he finally bent down to be at the level of your thighs. Carefully, he placed a damp towel on the inside of one of your thighs and began to gently cleanse.
Your cheeks flushed bright red when K removed the skirt that covered your face. It was the only thing that had briefly concealed your shame and fears, but he wanted to see them. Why did he want to see them? It shouldn't matter to him. You don't have to be a burden to K, you only have to be his housewife… a muse to work for, his beloved. However, the officer was genuinely interested in what was happening to you. That blood wasn't a simple process mimicking humans; it altered the psychology of your system without your knowledge. It was something more significant than simply bleeding. Perhaps this could signify your "awakening" or the search for your autonomy. Could that even be possible? As you felt the damp towel on your genitals, wiping away the traces of blood, you felt cared for.
"A-Am I sick?"
K continued cleaning carefully, gently wiping the dried blood from your thighs. His attention was completely focused on you, still unable to believe this was happening. His mind was still processing, trying to be rational and understand what was best to do, even though his heart urged him to hold you and comfort you.
When he heard your question, he froze for a moment, the towel still pressed between your thighs.
"Sick? No… No, darling. You're not sick."
K's answer was reassuring; at least you're not supposed to be sick. However, it doesn't help you understand why you feel this way… and that unsettles you again. It's like being lost in the middle of a deserted field, without direction. It unsettles you. If someone wanted to give you the routine tests they give K, you couldn't answer, "Interconnected. Within interconnected cells." Instead, you'd try to explain why it unsettles you so much. That's human. Wallace Corporation will probably have to come up with another test to identify Nexus-10s. The officer finished cleaning you and set the soiled wipes aside. Then he got up for a moment and returned with fresh underwear (panties of the same style in light blue) and a sanitary pad, crouching between your legs again.
K held the pad carefully, his gaze fixed on the process as he tried not to dwell too much on the absurdity of it all. His Joi—a perfect 1950s replica—was menstruating. And he, a Blade Runner programmed to hunt defective replicants, was about to put a sanitary pad on her as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
"Don't move," he murmured softly but firmly as he slid the pad between your thighs and adjusted the wings to your light blue underwear.
Your thighs were still spread as K worked to put on your clean panties. However, he'd also put something different on them. You'd never felt anything like it. The cotton soon began to absorb the blood that trickled from your folds. It wasn't a bad feeling. At least you wouldn't stain your clothes anymore. Despite the relief, it still felt strange. You stayed still as the officer requested, and once he finished, you shifted your hips uncomfortably. Your genitals brushed against the pad, and your expression turned confused again.
"Why are you putting that on me…? I'm not a… baby," you whispered shyly. It was easy for you to compare the situation to a baby's diaper because that's what you knew. Your system was wired that way.
K continued adjusting the pad, making sure it was properly positioned and absorbent. Hearing your question, he couldn't help but smile slightly at the comparison to a baby. He knew it wasn't like that, but hearing your soft, childlike voice, it was almost impossible not to see it that way.
"No, sweetheart, you're not a baby. It's not a diaper, it's something different. It's called a pad."
He sat up slightly and perched on the edge of the bed, a few inches from you.
Despite K's explanation, it still felt like a diaper. Still, it was nice not to get stained and to feel the blood trickling down into the pad. Your hands moved awkwardly inside your legs to touch the pad against the fabric of your light blue panties. You blinked again, analyzing what it felt like to have that gauze-like thing there. Then you got out of bed with difficulty, first rolling onto your side and then putting your feet on the floor and your hands on the bed. You looked like some kind of weak pregnant woman. Your stomach ached. Once you were standing, you moved to the open space in the apartment only to crouch down on the floor. You crawled carefully, moving uncomfortably through the pad and feeling somewhat childish.
K couldn't help but smile at your childlike appearance. He watched you as you moved across the floor, noticing your discomfort from the compress. It was such a surreal situation for him. There was no way you could have seemed more endearing. He sat up and approached you, his eyes glued to your every gesture and detail.
"Come here, sweetheart," he said softly, crouching down to your level and holding you out in his arms.
You continued crawling around the apartment, ignoring the pain of the bruises on your knees and using your hands to propel yourself. Your hips swayed from side to side with each movement, rubbing against the softness of the cotton pad that was beginning to feel damp—you couldn't tell if it was blood or your arousal. K's eyes were fixed on you. Then you watched him move closer and leave his spot at the edge of the bed. He crouched down next to you, so you quickly moved toward him. His arms wrapped around you tightly, not too tight, but a refuge. You wrapped your own arms around his waist and snuggled against his chest, your legs trying to find the perfect position with his: you wanted to place his thigh between yours.
K felt the heat of your body as you approached, and noticed the way you were trying to rub against him. His breath quickened slightly as he pulled you closer to his chest, holding you tight. He knew something else was happening here—something other than just your period.
"No… don't do that," he murmured huskily as he tried to separate your thighs from his.
But his hands trembled slightly; even he could feel how your body was responding to his closeness.
Once again, you felt reprimanded and denied the ability to approach Officer K in the way you needed. Why was he suddenly so cruel to you? Why was he distancing himself? He had never denied you anything before. Perhaps he didn't want to hurt you, given your fragile state. Yet, you seemed to have a newfound need for him to break you into a thousand pieces and reaffirm that you belonged to him. After all, the sense of belonging was as good for you as it was for him. Without realizing it, you were both alone… yet together.
A pout of anguish crossed your face as your thighs pressed against his leg in shame, refusing to let go. You raised your hands to his shoulders for support and rubbed your hips against him, swaying like an animal in heat.
K grunted through gritted teeth as he felt you move against him, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His hands closed firmly around your hips, stopping you in your tracks.
"No," he repeated, louder this time, almost a stifled roar as he stared into your eyes. There was a visible struggle on his face: repressed desire clashing with the need to protect you… even from yourself.
"You're confused. This isn't how it works," his words were sharp but not cold; there was genuine concern behind the reproach.
K's growl made you feel even more excited and needy than you already were. His hands gripped your hips so tightly that your movements stopped instantly. You lay still and silent on his leg for a moment, your throbbing, hot sex pressed against his thigh. You glanced down at his black work pants that fit him so well; you'd always noticed how they hugged his buttocks and the bulge in his crotch. But now they seemed even tighter. Your cheeks were still flushed, and the fever was unbearable; your whole body was burning. You released his shoulders and let your hands fall to your sides as you burst into tears again.
The combination of your tears and your hot body pressed against his made K's self-control even more difficult. His jaw was tense, struggling to control the primal instinct that now coursed through his body in waves. His gaze, still fixed on yours, was darkened by the lust burning in his eyes.
"Darling… darling, look at me. You don't know what you're saying. You have a fever. You're hot and confused. This isn't the time for this," he said, trying to reason with you.
Your trembling hands had fallen weakly at your sides, but you timidly raised them toward K. You placed your arms on his shoulders while your palms caressed his bare back. Your cheek rested against his chest, and you innocently closed your eyes, trying to avoid looking at his abs and the bulge in his groin as you sought refuge in his embrace.
K's arms wrapped gently around your body as your cheek pressed against his chest. He let out a sigh of relief as you calmed down a little, but he didn't dare relax completely. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what to do and how to manage his own arousal, not just yours.
He leaned closer, kissing the top of your head softly.
"Don't cry, love. I'm here…"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
You murmured affectionately, with a hint of regret, feeling bad for having wanted to do that to K. Believing you're human, this is akin to some kind of abuse… as if you were using a replicant for your own primal desires or needs. Besides, you know he's tired after his work as a Blade Runner… wounded. You're a bad person if you try to take advantage of that. What the hell? Why do you feel like a lonely woman who needs a replicant's presence to feel better? The reality is that the roles are reversed; K is the one who needs you. But you can't be aware of that.
K felt a lump in his throat as he listened to you apologize again and again, your voice trembling, making him feel as if he had broken something precious. His hands moved to stroke your hair, trying to calm you while he himself battled his own confusion.
"No… you don't have to apologize," he murmured, almost to himself, as if trying to convince himself of it.
He pulled you closer to his chest for a moment before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. There was something new in them: concern mixed with a strange tenderness.
"Just tell me what you need…" he said slowly, avoiding directly mentioning the heat between your thighs or the obvious bulge beneath his black pants.
"Can you leave me alone for a moment?"
You asked shyly, and as soon as you noticed K's confirmation, you got up from the floor and headed towards the bathroom, grabbing your pillow from the bed before you left.
K remained motionless for a second, as if his system was processing your request. He finally nodded, though his hands trembled slightly as he let go.
"…Yes," he replied softly as he watched you walk away toward the bathroom with your pillow.
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over his face, exhaling deeply. His body was still tense; not only physically but also emotionally. Something had changed… and he didn't know what to do about it.
As you stepped into the bathroom, you leaned your back against the door and let out a relieved sigh. However, you still weren't completely satisfied. You needed to quell the urge that had been bothering you all day, but even more so with K standing right in front of you, unable to make him fuck you the way you so desperately wanted. It was truly suffocating and sad.
You knelt on the cool bathroom floor. Somehow, it felt pleasant against your warm skin. Your hands held the pillow carefully as you leaned back against the floor. You couldn't sink any lower. This was humiliating, yet tender. You lifted one leg to place the pillow between your thighs and hugged it affectionately. You closed your limbs and pressed the soft fabric tightly. It wasn't the same sensation K offered, nor did it fill your emptiness. At least it helped a little. You moved your hips and moaned softly.
K sat silently on the bed, but heard a soft sigh followed by a noise from the bathroom. He wondered what you were doing on the other side of the door, though he could imagine it was something to do with the sanitary pad you'd put on.
But then he heard a different sound: a soft moan. And then another, and another. The sound was unmistakable; K clenched his fists as he fought against his own arousal, with an urge to control himself despite his mind telling him otherwise…
The minutes ticked by, as they always did. The day wasn't going to stop, much less the world… which seemed so advanced. Neither of them was anything special. You were frustrated with Officer K for not being able to satisfy you. It was ridiculous, stupid… it was simply illogical. Why were you living with a blade runner if his job wasn't to protect and satisfy you? You didn't want to use him, but the thought was unavoidable. Perhaps you should be tougher on K? Perhaps you were the one who should be ordering him around, not the other way around? You're supposed to be the human here, this is supposed to be your apartment. Right?
You had these philosophical thoughts, typical of humans, in the bathroom while you desperately rubbed yourself against the pillow. You imagined K touching you while you did it, imagined what he would look like throwing his head back as he moaned with pleasure and moved his hips against you with each thrust while you were on all fours on the bed you shared. Your imagination was… very good at creating the scene. You had no doubt that you were human, even more so now that you'd menstruated as humans are supposed to. You were far more convinced than before.
That's how you reached your first orgasm of the day, one you'd been craving since the morning K left you at home to go to work. You moaned, your breath ragged, almost painful… but nothing had changed for you. The knot in your belly was still there, bothersome and uncomfortable. Your walls were much tighter than usual… the pillow had been useless. You removed it from between your legs and pushed it aside, feeling humiliated.
K remained seated on the bed, his fists clenched and his jaw tense. The moans emanating from the bathroom had him on the verge of an internal breakdown—not only from desire, but also from the frustration of being powerless to do anything about it.
But when he heard your last stifled sob followed by silence… something inside him snapped. He stood abruptly and walked to the bathroom without a second thought.
Knock-knock-knock. He pounded on the door before he even realized it.
"y/n," his voice was rough but held an unusual urgency, "Open this damn door now."
The idea of rebelling against K vanished instantly when you heard him knock on the bathroom door and your heart pounded. You dropped to your knees and then crawled like a baby to the door before raising one arm to touch the high-tech button that opened it. The sight of you in the bathroom was both cute and pitiful, hunched over with a sad face and the pillow tossed aside like a useless object. Because no, the soft, foamy thing couldn't comfort you. Besides, it now had a small stain of menstrual blood on it. Apparently, you'd moved your light blue panties and pad while rubbing yourself against it like a little animal in heat. Your sex was throbbing, wet with blood and excitement, your clitoris swollen and your intimate area flushed. The first orgasm hadn't helped at all; it had only made you want more. You felt useless, letting your hands fall to the floor like a little girl while you sat in a "w" shape. You had a sad pout and your head was downcast. You expected another scolding from Officer K, but when he didn't say anything, you spoke first.
"Why don't you take care of me?"
K froze when he saw you like that—kneeling, the stained pillow beside you, your body trembling with need. His breath caught for a second before his expression changed: it wasn't just frustration or confusion anymore, but something more intense.
He entered without a word and closed the door behind him. His hands trembled as he grabbed your arm and roughly pulled you to your feet.
"Don't tell me that," he growled through gritted teeth, dragging you toward the mirror in front of you both.
He forced you to look at yourself.
"See this?" His fingers traced your swollen clitoris with almost painful pressure. "This is what you're asking me to do. And I'm not going to do it… because I know you'll cry like a damn little girl again afterward."
"No… no… K…"
Your hands tried to grab his arms and pull him away from your wet, (usually pink) now red intimacy. It was no use, though; he was stronger and bigger than you. Seeing yourself in the mirror made you feel more broken and sad than before, but also more aroused. Without realizing it, your pelvis moved closer to his hand, and your hips swayed in an attempt to rub against him.
K cursed under his breath as he felt your hips rub against his hand and tightened his grip around you, pushing you against the cold glass of the mirror. His body was rigid, but his gaze burned with desire.
"I told you I wouldn't," he repeated, his voice a hiss as he leaned forward, frowning. "Why, y/n? Why do you have to be so demanding? Be a good girl…"
"I don't want to be nice anymore. I'm fed up with being nice! Why won't you give me what I want?!"
For the first time, he saw you irritated and angry.
K was slightly surprised by your sudden anger, but his expression remained hard. His grip remained firm around your arms, though his fingers trembled with the effort of suppressing his own desire.
"What do you want? You have no right to ask me for anything. I'm here taking care of you and protecting you, keeping you safe. And this is what I get? Spoiled brat."
"Aaahg! I hate you, I hate you… Let me go!"
You felt like a little girl throwing a tantrum, but you were really angry. You twisted around his arms and tried to break free.
K gritted his teeth as your body writhed and thrashed in his arms, trying to break free. His muscles tensed with the effort, but he wouldn't budge. His voice came out as a hiss, filled with something that almost resembled frustration.
"Damn it, y/n… don't make this harder. Stop moving."
His left hand slid around your hips, pressing you even closer to him. It was clear he wasn't going to let you go.
"Then why won't you take me? You're supposed to be taking care of me…"
Finally, you gave in, ceasing your attempts to escape and surrendering meekly to his embrace, letting your head and torso slump as you sobbed.
When you finally became docile, K allowed himself to relax a little. His grip loosened, while his right hand moved up to firmly grasp your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. His tone softened slightly.
"Because it's not that simple. I can't just take you whenever I want; you know very well it doesn't work that way."
He leaned a little closer to you, his nose almost touching your cheek.
"You lie, you lie, you lie! You're not taking care of me… You don't even give me children! Don't you love me?"
K clenched his jaw, trying to contain his own frustration. His gaze turned cold and stern as he listened to your protests. For a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to slap you, but his hand stopped at the last second.
"Silence," he said sharply. "You don't know what you're talking about. So what if I don't give you children? Do you think you're an animal, a mere breeder?"
"I was supposed to be raised for this! Don't think I haven't noticed… everything here is so futuristic… everyone is so different from me. It's like I'm from centuries ago…"
K felt a pang of rage at your statement. Him grip tightened again as he fought the urge to shake you. But instead, he tried to reply in a controlled voice, though the edges of him tone were still sharp.
"Don't give me that bullshit about… 'you was bred for that…' What, you want me to get you pregnant? You want to feel me filling your little belly?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Please do it… I need you to… it hurts…"
Tears continued to stream from your eyes, and your expression was a mixture of anguish and happiness at hearing him say that. He had pleased you far more than he had expected. Your hands moved down to your belly, cradling it with vulnerability; the cramps were painful. You didn't know why, but you hated menstruation and hated having it… you wanted it to end soon. Perhaps if you were pregnant, it would end.
K felt a switch flip inside him at your pleas. His whole body was tense, but this time from the tension of wanting to take you and not being able to.
"Shut. Your. Mouth."
His tone was sharp, almost cruel, as he tried to maintain control. But then he saw your hands on your stomach… and something inside him broke. You were just a girl having your first period in the body of a retro Joi, and yet… he wanted you. His hands settled on your shoulders, gently moving you, and he guided you to the sink. There, he lifted your hips and roughly pulled your skirt aside. He lowered your underwear and finally proceeded to do what you so desperately needed. His artificial cock was glorious; you watched in awe as he removed it from his pants. You thanked all the gods, if any existed. He spread your legs and thrust into you without warning, sliding easily into the blood and moisture of your sex. You moaned with pleasure and then breathed a sigh of relief, finally feeling your walls tighten around something you could feel inside you once and for all. Then K began thrusting in and out without warning and without mercy. He was too fast for you; it was going to be a long session until your body stopped being aroused. But now there was a bigger problem: it was Officer K who was aroused.
Warnings: Themes of trauma (past abuse, suicide attempt), anxiety, implicit depression, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), dynamics of emotional dependency, references to relationships with an age difference (Russell Crowe mention), pregnancy, soft sexuality (sensuality and intimate contact), traditional gender roles, suggestive language, fluff with sadness.
Word Count: 3.4K
Summary: In a secluded cabin, y/n tries to soothe Ryan Gosling's anxiety as they both grapple with the stress of fame and the impending arrival of their baby. Through intimate gestures, vulnerability, and mutual comfort, the night reveals their deepest fears and the strong emotional bond that unites them.
Author’s Note: This story explores an intense emotional dynamic between two characters who find mutual comfort amidst difficult experiences. I wanted to portray intimacy not only from a romantic perspective, but also from the perspective of vulnerability, fears, and internal contradictions.
Some aspects may be uncomfortable or debatable, especially regarding power dynamics and dependence, but they are part of the emotional conflict the characters go through. It doesn't aim to idealize problematic situations, but rather to show a complex, imperfect, and profoundly human connection. Ryan is such a sweetheart to me, and I think these kinds of stories reflect more realistic situations than the idealized version of perfect love. Also, yes… I'm quite dramatic, and I love soft fluff. By the way, the movie that most inspired me to create this is (of course) Blue Valentine.
Please enjoy, like, share, and comment. :)
Ryan and y/n have finally left the big cities behind to embark on a new chapter in their lives. The wind blows fiercely across the countryside, with no buildings for miles around to block it. Except for the beautiful cabin in the middle of the prairie: their new home. That feeling of freedom is exactly what y/n needs to feel more at peace.
Fame has always been something that caused Gosling anxiety, but he knew how to handle it; it was almost a delicate, elegant job. However, for y/n, things weren't so simple. Perhaps it's the pressure of being a pop star, the highest-paid model, or an award-winning actress… or having dated Russell Crowe when he was 32 and she was only 16, or… having dated Leonardo DiCaprio, gotten engaged to him, and then having him cheat on her on a yacht in Cannes with Blake Lively. Was it perhaps her suicide attempt? That abuse she doesn't like to talk about? Ryan has been there for her every step of the way.
And now they're both in self-imposed exile…
Gosling sits in the dining room of the house, perched at the head of a table covered in fan-made posters for his new film, "Lost River." There are so many, but he can only choose one. He looks stressed: his hands are behind his head, his eyes tired, and his expression sleepy. His stubble is neatly trimmed, but his dark blond hair is disheveled. He's wearing a white sweater and black jeans, with his signature work boots caked in dried dirt. On the sofa in the distance, their dog sleeps in the most peaceful and tender way imaginable. George is a great companion.
Your figure appears as you carefully descend the stairs and enter the hallway behind Gosling. Your brow furrows as you watch him wearily choose between posters. You see him stressed, and as incredibly sexy as he is, you don't like seeing him nervous at all. It's late at night, and you just want to get him to bed soon. You understand he's been under a lot of pressure lately, between the move and the recent pregnancy news. Although he's excited about the baby and has become more attentive and protective of you, you also know he shouldn't push himself too hard. He needs some peace and quiet, too.
You're wearing a babydoll pajama set with lace details at the neckline and made of light blue silk. It barely reaches your fleshy thighs. It's soft and hugs your curves, even the new, slight three-month bump on your belly. It's a subtle and adorable little bump, but Ryan already likes talking to it. Besides, your breasts seem to have grown a bit and become rounder and fuller. Your long, honey-golden blonde hair is loose and wavy. Your voice is soft and gentle when you speak.
"Ry… sweetheart…"
The tension in his shoulders seems to lessen at the sound of your voice, though he doesn't turn around to look at you. He's too engrossed in the task at hand, but he can't help but smile slightly when you call him sweetheart.
"Mmm… hi, my love…" he says without looking up. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
"I can't sleep without you…"
Despite the underlying sadness, your words are loving and tender. Gosling knows about your recurring nightmares, how you talk in your sleep or toss and turn in bed. Sometimes you even accidentally hit him when the nightmare gets too intense. Still, the rest of the time you like to sleep cuddled up to him or on top of him. You approach slowly, taking steps on your bare feet on the polished wooden floor. You reach his side and gently kneel down to crawl under the table. It's generally one of your habits to be on the floor from time to time, as if you're seeking a sense of stability. However, going under the table means something else today. Like a puppy looking for a safe place to hide, you seem to need some comfort.
After hearing your words, a wider smile spreads across his lips. He knows how much you need his presence to feel calm at night. When he sees you kneel under the table, he can't help but chuckle a little; he loves it when you do this. He leans toward you and rests your arms on his legs, affectionately stroking your hair as he gazes at your face.
"So, what are you doing down there, hmm?"
Under the table, the shadow cast by the lack of light makes you feel somewhat childlike… as if you were playing hide-and-seek. In a way, that's also a little comforting. It reminds you of simpler times when there were fewer worries and responsibilities. You sit with your legs crossed on the floor and your arms go up to Ryan's hips. You rest your cheek on his thigh and let your head fall there. Your hands move in caresses against his skin as he strokes your hair and you breathe deeply; the atmosphere is so peaceful when you're together and alone.
"I'm keeping you company," you explain with simple tenderness.
He smiles a little more when you rest your cheek against his thigh; the gesture feels so innocent and natural. He can sense the tension beginning to dissipate in your body as he strokes your hair, and his heart swells with affection for you. He's so used to this, to how you seek his closeness, how you hide under the table when you feel vulnerable. And he loves it.
"I wouldn't mind having you down there for a while, my love…" he murmurs with a gentle smile.
"Then I'll stay here with you…"
You finish with a calm and peaceful smile; whenever you and Ryan are this relaxed, it makes you feel good. It's such an everyday, domestic scene. You even think you feel more pregnant, for some reason (if that were possible, as if he'd come inside you again and left you pregnant with his baby). You suppose that being away from society in a cabin has turned you into a homemaker. You've become a good wife, almost in a traditional role. However, the docility is reserved exclusively for the home. Because you're still working and being as functional, stubborn, bossy, and in charge as ever. Although, well, you do have some mood swings sometimes because of the pregnancy…
"Would you like me to make you some coffee, my love?"
Ryan relaxed even more upon hearing your words. There's something about the dynamic between you two that just works; the small rituals of affection and mutual support are the foundation of your relationship. He watches you tenderly, noticing the peace in your expression and the tranquility in your gestures.
"Yes, coffee would be perfect, sweetheart…"
He says softly, caressing your cheek with his fingertips. He likes the idea of you making him coffee as an act of care and attention. Despite being labeled a feminist heartthrob, he can't help but be drawn to this gentle, kind, 1950s housewife side of you. Besides, he hasn't burned any bras… although he wouldn't mind if you never wore them so he could always see your nipples showing through your clothes. In fact, he'd love it.
When you notice Gosling's frown soften and he seems less stressed, you know you're succeeding. You're happy to have this ease with him. Acts of service and care mean a lot to both of you. You smile at him when he watches, your cheeks flushing slightly. Your head tilts toward his touch, and after a while, you crawl under the table and out the other side. Once out, you head to the kitchen to make the coffee. You find what you need and mix the sugar and instant coffee with a little water in the mug with a spoon until it forms a paste. Then you add warm milk and some textured milk at the end to create foam on top. You do it with love. When you're finished, you return with the warm mug and place it on the table, bending down with an adorable and submissive air. You're not doing it on purpose… but your cleavage is accentuated, and you're even sure you can't control your breasts… because they seem to have a life of their own, or at least be affected by the laws of gravity. You expect Ryan's hand to go to the cup, but instead, it goes to one of your breasts.
As you walk away to the kitchen to make his coffee, his gaze follows you for a moment, affectionately. Ryan is so used to these little details that he marvels at the care and attention you put into every gesture. When you return, you do so with that adorable, submissive air, leaning toward the table and casually revealing your cleavage. And then, in an almost unconscious impulse, instead of reaching for the cup, his hand slides down to your breast, gently caressing it. After all, they are alone in a house in the middle of nowhere… simply being husband and wife… or wild woman and caveman… or lovers… or work of art and muse… or whatever.
The coffee cup seems to fade into the background, forgotten on the table beside the movie posters. When Ryan caresses your full, round breast, your eyes close shyly and your cheeks flush even more. Your hands rest on the edge of the table, and you lean back in a pretty, vulnerable pose. Gosling has access to your breasts with one hand while the other rests on your bottom, caressing the short light blue silk skirt. You shiver beneath his touch, and then he tries to pull you closer to his lap.
Your reaction to the touch of his hand on your breast fills his heart with affection and tenderness. Ryan sees your eyes close, your cheeks flush with a soft blush, and your body lean toward the table, surrendering to his will. Your movements have a submissive and docile air that he finds captivating, as if you were a small animal submitting to its beloved master. He takes advantage of your position and pulls you toward him, settling you on his lap, one arm encircling your waist to support you and keep you close.
Beneath your left breast, your heart races with desire. It's been like this ever since the day Gosling saved your life. Your pulse is always high from the anxiety caused by your post-traumatic stress and your responsibilities, but when he touches you, your pulse can only beat with joy. You relax in his arms and shift awkwardly in his lap, straddling him. Your arms fall to his sides, beneath his armpits, and your hands rest on his waist. Your head falls to his chest. Between you, your slightly rounded belly is something new and beloved.
Ryan feels your heartbeat beating rapidly beneath his hand, an echo of the intensity of your feelings. He gently settles you on his lap, enjoying the warmth of your body against his. His arms encircle your waist and hold you firmly, maintaining a comforting connection between you. The sensation of your growing belly presses against him, a reminder of the life growing inside you, and he can't help but smile affectionately. His hands move tenderly up and down your thighs.
You remain calm in Gosling's arms, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his presence. After a while, however, he stops stroking you and goes back to working on the posters, making corrections with a marker and deciding which one is best. His brow furrows again, focused on his work. You know he's thinking again about the pressure on his shoulders regarding the film, and that stress is probably intertwined with the new responsibility of becoming a father.
You watch him closely as you continue sitting on his lap, snuggled up to him. You know that, at times, Ryan feels too claustrophobic and panicked about fame. But he hides it so well… you also know that, as has happened before, he needs to take a break. However, this doesn't seem to be an option lately. You've never taken a break from work, and Gosling seems to be working to ensure that you, now that you're expecting his baby, finally step away from the Hollywood scene. That's why they moved here in the first place. But, as always, I can't allow you to worry more about yourself than others.
"Goose…" The nickname is said affectionately, recalling simpler times like when they had a band together. "Are you okay?…"
Your words make him look up from the poster, and upon hearing the nickname "Goose," he feels a shiver of nostalgia. Those days with Dead Man's Bones were simple, filled with music and carefree laughter. Now that he's sitting here with you in his lap while you correct his creative decisions… he can't help but feel caught between two worlds.
"Mmh… yeah, honey," he replies almost automatically, slowly rubbing your back. "I'm just overthinking this damn movie again."
But when he notices you clinging to him as if you're afraid he'll vanish amidst the poster corrections or the studio's numbers… he sighs deeply before unceremoniously dropping the marker on the table.
"No. That's not true…" he admits, lowering his voice (that husky, soft, utterly angelic voice of his) to better caress you under your chin, gently lifting it to look directly into your tired blue eyes.
Suddenly, you feel sad. You think it's not good for the baby if you feel sad, but sometimes you can't help it. Especially when Ryan breaks down in front of you. It's worse than you imagined. You've been self-destructive and hurt yourself, yet seeing Gosling so overwhelmed hurts more than anything. You need to be able to do something. Now you feel like crying. You hold it back. Maybe it's how sensitive you are about the pregnancy and the mood swings, or the fact that your full breasts hurt… though it's really Goose. It's simply a weakness, and you have to admit you're not strong enough to handle it. You can't let the man who saved your life feel like this; he deserves all the good things in the world. Despite that, the world isn't as good as you think, and you've been forced to build a little world just for the two of you.
"I know it's not true… I can tell a mile away. What's wrong? Talk to me."
Your voice takes on a maternal and caring tone as you let him lift your face and you both look into each other's eyes.
Your words, that maternal, protective tone you use—as if he's the one who needs comforting instead of the other way around—hit him right in the chest. He doesn't deserve this. He thinks he doesn't deserve your concern or your unconditional love when all he does is let you down. You have no idea where he gets these thoughts, which are a complete lie.
"It's not fair…" he murmurs almost involuntarily, his fingers tightening a little more around your shoulders as he struggles to find the right words.
"It's just…" He swallows hard before continuing to look into your tear-filled eyes. "I'm scared. Scared that I won't be enough for him or her… Scared that I'll ruin their life like my father ruined mine… And on top of that, I feel this damn pressure from the studio screaming in my ear every day: 'Gosling, this has to sell.' And you know what? I don't even care about that anymore… I just want to protect both of you (you and the baby)."
Your hand leaves his waist and travels up to his arm as you listen intently. Your palm is warm and moves across the fabric of Ryan's sweater, offering comfort, moving up and down and caressing him just as his hand did on your back. You believe he deserves everything and more; you love him and want to take care of him as he takes care of you. You don't care that he stresses you out, even with the pregnancy; you're stubborn and can't help but worry about him.
"I'm scared too, Ry. We're both first-timers. But it's impossible that you won't be enough for our baby. You're perfect, and I don't say that lightly. You've always been good with children. You'll be a good father; you won't abandon them or hurt them. You don't have to worry about something that isn't going to happen. It's not in your nature. Do you understand?… Besides, I'm excited to have a baby with you. I don't want to do it with anyone else but you. On the other hand, the studio isn't important. If it has to be sold, I can buy it all, okay? It's such an interesting film, and I love the cinematography. I'm glad I made it with you… To protect us, I need you to stop putting so much pressure on yourself."
The confidence in your words calms the turmoil within Ryan. He can't help but feel a pang of relief knowing he's not alone in feeling overwhelmed by what's to come. On the other hand, the idea that you, his partner with no stable family background who grew up surrounded by adults and was an artist, is comforting him seems ridiculous. Yet, the confidence in your eyes mesmerizes him and soothes him like nothing else.
"You're not the one who should be calming me down."
"But I want to reassure you… Am I doing a good job?"
Your head tilts in an adorable way, but besides the tenderness, you still carry that underlying sadness that neither of you names but that you both know for sure is there. After all, you've been through a lot of tough things that have left you with post-traumatic stress… in addition to anxiety and depression, or whatever other diagnosis you prefer to deny. However, you're far from those crises, aren't you? It's been years. Besides, your question about "doing a good job" only reinforces the idea that lately you've been acting as docile as a 1950s housewife.
It's true, maybe it's ridiculous that you're taking on a role of comfort and protection when you've come from a somewhat dysfunctional family. Your dad died in a car accident when you were only 12, and you've never had a good relationship with your mom. It doesn't matter; the point is that you're a grown woman now, and you can't keep acting like a scared little girl. You and Gosling have known each other since you were kids and have grown up together. Something that also What connects you to your parents is the fact that your first partner was Russell Crowe, a relationship with a significant age gap. Despite that, you're good friends now, and he's something of a father figure to you. He's taught you a lot and supported you through the chaotic early stages of adolescence.
As Ryan watches you, your head tilted to one side and your eyes sad, he sees through that facade of calm. He knows there's sadness and trauma you're carrying, but he knows you well enough to know you don't want to talk about it. That's why he's even more furious with himself for being so weak, for causing you worry.
"Yes. You're doing an excellent job," he says in a slightly firmer tone, trying to compose himself a little. "I'm better, really… But I need to ask you something."
"Sure, you can ask me for anything."
Ryan takes a moment to reach for his coffee mug and sip it slowly. The aroma of latte makes you smile slightly. You can't help but think of your habit of drinking it with a cigarette… but you can't smoke now with the baby on the way. You like being able to make Gosling feel safe enough to be vulnerable with you too. Besides, you can't deny that he's adorable when he's… broken like you. The sexiest thing a man can do is cry, you suppose. You'll be there to soothe his panic.
"Now, can you give me your wifely services in bed?"
His voice is playful. He leans over your shoulder to whisper in your ear, his voice deeper than usual, his hands tickling the sides of your neckline to tease you. His fingertips move across the light blue silk.
Faced with this game you love so much, you smile from ear to ear and sway your hips on his lap as you try to avoid his tickles, though you can never truly escape and end up giggling softly.
"Ah… yes, yes… of course."
Without warning, Gosling takes you in his large, strong hands, like a little princess, and gently carries you upstairs to the bedroom.
Warnings: Content for adults over 18, explicit sexual content (smut), fluff, mdni, affection, plot-driven porn, established relationship (they are married), breast stimulation (breastfeeding + light nipple play + computer that extracts), use of pet names (sweetheart), mention of abortion and baby loss, reader masturbation with a strange sex machine from space?, Ryland's masturbation, many mentions of milk and Grace's sperm, sperm injection, Ryland crying and screaming (so hot), the reader is slightly dom.
Word Count: 5.3K
Summary: You wake up in space in trouble, your legs and hips are fractured… but most of all: your breasts are engorged and full of milk, and maybe you have a parasitic infection in your uterus? Ryland will have to help you while the machine roughly heals you, although you seem to be enjoying it.
Author’s Note: This was very… stimulating for me and I hope you like it. I love Ryland with all my heart.
Suggestions: You can read more like this here.
Your eyes were large and expressive, but now they looked much more bulging and frightened. Your brown irises were darkened by the dim light of the spaceship. In Earth's sunlight, they would have appeared lighter, almost honey-colored, and Ryland remembered that. Your black pupils dilated as you stared at the unknown man in front of you who, despite your complete lack of memory, exuded confidence and intellect, his glasses giving him a terribly nerdy look. Your heart was racing, and that's when you glanced down to notice the marks on your breasts. They were swollen, adorned with two painful red circles. You had to continue scanning your surroundings to notice the wet cups hanging above you next to the funnels. The sight frightened you; it seemed ugly and fetishistic… suddenly, the person next to you no longer seemed so trustworthy.
"Ah… ahmm…"
It was difficult to form words after being asleep for so long, practically in a coma. Your hands try to rise, but you can only move them as if you want to grab something… but you only manage to touch the air. Your gaze drops to the floor, where the tubes have fallen and there are several drops of blood. All your medical equipment hurts… a lot.
Ryland immediately recognized the expression on your face and what it meant. He knew what you were thinking: that you were confused and scared and couldn't remember anything. Your gaze shifted from his face to your body, and he followed it, noticing the red marks and circles on your bare breasts. Your expression told him everything. He didn't want you to think the worst, so he spoke calmly and gently.
"No, no, no, wait… no, it's not what you think."
"He… um… I…"
You tried to speak, but the word stuck on your lips. You kept staring in disgust at the funnels above you—a strange contraption that looked like some space-age version of a breast pump or a conventional extractor. The real question was: Why did you need it? Where were you? Who was that man? Who were you?
Your naked body looked too good—you were even quite well-developed and strong. The blanket Ryland had wrapped you in out of respect had fallen to the floor. You didn't look particularly athletic or anything like that, but you were too well-built to have been in a coma. You touched your lower abdomen. You had to take several deep breaths to focus, and that's when you felt how strange your uterus felt—not how you remembered it, not how it should be. It felt empty. Tears welled in your eyes and rolled slowly down your cheeks. You tried to speak again.
"Help…" you pleaded with a sharp moan.
Ryland's heart broke when he saw your tears. His immediate instinct was to go and hug you, but he knew that would only increase your doubts. So, instead of touching you, he bent down to pick up the blanket from the floor and carefully placed it over you, making sure to cover your nakedness. His face was a picture of concern as he looked at you.
"It's okay, it's okay, everything's going to be alright…" He managed to speak calmly, though he was far from feeling at ease.
"Help… help…"
You repeated it again; it seemed to be the only word you could manage. You wanted to wake up from this nightmare soon… and be back in your bed in your little house with your husband. You wanted to wake up and tell him about the crazy dream you'd had. But the image of the same man who was asking you to calm down came to mind. It seemed to be him: the same one from your memories of your life on Earth.
You wanted to get up abruptly, sitting on the strange bed, or rather, cot. However, your hips ached instantly… they felt a little wider. Your body didn't feel like your own. Your bottom hurt. Your breasts were swollen and too big… you noticed that your nipples were leaking small drops of milk. Your crying intensified.
Ryland froze for a moment, seeing how much you seemed to be suffering. His first impulse was to reach out, wrap you in a hug, and reassure you that everything would be alright. He couldn't bear the fact that you didn't remember him and that your first encounter was marked by trauma. But he also knew his intentions would be misinterpreted. He bit his lip and continued speaking calmly, still crouched in front of you. His gaze shifted from your tearful eyes to your body.
You said again. It bothered you that he wasn't coming closer. You assumed (based on your memory) that this man was your husband, so it bothered you a lot that he wasn't coming to comfort you. You were on the verge of losing your mind. Your hands left your stomach and you tried to open your arms, as if to show that you wanted to be hugged. The blanket only covered your legs and your sobs didn't stop. Ryland had been working with you there for days, asleep and wrapped in the blanket. He knew waking you was a risk, so he decided to wait until you woke up eventually.
"Please…"
Ryland couldn't hold back any longer. With a sigh of resignation, he quickly approached and enveloped you in a soft but firm embrace. His hand gently stroked your hair as he murmured,
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I know you don't recognize me now, but I'm here." His voice was husky with emotion. "We'll work this out together."
With his other arm, he pressed your back against him to ease your trembling.
"I know who you are… my love, but I can't remember your name. I'm sorry."
Your voice softened slightly despite your panic. Your tone was sweet, low, and maternal. You couldn't quite put your finger on why maternal, but you guessed the milk in your breasts was trying to tell you something… Your weak arms rested on his shoulders, and your hands touched his back. Your whole body ached. Even though you'd been in a coma, your hair was styled, clean… perfect. As if something, or rather, someone, had brushed it.
Your words were music to his ears. Knowing that you at least somehow remembered that you were husband and wife brought him some comfort, even though you couldn't recall his name. His embrace tightened as your hands rested on his shoulders and your head tilted toward him, pressed against his neck. His fingers gently slid through your hair, stroking it tenderly.
You didn't know when you'd fallen back asleep. However, you suppose you were too tired to know. You're lying in bed again… but now there's no strange tube or funnel attached to you. In a way, you're grateful.
You stay quiet and still… your breasts don't hurt as much anymore. Your hand grips the lilac blanket and you lift it slightly to see underneath: there's cream on your breasts… covering the painful marks left by the pump. It's traumatic… apparently, all this time you were asleep in your induced coma, that machine was extracting milk from you as if you were some kind of cow. Apparently, a space cow.
You take a deep breath and look around carefully: this place feels like a spaceship.
Ryland had been sitting a few feet away in a small chair, watching you closely, trying to make sure you were okay and calm. Your movement alerted him, and he looked up. He saw you lift the blanket and look at your body, especially your breasts, with concern and confusion.
"I… I put cream on you. So it wouldn't hurt," he said awkwardly. "I've been pumping your milk since I woke up."
"Why? What the hell?"
Ryland swallowed hard at the look on your face and sat up, taking a few steps to the edge of the bed to be closer to you.
"Your body was producing milk, so we had to express it," he explained carefully. "If I let it accumulate, it could cause pain, inflammation, or an infection."
He sat on the edge of the bed beside you, keeping a few inches away to give you space.
"Did you touch my breasts?"
The bluntness of your question made Ryland's cheeks flush. He glanced to the side, uncomfortable and embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Ah, uh… yes, well… yes," he admitted reluctantly. "I had to… milk you."
Little Grace felt embarrassed by the whole thing. She wasn't trying to be a pervert, she was just looking out for you. However, you couldn't stop noticing her defined biceps in that short-sleeved shirt with the Project Hail Mary logo. Then, your tone changed:
"…Touch me again, please. It hurts…"
The request suddenly took Ryland by surprise. He turned to you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, a look of confusion on his face.
"Um… wait a minute. You want me to milk you?" he asked. His tone reflected a mixture of surprise and concern. "Not that I have anything against it, but… why?"
"Aren't you my husband, you idiot?"
The insult made Ryland's brow furrow even more. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, adopting a more serious expression.
"Yes, I am. But that doesn't mean I should touch you like that just because you ask me to."
His expression wasn't one of anger, but rather of caution. He didn't want to take advantage of your confusion without your full consent.
“Ryland, please…” You had remembered his name.
Upon hearing his name from your lips, Ryland visibly softened. His serious expression lessened slightly, though he still seemed a little uncertain.
"Fine, fine…" he sighed. "But only to ease the pain, okay? It's for no other reason."
He sat up a little more, standing in front of you and gently reaching for your breasts.
“I remember you’re a freak and you like my tits, Grace. Don’t try to hide it.”
Ryland's cheeks flushed even more at your comment. It was true, he liked your breasts, but it felt inappropriate to admit it so directly in these situations.
"I'm not trying to hide anything," he replied, trying to sound as serious as possible, as his hands gently rested on your breasts. "I just… I just want to make sure it's the right thing to do."
“Yes… it’s the right thing to do, they hurt…”
You said with a hint of sadness, his hands on your full, tender breasts bringing some relief. This whole breastfeeding thing was so new… even more so after a space awakening. Having his hands playing with your breasts helped a lot, a great deal, to be honest.
You turned over in bed, lying on your side, and your soft breasts fell to that side like firm drops, which Grace continued to caress. He played with them like a child, patting them up and then down. You closed your eyes to bear the pain, and your expression was adorable as you moaned softly while Ryland’s hands pampered you. The pads of his fingers caressed the cream-covered skin, bringing you relief. His hands were an obsession for you; you had noticed the veins on the back of his hand… how large and strong they were… how he typed or moved them, making innocent gestures.
Ryland watched as you turned over in bed and lay on your side. His heart melted at the sight of your pained yet tender expression as your eyes closed. His hands began to gently caress your breasts, with soft, gentle movements.
"I'm sorry, darling…" he said in a soft, compassionate voice. "I try to be as gentle as possible."
You keep your eyes closed as Ryland strokes you. A few drops of milk leak from your breasts, falling onto Grace's hands and down your abdomen. Suddenly, the computer buzzes:
"y/n Grace, case 769071. Anomaly detected. Initiating process, searching for stability."
Ryland froze at the sound of the computer's voice. His hand stopped in its tracks, and his face showed a mixture of confusion and concern.
"What…? Anomaly?" he muttered to himself. "y/n, don't move."
With quick but controlled movements, he carefully released your chest and turned to the computer panel. His fingers clicked rapidly as he searched for more information about this "anomaly."
"I don't understand what's happening…"
Your eyes snap open, but you're too tired to panic right now. Your expression turns weary, and you let out a sigh. Obviously, you're not going anywhere. Meanwhile, the panel displays a medical report detailing some of your "anomalies": engorged breasts, a hip injury, fractures in both legs… a parasitic infection in the uterus? Great. Who would put you in a coma like that? (You're starting to think you were dragged here.)
Without warning, the computer arms move to support you. You tilt your head to the side in confusion.
"Ryland?… Sweetheart?…"
The robotic arms position you on the bed, which looks more like a gurney or a gynecological chair as it moves and expands. Suddenly, the machine opens your legs and holds your thighs.
Ryland's heart pounded as he watched the robotic arms grip you mercilessly. His face paled, and his voice came out almost as a shout.
"NO! Don't touch her!" He lunged forward, trying to block the machines' movement. "y/n, don't look—"
But it was too late. The gurney had already transformed beneath you, forcing your legs open against your will as cold, metallic sensors began to slide between them.
"STOP RIGHT NOW!" Ryland frantically pounded on the computer panel.
Ryland's panic is endearing and makes you feel protected even in this delicate situation. You try to close your thighs but can't; the system seems to be holding you firmly.
The cold sensors between your legs make you feel a little better, easing the pain. The computer's arms placed ice packs on your hips. Meanwhile, the machine turned on some lights to observe your private parts. The computer speaks again:
"Stay calm, Ms. Grace."
Ryland struggled to control his own despair and terror as he watched the scene unfold before him. The machine's calmness, compared to the chaos in his mind, irritated him even more.
"Calm, you say!" he hissed, through gritted teeth. "You're… you're abusing her. She's my wife…"
He couldn't tear his gaze away from your spread thighs, held by those emotionless machines. With every passing second, his heart broke a little more at your vulnerability. His eyes were wet, his expression one of anguish and fear. He was a baby.
A tender smile touches your lips when Ryland says those words; it's so sweet of him. One of your hands reaches out to find his. Actually, what the machine was doing… as disturbing as it was… had made you feel a little better. You don't want Grace to cry.
“I'm… okay, Ryland… sweetheart…”
Before you can say anything else, a new sensation arises between your legs. The computer inserts… whatever tool it is into your entrance as if it were an easy task. It even feels lubricated. It's as if someone meticulously programmed all of this. It's a rather strange tool: it's shaped like a small dildo, but the tip has a tiny, long, and pointed needle. When it goes in, it's not painful… it even makes you feel somewhat relaxed and aroused.
Ryland froze as he watched the tool enter you. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes flicked from your face to the thing penetrating you with such… precision. Then, he let out a sharp little yelp.
"What the hell—?" His voice was hoarse afterward, almost a growl. "y/n… you shouldn't feel good about that. It's a damn machine!"
He tried to grip your hand tighter while his other palm frantically pounded the computer panel, tears streaming down his cheeks:
"TURN THAT DEVICE OFF RIGHT NOW! WHAT IS THIS? WHO PROGRAMMED YOU TO DO THIS?!"
"The system was programmed by y/n Grace."
The computer repeated your name in that cold, monotonous voice, as if it were simply confirming a routine task.
The tool continued working on you with meticulous precision, moving in and out of your input as it carried on with its programmed task, completely ignoring Ryland's pleas.
He turned to the computer, despair and anger etched on his face. "Damn it, what the hell are you doing? This is harming my wife!"
“No… Ry… it feels good.”
The words from your mouth made Ryland freeze again, in surprise and confusion. His gaze returned to you, and he noticed… noticed the way your body seemed to respond to that strange instrument. Your expression was a mixture of pleasure and relaxation… something it shouldn't make you feel, but… it did.
"y/n, sweetheart…" Ryland whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "This… no… shouldn't feel good… it's… it's a fucking medical instrument…"
“And y/n Grace programmed this system to provide the user’s comfort throughout the entire process.”
The computer spoke again. You didn’t remember creating that program… you didn’t remember much. However, you assumed the machine kept a record of all your preferences because it subtly altered the rhythm to make you feel good. Your hand presses Ryland’s. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise you if the dildo inside you was an exact replica of Ryland’s cock. In fact, the thought of putting a mold of it in there sounds good.
Suddenly, the device inside you stops… it seems to be planning to do something different this time. Your walls hold it in place, and it gently stretches them as it enters again… deep, all the way to the limit. You feel the needle starting to prick you and you moan softly.
“Antidote injection in progress. Remain still and breathe.”
Ryland couldn't help but gasp again when he heard the word "injection." His body tensed instantly, and his hand gripped yours tightly.
"ANTIDOTE?! WHAT KIND OF ANTIDOTE?!" he exclaimed, staring frantically at the device.
But it was too late. The needle had already pierced your inner skin as that thing continued to move inside you… as if measuring every inch to make sure it reached exactly where it needed to go. Ryland felt a shiver run down his spine when he heard your moans—they weren't just from the pain.
“Antidote for parasitic infection, Dr. Grace.”
The computer kept talking, but you weren't paying attention. You let your head fall back onto the pillow, panting. Your hand gripped Ryland's tightly as the liquid was injected inside you. Then you held it a little more gently, lovingly stroking the back of your hand. A few minutes later, the antidote had been injected, but the device still hadn't come out.
“Do you want Dr. Grace's sperm? We have several doses available.”
The machine's words left Ryland stunned. His gaze flicked from the device to you and then back to the computer, disbelief and confusion etched on his tear-streaked face.
"My sperm… what the hell…?" he murmured, still gripping your hand tightly, though now with less tension.
He couldn't help but glance down at where the device remained inside you, then looked back at you, his cheeks even redder. "What… what would they want that for?"
“Computer… What is Grace’s sperm used for?”
The machine processed your question with a brief buzz. Its response came in the same neutral tone, as if it were reading from a manual.
"Dr. Grace's sperm is on file for:
Assisted reproduction, case 769071.
Intrauterine fertilization following parasite removal.
Hormone relaxant dose (see 'Relief' protocol, page 45)."
Ryland paled at the word "reproduction." His eyes flicked across the screen, then back to you—as if searching for some sign that this was a joke.
"…y/n." His voice was hoarse. "Did you… program this?"
“Apparently so… explain relief protocol on page 45.”
The computer buzzed briefly before responding, its voice cold and mechanical:
"Relief Protocol (page 45)
Direct injection of sperm into the uterus via intramuscular device.
Effect: Immediate relaxation of the female nervous system + increased endorphins (87% effectiveness).
User y/n Grace Note: 'Works best if Ryland is present.' Signed: y/n G."
Ryland opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
"…y/n." His tone was a mixture of horror and indignation while wiping away her tears. "You… YOU put me in a jar like I was a damn cookie?!"
"Ry… Ry, I promise I don't remember programming this… I'm sorry, but it's brilliant."
You can't help but laugh at how absurd this is; it just seems like something you'd dream if you'd gone to sleep drunk. You relax a little. If your note says it works better if Ryland is present, you're going to listen to it. Your hands find his, you place him on your chest and stroke him.
"Computer, can we activate that protocol?"
Ryland let out a frustrated groan and gritted his teeth, still trying to process the whole situation. But he couldn't resist the tenderness of your laughter and the gentle caress of your hands on his palm.
Then the computer buzzed again, a reminder that the conversation wasn't over yet. Your cold voice broke the silence, followed by a faint activation beep.
"The 'Relief' protocol will activate in 30 seconds, Ms. Grace."
"Thank you."
It was endearing that you were thanking a computer that was created to obey orders. You allow yourself to rest calmly on the examination table, your thighs still restrained and spread. The strange device that had injected the antidote earlier was still inside you; you could feel a trickle of excitement run down your thighs, and your cheeks flushed.
Ryland tried to remain calm as well, pulling a high chair up to the side of your bed to sit beside you.
As the protocol was activated, Ryland took a seat in the chair he had pulled up next to you, watching you intently, a mixture of concern still evident in his gaze. His eyes moved from your face to your open body and back again to your face.
He could see the drop of fluid slide down your folds, and his throat moved as he swallowed. His hand lightly squeezed yours, as if it were his anchor in the midst of the confusion.
"Sweetheart… you have to participate, please."
Ryland froze, his eyes widening behind his glasses. He swallowed hard and felt his pulse quicken.
"Participate… how?" he asked, trying to sound firm, but his tone failed him completely. "And… this is a machine. It's not me inside you."
Even so, he couldn't help but glance down as the device began to vibrate gently—as if it were preparing for something more.
"Well… but they're going to inject me with your…"
Ryland swallowed again, his gaze still fixed on your crotch. His voice grew a little huskier as he spoke again.
"I guess… I guess that's true."
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his pants were starting to feel a little tight. Despite everything, he tried to remain calm, and with great difficulty, he looked you in the eyes again.
"So… what do I do?"
"Can you pet me?… just cuddle me."
Ryland exhaled a sigh of relief mixed with nervousness. It was something he could do without feeling like he was crossing a dangerous line.
"Yes… yes, of course," he replied, his voice softer now as he extended his free hand toward your abdomen.
With slow, careful movements—as if afraid of hurting you—he began to trace small circles on your skin, moving up to your ribs. His gaze remained intense on you; he didn't want to miss a single detail of your reactions.
The sensation of his hand touching your belly made you feel uneasy, but also comforted. Then a new memory came to mind… but your belly wasn't flat and empty like it was now… it was full and round. You sighed and tried to focus on Ryland's caresses moving up to your chest. Your own hands rested on his forearms and you gently pulled his body against yours to embrace him. Your lips found their way to his.
Ryland leaned forward at your request, drawing his body closer to yours. His eyes were still filled with concern, but something different was also beginning to emerge as he gazed at you: tenderness and desire.
When his lips touched yours, his heart leaped. His caressing movements were no longer innocent; they now moved with a subtle purpose, moving higher and higher up your torso, tracing the sides of your breasts.
When your lips part, you breathe heavily… the device between your legs is still doing its job. However, it doesn't seem to change its actions much. You're still worried about what's happening to you and where you are.
"Computer… so the machine extract milk from me while I was in a coma?"
The computer buzzed, and after a moment, it responded in the same monotonous, mechanical tone:
"Yes, Mrs. Grace. Your body was producing milk during your sleep. It was regularly expressed using an automated procedure."
Ryland continued to caress your body, but his gaze remained fixed on the computer. His expression was somber as he processed the information.
"Reason for breastfeeding?"
"It's not necessary," Grace said, trying to sound calm.
But the computer processed the question with a brief buzz, then replied in its neutral, cold tone:
"Reason for breastfeeding: Postpartum programming. Your uterus was prepared to receive artificial embryos after awakening. Records indicate you were pregnant prior to the induced coma (see file 769071-B). The fetus did not survive the process."
Ryland let out a stifled sound, as if he'd been punched in the stomach, and began rattling off affectionate nicknames to distract you. "My love, my wife…"
"Computer, be more specific."
The computer buzzed again, processing your request. Then it responded with more details:
"Mrs. Grace was 12 weeks pregnant when she went into a coma. The fetus was female. There is no evidence of previous miscarriages or births."
Ryland's hands trembled involuntarily as he tried to keep you steady. His gaze returned to you, his mind filled with unspoken fears—and a touch of affection.
"Ry…"
Your voice was sad and as low as a whisper, like a cry for help. Your palms covered your face shyly as you sobbed. Before all this madness, you were pregnant, and you didn't even notice? How could you put your baby in danger like that? You feel so guilty.
Ryland's heart broke with each of your sobs. With a groan, he moved closer to you and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, cradling your body against his as best he could in that position.
"Psh…sh, sh…it's okay. It's okay, I'm here." He tried to comfort you, though his own voice cracked with emotion. His hand returned to your abdomen, but this time with a much gentler, more tender gesture.
As tears streamed down your cheeks, you pulled your palms away and tried to breathe slowly to avoid hyperventilating. Your body trembled against Ryland. When you spoke, all you wanted was to fix everything: your tone turned serious.
"Computer… What exactly happened to my baby?"
"Ms. Grace, you don't need to know those details right now. Just relax, stay still, and focus on the protocol."
The computer's words made Ryland tense up even more, his embrace becoming more protective. He leaned closer to whisper in your ear, trying to calm you and control the urge to confront the computer right then.
"Shhh… it's okay, sweetheart. Ignore that damn thing. It'll drive you crazy."
His hands slid from your hips to your thighs, a gentle touch to soothe your body.
"Ry… I'm sorry… I really didn't know."
The sensation between your legs changes as the device pulls out slightly and then roughly thrusts back inside you. The needle pricks you again, and it hurts. You moan softly.
Ryland gritted his teeth at the sound of your moans, his body tensing with each whimper. His fingers slid to your hips and tightened their grip in a protective gesture.
"y/n… look at me. Relax. Just… just focus on me." He whispered, his voice firm yet gentle. His gaze returned to your face, his expression anguished but filled with a desire to distract you from the situation.
Ryland's hands on your hips, along with the ice packs, made you feel a little better. It was probably a great idea for your aching hips, and you thank your past self for creating this system. You thank it even more when you feel the needle slowly inject something inside you, a slightly thick liquid that gradually fills you. Without realizing it, you feel more energized and calm… as if you've had an orgasm. You assume it's Grace's sperm.
Ryland noticed the difference in your reactions. Your complaints seemed to lessen as the thick liquid was injected into you, giving way to soft moans and small shudders. His gaze intensified, and his pulse quickened again. He could sense the change in you, the desire that seemed to be growing… and he was experiencing something similar, too. He gritted his teeth again, trying to control his rising desire as he held your hips firmly.
The computer spoke again:
"Dr. Grace, it seems he's feeling horny."
Apparently, your past self knew this was likely to happen. A robotic arm extended a roll of toilet paper to him as if they were mocking him.
Ryland's cheeks flushed dark red at the computer's comment, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. His gaze shifted from you to the roll of paper the machine dispensed, and he took it with a hint of shyness and embarrassment.
"Uh… yeah, well."
His voice was huskier, and his gaze returned to your body… especially to your open thighs, held in that position by the examination table.
"Dr. Grace, you have an erection. Would you like to masturbate so we can collect another dose of your sperm?"
Ryland's face turned even redder, and his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. The fact that the computer had mentioned that, in such a clinical and emotionless way, was… unsettling. Yet the urge he felt was growing stronger by the moment. His gaze traveled back over your body, and his right hand moved to the zipper of his pants.
"Damn it… you and your past you."
"Thank you for agreeing, Dr. Grace. y/n will be very pleased that you cooperated. You see, the doses of his sperm are important to her. Please proceed it in the next vial."
One of the robot arm handed her a lab vial with a note from the old y/n that read: Ryland's milk, with some hearts drawn on it in marker.
Meanwhile, you could only watch him with a somewhat wicked yet tender smile as you continued to be injected with his semen.
Ryland let out a groan, somewhere between frustrated and embarrassed, clutching the vial with the note. His gaze lingered on the drawn hearts—as if he'd been slapped with ironic tenderness.
"God… my wife was a damn sadist," he muttered, but his hand was already clumsily unbuckling his belt.
Though he tried to maintain some semblance of composure, he couldn't help but look at you as they injected you with more of himself. Your expression made him swallow hard—that wicked, sweet mixture he knew so well…
"I'm sorry, I love you."
A soft smile touched Ryland's lips, though he was still trying to process the situation, and the computer wasn't helping matters. But when he heard you say those words, his expression softened. His hand remained on his zipper, but he paused for a moment to smile at you tenderly.
"And I love you too, silly."
His tone was affectionate, but also a little irritated. He felt him getting harder and harder. Finally, he lowered the zipper and freed his erection from his underwear. He placed his fist lengthwise and began rubbing it up and down, pulling his cock out and pushing it back in.
"You're adorable when you masturbate…"
Ryland smirked at your words, his face flushed red and his eyes half-closed. He threw his head back. His glasses fell onto his jaw and dangled behind one ear.
"Shut up… you make me like this." His tone was breathless and desperate.
Warnings: Content 18+, explicit sexual content (smut), fluff, mdni, strong emotional themes, care, suicide attempt, self-harm, references to overdose, mental health struggles, porn with plot, emotionally intense relationship dynamics, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), breast stimulations (titty sucking + slight nipple play), praise, use of petnames (sweetheart, baby, honey, darling), body worshiping, shave pussy mention, medical fetish mention, enema mention. In case it wasn't clear, the reader has some mental problems. The reader's friends are Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, and Lana Del Rey, and her ex-partners are Leonardo DiCaprio and Russell Crowe. All of them are mentioned.
Word Count: 9.7K
Summary: Life has been rough on you, so Gosling decides that, after your accident, you need to rest. They move to a lakeside house, far from civilization, where they have conventional oral sex and affectionate scenes.
Author’s Note: This piece contains heavy emotional material that may be difficult for some readers. It deals with mental health, trauma, and recovery in a deeply personal and sometimes raw way. Despite its intensity, at its core it is a story about care, connection, and finding comfort in another person. Reader discretion is advised. I hope you enjoy it.
Ryan feels his heart clench when he hears your words and sees you gagging yourself with the towel to bear the pain. His eyes fill with sadness as he watches you hurt yourself so much on purpose.
He continues to carefully clean and disinfect your wounds, but his voice is serious and firm when he speaks.
“Sweetheart, please don’t say that. You’re not hurting anyone. You’re a good person, and everyone loves you. Don’t torture yourself like this.”
The lake house has become your refuge from these chaotic days. You gaze out through the living room French doors at the backyard and the lake shore, still chewing on the small towel in your mouth. You can see the wooden bench and surrounding trees; the lawn is carpeted with autumn leaves. Then your gaze returns to Ryan…
The apartment in New York now has a strange, heavy energy. Especially the hallway. It’s where he found you unconscious… with a pool of blood beneath you and a half-empty pill bottle beside you. You can’t explain how guilty you felt when you woke up in the hospital with Gosling so… worried. He looked tired and stressed. It’s hard to imagine him in that situation, having to call the ambulance and then caring for you through those mornings, afternoons, and evenings.
Watching him clean and disinfect your wounds only reminds you of one thing: Ryan has become a true hero to you… even though he’s just an ordinary human being. You can’t believe it. He's an amazing person, and so attractive you seriously doubt he's from Mars or some neighboring planet. But no, he's just a kind Canadian… and your beloved.
"I'm sorry, truly. You shouldn't have had to go through all this… and it's… my fault."
Your words are sincere, your voice low and sweet… though now it has a distinct tinge: melancholy. It's impossible to erase it, even though you try to sound more cheerful. The thing is, you're also exhausted. It's been months and months of pretending to be okay; this was just the last straw.
Besides, you sound a bit silly because of the gag in your mouth (which is the towel). You press it down with your teeth again as Ryan applies Betadine to continue cleaning the cuts on your arms… then he moves to your thighs, and they burn like hell. He should clean the ones on your abdomen too, but you're too sensitive for that. Now you are stained with a brown/reddish iodine that has a chemical smell.
Ryan listens intently to your words, and feels his heart clench again when he hears you say that everything that's happening is your fault. His hands carefully continue cleaning your wounds, though his mind is more focused on trying to encourage and comfort you without putting too much pressure on you.
"No, sweetheart… It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
He whispers in a soft but determined tone as he continues gently cleaning your wounds.
Ryan's words are simple and gentle. In fact, he takes all these horrible circumstances in stride. That makes you feel safer. However, you also know it must be difficult being in his shoes. His face always looks sleepy, like a cute, fussy bear. However, the dark circles under his eyes aren't normal. You know that during the days you spent in the hospital, Ryan hasn't been able to sleep. Even so, he looks handsome, worried. His blue eyes, his light stubble, and a lock of dark blond hair on his forehead… you manage to give him a small, sad smile, which he returns with a knowing one.
For a few moments, you remain silent, and your gaze drops to the first-aid kit on the coffee table. There's also the doctor's prescription, recommendations, some medications… thousands of gauze pads and rolls of medical tape that he bought to have more on hand. You have so many cuts in so many places. You think you'll be like a mummy for a while.
"Does anyone at work know anything?"
You ask questions with a lump in your throat. All you understand is that Ryan made sure the news didn't get out in the media and tabloids… you've been going all through this alone, for the most part. Except for Ryan's close family and your friends: Lady Gaga… who was the first to show up when you ended up in the hospital with Taylor Swift… and Lana Del Rey showed up too. Gosling took your iPhone: it's overflowing with missed calls from Russell Crowe and a short message from Leonardo DiCaprio asking if everything is okay.
Ryan looks up from the first-aid kit and sits down at the coffee table across from you, still holding the gauze in one hand. He gazes at your serious, exhausted face and sighs softly as he answers your question.
"Only those closest to you know, love. No one else."
He sets the gauze aside and takes your hand, gently stroking your fingers tenderly.
"Taylor, Lady Gaga, and Lana came to see you in the hospital."
Your gaze follows Gosling's movements, how attractive he looks even without doing anything… just sitting on the coffee table with the gauze in one hand, looking at you. Meanwhile, you're sitting on the sofa with your arms outstretched and your legs slightly apart, trying not to get iodine on the furniture. Your feet are bare, you're wearing only your black panties underneath and a slightly oversized Ryan T-shirt… without your bra.
Your face fills with surprise; you hadn't expected them to… then you feel a little scared about how they see you or what they'll think of you, despite how kind they were in the hospital room. However, they're just ghosts in your mind. Your friends are worried about you, loyal and willing to help you with anything. They all seem to have personal stories related to this: Gaga has experienced it firsthand, Taylor had a friend die, and Lana lost her boyfriend. They don't want anything serious to happen to you.
"T-The girls? I… I didn't think the girls were coming."
You reply, still gagged with the towel you put on yourself to ease the burning sensation. However, he still hasn't said anything to you about Crowe and DiCaprio. (Russ was your first boyfriend, when you were only 16 and he was 32. You remember you had a fight and broke up for some silly reason. Nowadays, he's a good friend of the couple… he's become a father figure to you. Leonardo was your second boyfriend; you were even engaged. You thought you had a future with him in terms of marriage and family, but he cheated on you with Blake Lively on a yacht you'd bought together in Cannes. Ryan says you and Leo had a toxic relationship, but you consider the dynamic of hitting each other normal… and it wasn't easy with all the press, the media attention, and the stress you were both under. You don't punish him for what he did; after all, you know DiCaprio sometimes acts like a child. In fact, your nickname for him is Peter Pan.)
Your hand gently presses Ryan's, caressing his skin in the same way.
Ryan sees your face light up slightly when you hear the girls came to see you, and he can't help but smile tenderly. He knows how much those friends mean to you… especially right now.
"Yes, my life," he nods, still holding your hand. "Lady Gaga was the first to arrive. She was crying almost the whole time…" His voice cracks a little at the memory.
But then he looks down when he feels your fingers caress his skin, and his eyes shine with a mixture of love and sadness. He knows exactly who the two names he hasn't mentioned are—Russell Crowe and Leonardo DiCaprio—and he also knows how complicated (and painful) it is for you to think about them right now.
"…Russ called like seven times in a row." He murmurs without looking directly at you, "And Leo… well, you know how Peter Pan is."
Your lips are pressed into a thin line, stifling the sobs you want to release. Your brown eyes well up with tears, and unable to move your arms to hug Ryan, you let your head fall onto his shoulder. At the same time, a warm tear trickles down your flushed cheek. You feel so awful… and yet so loved and comforted.
The vulnerability you show in that moment breaks Ryan's heart, and without a second thought, he sits up next to you on the sofa, gently pulling you onto his lap. His strong, gentle arms encircle you and draw you closer, and you feel him hug you tightly against his body. His cheek rests on the top of his head, protecting and comforting you in the way only he knows how.
"It's okay, beautiful…"
He kisses your hair tenderly.
You sniff several times as more tears escape, trying to hold me back, and gently shake your head when you pull away slightly from Ryan to look into his eyes. His blue eyes are oceans you could swim in, sink into, and die in. Being in his lap is lovely, his hands around your hips and over your stomach. Your abdomen is also cut, but he touches you so gently that it doesn't hurt. The iodine doesn't sting as much anymore, but all you want is to feel the gauze and bandages pressing against the wounds.
Ryan feels your tears dampening his neck and shirt, and he bites his lip helplessly at how much you're suffering. He wishes he could erase all the pain and suffering from your precious soul. He watches you move as you sit up straight and pull back slightly to look at him. Your body trembles beneath your hands, and his grip tightens a little more on your hips to steady you.
"I'm here, baby…" he murmurs, then whispers softly, "I'm right here."
You finally manage to stop your tears, you keep staring into his blue eyes as if you're mesmerized, and you smile again, shyly. You want things to be better, but it's clear that at least the first few weeks will be awkward. Somehow, it doesn't feel so bad when you're with him… except that sometimes you feel like you've let him down. As always, you're more concerned about other people's well-being than your own.
"I know… but I'm afraid of hurting you. I don't want to."
You're convinced that your actions have hurt him, so the guilt is still there. You lean in to kiss his lips, and you share a brief romantic moment amidst all of this. It helps ease the tension.
Ryan feels your body relax slightly in his arms, and he sighs with relief when your tears finally stop. He sees the shy smile on your lips and the fear reflected in your brown eyes, and he wishes he could erase all the anxiety that weighs you down.
As your lips approach his, he leans forward to meet you halfway. The kiss is tender, soft, and full of sweetness, and he lets out a stifled breath at the touch.
Your whole body is soft: your hips are soft, your legs are soft, your round breasts are as soft as a feather and silk pillow. Yet the cuts on your skin contrast sharply with the pleasurable sensation of touching them—something so cruel, ugly, and painful on such smooth, white skin.
Ryan holds you affectionately once they stop kissing, takes the gauze from the coffee table, and without warning, begins to lovingly bandage your arms. He places the sterile gauze over the cuts, the ones that stain red, and then wraps them in a light bandage or secures them with beige medical tape. Now you're like a mummy, but the burning sensation lessens.
As he carefully and precisely bandages you, Ryan can't help but feel a surge of tenderness toward your fragile form. Your body, which has always been soft and feminine, now seems so vulnerable and wounded before his eyes. He feels a wave of protectiveness toward you, a masculine instinct to care for you and keep you safe from harm.
He spends a few moments in silence as he finishes wrapping you in clean gauze and bandages, gently and tenderly touching your arms. Finally, he clears his throat and looks directly into your eyes.
"Thank you so much."
Your "thank you"s are now commonplace, they're everywhere… you've been repeating them day after day whenever Ryan does something for you. He just nods and lifts you from his lap, laying you back on the sofa. He gently arranges your outstretched legs on his lap. He strokes your cold feet and then continues bandaging the wounds on your thighs. You can do nothing but blush. Even though Ryan knows every inch of your body and the nakedness (and now fragility) of your soul… you still feel self-conscious about being only in your underwear and his T-shirt, without a bra.
In an effort to distract yourself, your arm (now bandaged, you can move it better) reaches out to pick up the prescriptions. It's hard for you to understand them.
"What's all this?"
Ryan feels your long, slender legs in his lap and smiles quietly as he gently runs his fingertips along your ankles. His gaze shifts to the cuts on your thighs, filling with sadness and concern as he carefully bandages them.
When he sees you take the prescriptions, he sits up a little and moves closer to you.
"These are the medications the doctor prescribed…" he begins to explain, "Antibiotics and antidepressants, basically."
"Didn't he want to prescribe cocaine, heroin, and fentanyl too?"
Ryan chuckles softly at your comment and looks at you with a surprised and amused expression. It seems your sarcastic and ironic sense of humor hasn't left you, even in this situation.
"Looks like you still have your sense of humor intact, darling," he says teasingly, gently stroking your cheek.
"Yes, apparently so."
You remain silent for a minute until you remember something.
"Did they really have to give me an enema at the hospital?"
Ryan bites his lip to suppress a smile as he chuckles softly at your question. He knows you're remembering the uncomfortable enema you had to have during your hospital stay.
"Yes, sweetheart," he nods with a mischievous grin, "They really did give you an enema."
"Well, that's fun. They even gave me drugs up my ass, great. At least now we can have anal sex? Wasn't that one of your fantasies?"
You're holding back your laughter, you shake your head gently and put the prescription aside. You let out a sigh of indignation.
Ryan nearly chokes on his own saliva when he hears your question, his cheeks flushing as he stares at you, wide-eyed. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to form a coherent answer.
"Y/N!" he exclaims, feigning shock, though laughter creeps into his voice. "Are you seriously asking me that now, after the emotional trauma I just went through?"
He gives you a look that's both amused and incredulous as he grabs your (still cold) ankles and playfully teases you.
"Well, well… I tried to kill myself… it's okay. Nothing a little anal sex couldn't fix."
Ryan bursts into laughter and shakes his head, unable to contain himself at your provocative humor. He looks at you with a mixture of affection and exasperation as he continues to hold your ankles and playfully twist your cold feet in his lap.
"Sweetheart, you're crazy. I know, but you're crazy." He murmurs, still chuckling a little as he shakes his head. "It's impossible to reason with you sometimes, you know? Especially when you're in this mood."
"Yeah… I know. Can you leave my feet alone? I didn't know you had a fetish like Tarantino."
Ryan chuckles and stops, his hands still on your feet, gently holding your ankles. He looks up at you with a mischievous expression as he responds to your comment.
"And you have a thing for dark humor," he retorts with a mocking tone.
"Indeed…"
You half-close your eyes, as if you were mysteriously plotting something.
"Lie down."
Ryan looks at you, a little suspicious, but also curious about your request. He raises an eyebrow and smiles mischievously as he settles onto the sofa, leaning back against the cushions.
"Like this?" he asks with cautious anticipation, watching you through his eyelashes as he slumps down against the pillows.
You smile contentedly as Ryan lies back on the sofa. You kneel in front of him and then awkwardly and tenderly throw yourself onto his body, making an adorable little sound. You extend your arms so as not to hurt the cuts, placing them straight above his shoulders and resting your bandaged wrists on the armrest. Your full, rounded breasts rest in the middle of Ryan's face, his nose brushing between them. You try to move and end up snuggling affectionately against him.
Ryan feels your body collapse on top of him and lets out a sigh of contentment as your breasts brush against his face. He hadn't expected such a tender and adorable gesture from you, and he can't help but smile as your arms wrap around his neck and your body curls up against his on the sofa. His hands slide down your bare sides, gently touching the wounds covered with gauze.
"Pretty mummy," he murmurs softly.
"I'm going to kill you."
Ryan laughs, feeling your weight on top of him and hearing your threat. His hands slide down your sides more firmly now, almost as if he's gauging the seriousness of your words.
"Ah… so now you want to kill me?" He murmurs with a mocking smile, "After everything I've done for you…"
Though his tone is playful, there's a genuine flicker of concern in his blue eyes as he stares at you.
"Yes, I'm going to kiss you to death."
Without warning, your hands cup Ryan's cheeks and kiss his mouth on impulse.
Ryan feels your hands gently cup his face, and he lets out a soft groan before you lean in and kiss him. At first, his mouth opens in surprise, but he quickly returns the kiss with urgency. His arms wrap tightly around you, gripping your waist and pulling you closer. Your kiss deepens and becomes more passionate, and he loses himself in the sensation of your lips moving against his. After a few minutes, he finally pulls back slightly to catch his breath as he looks into your eyes…
You feel calmer when you can finally release all the pent-up emotion in the kiss, and the anguish in your chest finally seems to subside. The days in the hospital were dark and dull, until everything seemed to improve when Ryan offered you strawberries and cream. You think that from then on, everything was more bearable, even the injections and the IV drip. You were too embarrassed to approach him (thinking he'd be angry with you for all this), so he was the one who kissed your hands or cuddled you.
You're glad to put all that aside to focus on feeling loved again and loving. At the end of the day, all you want is to be tamed by Ryan again.
Your hands gently release his face as you continue kissing his lips, now more calmly. Your aching wrists rest on his chest. Your spine, which felt broken, is once again steadied by his strong hands supporting your waist like pillars.
You gently pull your face away from his, keeping a short distance between you. Your lips are pink and swollen… a thin thread of saliva between them that doesn't seem disgusting. You smile with pristine melancholy, your eyes shine with love instead of with suppressed tears.
Ryan takes a deep breath as he feels your body relax against his, his hands sliding down your sides with a mixture of adoration and protection. He gazes at you, watching the melancholy in your eyes slowly transform into something warmer—something he recognizes as pure love.
"You know…" he murmurs, running a thumb over your lower lip to wipe away the trickle of saliva, "I'll never be mad at you."
His words are gentle yet firm. Then he leans forward until his forehead touches yours.
"But if you scare me like that again… I'll have to tame you a lot harder."
Ryan's hands move gently over your waist, down to your hips, then back up to touch the sides of your breasts. It's simply the kind of touch you need, the kind that makes you feel less alone. You'd been drifting away too much lately; it feels good to have him close to your heart again. You close your eyes for a moment as your foreheads touch, feeling a slight twinge of pain in your head, but you completely ignore it.
"Thank you for saving me. You're my hero…"
Your words are sweet and warm, your smile widens, and you suddenly open your eyes at his words.
"Tame me more… stronger? What does that even mean?"
Ryan smiles, a flicker of mischief and tenderness shining in his blue eyes as his thumb lovingly traces the curve of your breast.
"It means…" He tilts his head to the side, as if carefully considering his response, "…that I might have to tie you to our bed until you learn to value yourself."
His words are playful, but there's a firmness behind them—an unspoken promise. Then he brings your bandaged hands to his lips and kisses each knuckle with devotion.
"But only after those wounds have healed… because right now you're far too fragile to play with like this."
“And I thought it was going to be something sweet like The Little Prince, you're wicked… Ry”
Ryan lets out a soft laugh and rolls his eyes at your words, but there's affection in his gaze.
"You're so silly…" he murmurs, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he looks at you, "You're recovering from an overdose and all you can think about are children's books."
“Yes… you know: To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, for your part, have no need of me. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other…”
You like reciting the words from that short novel; it’s lovely. In fact, your voice becomes much lower, sweet as honey and calm… but there’s something more… a new glimmer of something called motherhood. You think that being on the brink of death is a good reason to think about the beginning of a life. You’ve always thought about children, even though you don’t know for sure what will happen from now on. After all, you know that you’ll face everything together.
As you recite the passage from the book from memory, you lower your head and snuggle against Ryan’s chest. Your gaze rests on the lake through the glass doors.
Ryan is silent for a moment, listening to the words of the Little Prince leave your lips with such sweetness. His heart beats faster against his chest when he senses the change in your voice—that new spark he hadn't noticed before.
"You're… amazing." He murmurs, running his fingers through your hair as he continues to gently stroke your sides.
But then he feels you snuggle against him and sees where you're looking: at the tranquil lake beyond the French doors. He knows exactly what you're thinking—he's thought it a thousand times over the years with you. His hand instinctively slides down to rest on your bandaged belly, as if he can already imagine it filled with life someday.
"…Really?" he asks finally. "After all this… you still want that?"
You can't help but shiver (even though it's not that cold in here thanks to the heating) when Ryan is about to speak. For some reason, your mind has trained itself to assume the worst first… at least now you're starting to break that habit as Gosling calms your overthinking. You thought he was going to say he doesn't like you reciting like that, and you felt embarrassed for a second before hearing his sincere compliment resonate in your ears. He has no idea how much he means to you.
Ryan's hand lovingly cradles the side of one of your breasts; you like to imagine them filled with milk someday. Just the thought of your round, pretty breast makes me blush. His thumb gently caresses it. Without warning, his other hand moves down to your stomach, and your body automatically tenses as if you're being hurt. That area is too intimate and sensitive… in fact, it only has a small, superficial cut. You're not brave enough to damage your babies' little house any further…
“Yes, sweetheart… I really want it. But I need the vineyard first…”
Oh, that silly dream of owning a vineyard before having children is just a product of your financial struggles, but it's endearing. The idea is that if you manage to build a wine empire before having kids, you can leave them the business and the house before you die… ensuring they'll never want for anything.
Ryan feels your body tense beneath his hand as he touches your belly, and he frowns at the reaction. His fingers withdraw immediately, as if he's made a mistake.
"Sorry… I shouldn't have touched there," he murmurs softly, almost embarrassed.
But then he hears about the vineyard—and he can't help but chuckle. The idea is both absurd and endearing: you wanting to build a wine empire before having children to leave them as an inheritance… like you're some 18th-century European nobleman.
"…Sweetheart," he says, gently stroking your cheek, "Do you really want to buy grapes just so our children will inherit land?"
"Does it sound ridiculous?"
Your face is gently buried in his chest; you feel a little insecure.
Ryan lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head affectionately. He pulls you a little closer, placing a kiss on the top of your head before replying,
"Yeah… it's ridiculous." He murmurs, "Ridiculously adorable."
“How am I supposed to have a vineyard if I can’t even stay alive?”
The words are a low, almost imperceptible whisper, but Ryan is so close to you that he can hear them perfectly. Literally and metaphorically, you collapse against Ryan, pressing yourself against him as you suddenly burst into tears. Your lips press together, and the tears fall silently as your face contorts in anguish.
The words barely escape your lips, but they're clear enough for Ryan to hear perfectly. He freezes momentarily at your sudden words and the sobs.
"Hey… hey… shhh…" He whispers softly, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he tries to calm you. His cheek rests tenderly against your forehead as he gently rocks you back and forth like a little girl.
"It's okay, sweetheart… I'm here… I'm here…"
“Don’t leave me alone…”
The words escape your lips in a sob, and he feels them twist in his heart with a sharp pain. Ryan lets out a shaky breath and tightens his embrace around you, gently stroking your back.
"I won't let go," he promises in a whisper. "I won't leave you alone."
You sniff before answering.
"I love you… to the stars."
Love and tenderness spread like a blanket across Ryan's face. His expression softens as he gazes at you with adoration and affection, gently caressing your cheeks with devotion. His thumb brushes across your tears, carefully drying them before he replies in a soft whisper:
"And I love you more… To the very end of the universe."
Hours later, the view of the lake as the sun sets, creating a beautiful sunset, could easily be mistaken for a perfect painting. You're calmer now. The two of you are in the backyard… you're kneeling on the lake's edge, wrapped in Ryan's jacket, wearing your jeans and combat boots. It's cold, but it feels soothing as the wind caresses your face… it's clean and makeup-free, since Gosling had previously washed it gently and applied lotion. It's as simple as saying that everything about this man is right. You remember when it's summer and they often swim here; although it doesn't look like it, the lake is quite deep.
As you crouch there, you gaze at the lake with fascination. Your own reflection evokes mixed emotions: on the one hand, it's beautiful, and on the other, you hate it. You reach out to touch the water and lean closer.
Ryan creeps up behind you, his footsteps barely a sound on the autumn grass. He carries two mugs of hot chocolate and watches you with a mixture of concern and affection as your fingers skim the lake's surface.
"Careful," he murmurs, noticing you're too close to the edge. "Don't slip."
He kneels behind you, wrapping an arm around you as he offers you a steaming mug.
"…The reflection isn't as bad as you think."
“Not now…”
You murmur, then notice your reflection in the lake: Ryan hugging you from behind as you both sip your hot chocolate, and you settle back down on the grass.
Ryan takes a small sip of his hot chocolate, savoring the flavor and warmth even more as he watches you settle into the grass. His arm remains wrapped around your shoulders, and he rests his chin lightly on your shoulder, watching the golden light of the setting sun reflect calmly on the surface of the lake.
"Always so hard on yourself, huh?" he murmurs, a hint of care in his voice.
“…When can I go back to work?…”
Ryan feels your body tense at the mention of work, and he lets out a sigh. He knows it's a difficult question—that you're dying to get back to acting, to feel useful again. But he also knows how dangerous the wrong answer could be.
"The doctor said… at least three months." He murmurs carefully, "But if you come back sooner…"
He pauses and tightens his arm around you in a warning.
"…I'll tie you to our bed like I said before. And it won't be for playing around."
“No, please. I don’t want to be tied down again. I’ve had enough of waking up tied to the gurney, I think. I thought I was going to fulfill my medical fetish with you, and all they gave me were injections. Awful.”
Ryan chokes on his own chocolate at your comment, and can't help but burst out laughing as he stares at you in disbelief.
"Y/N! Are you seriously thinking about medical fetishes after everything we've been through?" he says between laughs, "Oh my God… you're impossible."
Still, he shakes his head and brings his lips close to your ear to murmur:
"…If you're so into the medical stuff… we can play doctor when you're healed. But only if you promise to behave."
“Yes… I want us to play doctor. Are you going to become my amateur porn actor now?”
Ryan lets out a deep laugh and steps back slightly to look at you with a mischievous grin. His tone is tinged with playful flirtation as he gazes at you with twinkling eyes. He bites his lip and moves closer, his arm wrapping protectively around your shoulders.
"It wouldn't be the first time, darling," he whispers softly. "But only if you let me examine you thoroughly."
The hot chocolate dies on your lips. You leave the empty mug forgotten on the grass and turn to sit across from Ryan, gazing at his handsome face. Your eyes linger on his blue ones, noticing the slight squint in his right eye, the profile of his nose, his eyebrows, and his several-days stubble, as sexy as it is neat. How does his beard grow so well? Or have you been with a kid before and can't believe this? He's gorgeous.
"Yes, my love… I want you to give me a thorough examination. By the way, we should shave you…"
Ryan raises an eyebrow at your comment and looks at you in surprise for a moment before letting out a soft laugh. His smile widens as he slides his fingers down to your cheek, gently caressing your skin.
"Wow… someone's feeling confident, huh?" he murmurs, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
At that moment, an intrusive thought crosses his mind…
"When was the last time you shaved… down there?"
You can't believe Ryan comes out with that strange answer, which reminds you of and highlights how much you know about pornography, especially when you mention that French film called "Raser la Chatte" (Shaving the Chat). After all… they didn't allow you to have any sharp objects in the hospital, so you could say you're hairy. This is a bit too personal, but you and Ryan are really close.
"With the same razor I used to cut off my arms, Gosling."
Your brow furrows in a fake way.
Ryan flinches at your response, the festive atmosphere suddenly turning a little more serious. His arm around you tightens slightly, and he straightens up a bit. His gaze fills with concern, and his blue eyes well up with tears as he looks at you earnestly.
"Don't make those jokes, y/n. They scare me." He murmurs softly, then lets out a heavy sigh. His hand gently strokes your back.
"Besides… I love it when you're this hairy."
"Why?"
Ryan lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head, a playful smile on his face.
"I've never said this out loud before, but… I like it when you're more… natural. I… I like that you have hair."
His gaze deepens, and a playful glint suddenly appears in his eyes as he looks at you, his hands sliding down to cup your legs, caressing your thighs through your jeans.
"And I really like your skin. And your scars."
“Are you trying to join a feminist allies group?”
Ryan chuckles softly at your comment and shakes his head, a playful smile on his face.
"No, baby," he murmurs, his hands moving higher up your thighs, then sliding up to your hips, pulling you closer.
"I'm just saying… I like you exactly the way you are. With your bruises, scars, and hair. Everything."
“I don’t like being… hairy.”
Ryan leans forward, bringing his face close to yours with a look that's both challenging and tender. His thumb gently strokes your cheek before he replies,
"Then don't say it like that." He murmurs softly, "Say it like… 'Oh, Ryan, will you help me shave?'…"
His smile is mischievous as he gazes at you intently.
"…And I'll help you. Gladly."
“What? Excuse me?”
Ryan chuckles at your surprised expression, enjoying the way your eyes widen in surprise and your cheeks flush a light pink.
"I said…" he murmurs softly, moving closer until his lips are almost touching yours, "That I'd like to shave you… down there. If that's what you want. Or if you just want me to scratch you."
"Ew Ryan, I don't want you to scratch me."
Ryan chuckles and makes a dramatic gesture of offense, clutching his chest.
"Honey, did you just call something I love about you disgusting?"
He asks, feigning hurt, but with a mischievous smile on his face as he looks at you.
"And here I was… willing to be so helpful, so obedient… so attentive. How rude of you."
"Why do you suddenly like my hair?… Oh… Are you… hairy too?! That's why, I've caught you!"
Ryan bursts out laughing at your assumption, unable to suppress a chuckle at the idea.
"Honey, I shave."
He murmurs, still smiling. His hand slides up to one of your thighs and playfully caresses the inside of your leg.
"I'm the most hairless man you'll ever meet, I promise."
“Even when you were sleeping in the hospital with me and dealing with a new emotional trauma? I don’t think so.”
Ryan lets out another sigh, shaking his head, a playful grin playing in his eyes.
"Honey, I promise you my balls are as smooth as a newborn baby's. There isn't a single hair on my body." He says solemnly, though his mouth twists into a mischievous smile.
"And yes, even when I was sleeping with you in the hospital. I shaved in the mornings, while you were asleep."
"Thanks for the information."
Ryan shrugs innocently, smiling at you with a mischievous look.
"You're welcome. I just wanted to be totally honest with you about my body hair. You know, I like it when you let your hair grow down there. I love it, actually."
He adds this last part in a lower tone, moving closer to you, his hands moving more urgently toward your thighs, caressing your skin through your jeans.
Once again, a topic that might be taboo for any other couple is just a normal, everyday conversation for you two. You love how domestic this is, and you love talking about things like this with Ryan… it’s as simple as saying you feel safe… even though you actually feel really insecure about yourself sometimes.
Your arms wrap around Ryan’s back, and you rest your chin on his shoulder, pressing down for a second, and then you stay close.
“I don’t like growing my hair out, Ry.”
Ryan leans closer, letting your weight rest against him as his hands gently slide up your back. He closes his eyes and rests his chin on the top of your head, taking a deep breath.
"Then don't." He murmurs, "But if you ever want to try… you know who's going to help you cut it off afterward."
His words are gentle yet firm, a silent reminder that he'll be there for anything: even your insecurities or your silliest experiments.
"You're the most adorable man in the universe, Ryan."
You can't help but giggle softly as you snuggle up to him.
"I don't care about the vineyard, I need you to make love to me right now… nine months is nothing."
Ryan feels his heart race at your words, and a smile spreads across his face. He hugs you tighter, stroking your back and taking deep breaths.
"Always so impatient, darling," he whispers, almost tenderly. His hand slides down to your rear, and he gives you a light slap.
"Move that pretty ass inside, and I'll take care of the rest."
"Hey! Don't hit my butt, I have a cut there too. It hurts."
Ryan chuckles at your complaints, but then curls his lip and looks at you tenderly.
"I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to. I forgot."
He murmurs, gently stroking your scar with his fingers, careful not to hurt you.
"Shall we go inside? I'm afraid you'll catch a cold."
You're stunned for a second as you watch Ryan bite his lip in the most innocent way imaginable, a gesture that ends up being incredibly sexy and sparking thoughts you never thought you were capable of after everything that's happened. It's beautiful.
"Okay…"
You're inwardly grateful that I didn't ask why you also decided to cut your butt. His fingers feel comforting against your gauze and your pants.
Ryan gently takes your hand and carefully helps you up from the grass. He leads you toward the house, his hand still intertwined with yours as you walk to the door. His eyes watch you carefully, making sure you haven't hurt yourself as you walk.
Once inside, he leads you to the living room, where there's a comfortable sofa and a soft blanket to cover you. He sits down and settles you on his lap, wrapping his arms around you.
"Stay still."
Your fingers intertwine with Ryan's as your other hand carries the empty mugs you used for the hot chocolate, placing them on the coffee table as you sit on his lap. Your legs straddle him, and you quickly surrender to his every move; he can position you however he likes. You feel there's nowhere else you could be happier.
"I'm not planning on going anywhere, Ry…"
Ryan smiles as you settle onto his lap, his hands sliding down to your hips and holding you firmly in position. He rests his chin on your shoulder, gently stroking your back.
"Mmm…" he murmurs, closing his eyes and savoring your presence in his arms. "I hope so, darling. I want you to stay right here with me."
"Can I take off my coat?"
The question, more than seeking permission, simply requires communication between you and perhaps a touch of tenderness in gently informing her of your intentions. Your hand lowers the zipper of her own jacket, revealing me, so I can remove it.
Ryan nods gently, a soft smile playing on his lips as he watches you begin to remove your coat, revealing the familiar body beneath.
"Of course, darling. Take it off." He says in a gentle, loving tone, watching as the garment slips off your shoulders and down your arms. "You're beautiful."
"Even in moments when I want you to eat me like a cannibal? Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
Ryan is silent for a second, blinking slowly as he processes your question. Then he lets out a sudden laugh and stifles it against your shoulder.
"Oh my God, y/n!" he murmurs between laughs, "I can't believe you're just saying that out of the blue."
He pulls back just enough to look you in the eye with a mixture of amusement and warning:
"…If you keep talking like that… I can't be held responsible for my actions."
"Don't do it…"
Ryan gruns softly and slides one hand up your thigh to gently caress your bottom.
"Don't play with me, baby… You know I can't resist your teasing." He murmurs mischievously, his smile returning to his face.
"What's wrong with my little butt? You're touching it too much."
Ryan pauses for a second, his fingers frozen in midair as he looks at you with a mischievous grin.
"Your little butt?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow, "Honey… that's the cutest thing I've ever heard."
But then his hand descends again to give you another gentle smack—this time lighter—and he whispers:
"…And yes. It's perfect. Too perfect not to touch."
"Please, can you be more careful? I already told you there's a cut there…"
The exact spot where he landed his hard slap had a superficial but painful cut, and it wasn't fun; it stung… but hey, being Ryan, he can do whatever he wants with you. You really like being with him.
Ryan grits his teeth as he remembers the small cut on your soft skin, and he immediately feels remorse for having spanked you so hard. His hand tenses slightly before relaxing, and he takes a deep breath to calm himself.
"Damn… I'm sorry, baby."
His thumb gently strokes the wound. "I forgot. Let me see…"
"All this just to get my clothes off…"
You can't help but let out an amused snort.
"Fine, Gosling… Why don't you just undress me completely and stop messing around?"
Ryan realizes you're joking, and a mischievous smile returns to his face.
"Always so direct and bold," he remarks, his tone flirtatious. His hands move to the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it as he shifts his attention to your eyes.
"Is this an invitation, baby?" he asks, lifting your shirt until your breasts are exposed to him.
"Well…"
Your face is slightly tucked between your shoulders as the upper part of your body is exposed to Ryan. For some reason, you revert to your core of feeling shy, no matter how many dirty things might come out of your mouth. Your cheeks are flushed. Your hands rest on your breasts, a small embarrassment covering them even though he's seen them a thousand times.
Ryan stops when he notices your reaction, his hands freezing mid-stride. His expression instantly shifts from playful to tender as he sees you cover yourself with your hands.
"Hey…" he murmurs softly, "There's nothing to hide, sweetheart."
With slow, deliberate movements, he removes your hands from your chest and replaces them with his own—warm and reassuring.
"…They're perfect. Like everything about you."
"They're not, shut up…"
Although your words are meant to sound annoyed or unfriendly, they just sound too tender. You could actually get serious or angry (and you are quite intimidating), but this isn't the case because you're not… you're just deeply in love and shy. It's as vulnerable as it is pleasurable, and it's…sweet that this isn't just about the physical. When he places his hands on your breasts so affectionately, you also feel like he's holding your heart in his palm. After all, life doesn't feel as torturous as it did in that attempt. Ryan doesn't squeeze and knead your breasts like any normal man would. He holds your breasts as if he's caressing something sacred, he does it slowly, and the tips of his fingers caress you, making you feel a thousand beautiful emotions at once. You shudder with pleasure, smile, and wrinkle your nose.
Ryan watches every expression on your face intently, savoring each gesture and movement as he gently and tenderly caresses your breasts. His smile widens slightly at your shiver, and he moves a little closer, leaving a trail of soft kisses down your neck.
"Perfect," he repeats, his voice low and gentle. His stubble brushes against your skin, and it's so masculine and delicious that I can't help but shiver again.
"Please don't suck them…"
That sounds more like a request than a complaint.
Ryan stops just as his lips are about to close around your nipple, and looks up at you with an amused expression.
"Seriously?" he murmurs against your skin, "Because I swear you asked me to eat you like a cannibal five minutes ago…"
But still, he obeys—sliding his mouth over your breast instead of sucking. His tongue traces your nipple with deliberate slowness as he peers at you from under your eyelashes.
"Most holy Virgin Mary, Mother of God…"
Ryan laughs against your skin, the vibration of his laughter making your nipples even harder. He lifts his head just enough to look at you with twinkling eyes.
"Now you're invoking the Virgin Mary?" he murmurs, licking a circle around your nipple with his lips still parted, "Sweetheart… what kind of sins are you planning to commit here?"
"Ry… please."
Your lips pout, your chin creases, and your eyes sparkle as you blink a few times… it's that typical pleading, kittenish look that only appears in crucial moments: like this one.
"Can we slow down…?"
You don't say it explicitly, but it's clear you want to savor this for hours and hours at a leisurely pace… not just a quick burst of pleasure.
Ryan stops instantly, his expression shifting from playful to genuine concern. His hands gently withdraw from your breasts and instead caress your sides tenderly.
"Of course, sweetheart," he murmurs. "As slow as you like… or as fast as you want. Or let's not do it at all if that's what you need."
His fingers begin to undo the first button of your jeans with deliberately slow movements—as if he's waiting for permission to continue.
"You're the love of my life, truly."
Instead of sounding like a cliché, your words are honest and direct because they're true. Your gaze drops to Ryan, his face tucked against the side as he unties your boots and takes them off, then repeats the process with the other. As he does, your hand rests on his shoulder for support.
Ryan looks up at you when you say that, pausing only for a moment to smile tenderly. His heart melts at your words, and he quickly finishes removing your boots so he can kneel before you and gently take off your jeans, careful not to reopen your wounds.
"And you're the love of my life, sweetheart."
He replies softly, tossing your jeans and boots to the floor, and turning his attention back to your thighs.
Your head tilts to one side as you look at him, like a friendly, docile, and loyal puppy. You smile in the same way. You don't know when you found yourself standing with Ryan kneeling before you in an act of total devotion, but it feels too good to be true. After all, waking up one day and believing this was all a dream is a recurring fear.
Your hand moves to his chin, caressing his jaw and gesturing for him to stand. Now you're just standing before him in your panties… but you don't feel naked like anyone else might; you feel like you've opened your soul to this man again. Your soul is as open as some of the cuts on my body covered by gauze, bandages, and wrapped in medical tape. Some areas are bloody with shades of bright red when fresh, and others are a deep red or maroon when dry.
Ryan slowly rises, his hands caressing your thighs as he gazes at you adoringly. His eyes travel over every part of you—the bandages, the gauze stained red and maroon—and instead of looking away as someone might at such raw wounds… he simply smiles.
“So beautiful…” he murmurs, “So fucking perfect.”
His fingers travel up your stomach to rest just below the bottom edge of your panties. He leans down to place a soft kiss on your navel before murmuring against your skin:
“…Let me take care of you. The way you deserve.”
"You're crazy… completely insane."
But you smile happily as you say these words. Ryan's probably crazy, and you are too, so you think they work just fine.
"Are you seriously going to… shave me…? Doesn't it seem weird to you? Doesn't it bother you?"
Ryan steps back slightly to look at you, a mischievous, playful smile playing on his lips.
"Honey… I saw you throwing up in the bathroom at five in the morning, naked and with your face bare after a night of heavy drinking. None of this is weird."
He shrugs before nodding.
"And yes… I'm going to shave you. That's out of the question."
"You're adorable. I love you so much."
Ryan stops when he hears you, and his expression shifts from mischievous to tender in an instant. He closes his eyes for a second, as if savoring your words.
"And I love you more." He murmurs huskily, "More than anything in this world."
His hands slide back to hold you firmly against him as he rests his forehead against yours.
"…Now tell me: do you want me to do it here, or would you rather go to bed?"
"I think I'd rather go to bed… besides, it would be more comfortable for you."
Ryan nods in agreement. His hands slide down to your thighs, and he lifts you with ease, carrying you in his arms as if you weighed nothing, toward the bedroom.
"You're so light, I love how I lift you like this." He murmurs as he carries you down the hall, "It's like holding a porcelain doll… a beautiful, gorgeous, and incredibly sexy doll, but a doll nonetheless."
When Ryan picks me up, despite the deep sadness I feel inside, I can't help but smile. His face is so perfect that you feel like I could die right now. At least you'd make him happy and lucky to have him by your side. You let him hold you like a little girl; his arms are strong. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as you walk toward the bedroom.
"Okay, private nurse Gosling?"
You say playfully, but it's safe to say Ryan has been acting like a sort of nurse to you.
Ryan laughs as he crosses the threshold of the bedroom, his smile widening at your playful tone.
"Yes, Private Nurse Gosling." He repeats in a deep, theatrical voice, "Specializing in… critical care."
He gently places you on the bed before sliding a hand under your panties to help you remove them. His gaze doesn't leave your face for a second—as if he's memorizing your every expression.
"And medical fetishes, apparently."
Ryan gives a mischievous smile at your comment, leaning forward slightly so his body hovers over you.
"Sweetheart, you have no idea half the fetishes I have for you."
With a gesture, he parts your legs and kneels between your thighs, leaning forward to place his arms under your knees and push you up so you're lying flat. He releases your thighs and places your legs over his shoulders.
"I love you…"
You repeat it again. You've always been loving. But after recent events, that's your answer to everything. Your bandaged thighs tremble slightly as he spreads your legs. You like it when he holds you and moves you; his hands are protective, and the connection between you is undeniable. He's a good carer. As you lie down completely on the bed, your arms open, and you place your hands docilely beside your head. Your wrists and forearms are covered in bandages. Now you are completely naked before Ryan, body and soul. You feel shy and embarrassed as he lifts your legs onto his shoulders. Your mons pubis is… quite grown. It seems to protect your intimacy and lovingly conceal it. The hair there is darker and slightly curly.
Ryan stops when he sees you so exposed—your trembling thighs, the bandages on your wrists, and the dark hair covering your sex like a protective veil. His breathing becomes heavier as his eyes take in every detail of you.
"So beautiful…" he murmurs huskily, "So fucking perfect."
With deliberately slow movements, he brings his face to your center. His nose brushes against the curly hair before his tongue emerges to lick a long, soft swath from bottom to top.
Your hand moves to her forehead, gently turning her face away from your intimacy.
Ryan stops immediately when he feels you push his head. His gaze lifts to meet yours, and he waits a second before raising a questioning eyebrow and asking softly,
"Sweetheart? Everything okay?"
His hand moves to the inside of your thighs, gently stroking your skin to soothe you, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Yes. Can you give me little kisses there first?…”
Ryan smiles instantly, his expression shifting from concern to tenderness. He nods and brings his mouth to your sex with deliberate slowness.
"Of course, sweetheart." He murmurs against your skin, "As many as you want."
And then he begins—soft, wet kisses land on every part: your outer lips, your clitoris… even one right at the base of your thighs where the hair blends into your skin. Each kiss is a reminder of how much he adores you.
"Are you a devotee of my vagina, perhaps?"
Ryan pulls back slightly, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he looks directly into your eyes.
"Yes. Absolutely." He replies without hesitation, "It's my personal religion. My favorite temple."
His hands caress your thighs before he leans down again to place another soft kiss—this time right above your clitoris.
"…And I'm willing to pray to it every day if you ask me to."
Your body trembles, a sweet spasm rippling beneath Gosling's lips. His kiss on your sensitive, needy, swollen clitoris is all too receptive to his attention, even though it's covered by pubic hair. You've never felt so wild and primal, so natural in Ryan's presence. You always seem perfect to him, neat, prim, and hairless. Yet, after the accident, you're showing a much more real and fragile side of yourself. Your gaze is now melancholic, but also a mixture of desire and excitement. You're sad, yes, but you also feel horny.
Ryan gets up again to study your face, sensing the mix of emotions hidden behind your gaze. His smile softens even more, and he raises a hand to gently stroke your cheek. His thumb delicately caresses the bone of your cheekbone as he murmurs softly,
"What are you thinking about?"
It's a simple question, but there's a hint of concern in his tone—genuine concern for the state of your mind.
“Do you still like who I am?… despite having hurt myself like this and hurting you in the process… Don't you miss the way I used to be?…”
Ryan lets out a deep sigh, and instead of responding with words right away, he brings his mouth to your clitoris again—this time with a longer, firmer kiss. When he pulls away, there's a new intensity in his gaze.
"Baby…" he murmurs, "I prefer this version of you a thousand times over. The one who isn't afraid to show me her wounds and ask for my help… the one who needs me as much as I need her."
His hands grip your thighs tighter now.
"…Never change for me."
“Okay, now you can get back to… your devotion.”
Your hand rests on his dark blond hair, tugging at the strands and drawing him back between your legs as if to say, “Get back to work.” You chuckle softly.
Ryan grunts as he feels the tug on his hair, but he doesn't seem bothered—on the contrary, his eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint.
"So demanding…" he murmurs against your skin before obeying, "But like a good devotee… here I am."
And then he proceeds to show you exactly what it means to be one: licking a long swath from bottom to top, gently sucking your clitoris, and using his fingers to part your labia further as his mouth plunges deeper.
You never understood why, but according to Ryan, you taste delicious and sweet… which makes you feel like candy at a certain point. Anyway, you're glad he likes it so much… because every time he gives you oral sex, it really is so pleasurable and relaxing. You love hearing his grunts as you run your hands through his hair. Your back arches as he sucks on your sensitive, swollen clit, so soft yet so firm. Your breathing quickens, and your legs shyly try to close around his head.
Ryan grunts again when he feels your thighs trying to close around him, and he uses his hands to pin them more firmly against the bed.
"No, no…" he murmurs against your skin, "Open those pretty legs. I want to hear you."
And then he starts licking you again—this time faster, alternating between firm sucks on your clit and long licks that make your back arch even more. Every sound that comes from you only turns him on more.
Then, in the warmth of his mouth against your sex… that's where you can finally let yourself go and crave his way of loving you. God, you need this man more than you need air to breathe, and you need his tongue to fuck you. And Ryan loves devouring you...
