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coffeeshopguest · 9 months ago

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I stumbled upon an ad for like an inflatable sex bed(you can search it up if you dont Know) and I need a fanfic asap which the farmer like bought one without knowing what it was and like Sebastian coming over and seeing it and the end up "testing" it out ifykm (BTW LOVE UR WORK)

The "Air Mattress"

Word Count: 1793 Pairing: Sebastian x F!Reader Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of smoking, unprotected sex, swearing, vaginal sex (should be all, lmk if I missed any!) (Art by @.mkun on steamcommunity)

The package outside of the farm surprised Sebastian, what could you have possibly ordered this time? Never the less, he plucked it off the steps of the porch and knocked on the door. He was over to hangout for a bit, so he might as well carry the thing in. The door swung open and he smiled a little, your face brightening when you saw the package in his hands. "Oh! It's here! Awesome! Thanks," you quickly took the package from his hand and set it on the table.

"So, what is it?" Sebastian asked, leaning on the table a bit and looking at the package.

"I got a new air mattress online, well, an air couch - I think it said? I don't know, it randomly popped up. I barely looked at it."

"You just, randomly bought an air mattress?"

"Yeah! I've been having friends over more and I know it can be an annoying walk back to down in the dark, so I thought this would help," you smiled, looking back up at Sebastian and he couldn't help but smile back. Always thinking of others. So excited.

Well, it was just an air mattress. Nothing interesting, so the hangout presumed and the package remained forgotten on the table without a second thought.

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Sebastian knocked on the door, sucker hanging out of his mouth a little. He'd been- 'trying' to quit. As in, he'd lessened the amount he smoked but he still smoked whenever he wanted. The sucker was just a distraction for him if he wasn't sure he actually wanted to smoke. He could hear the sound of something being inflated and he wondered for a moment, forgetting when you opened the door slowly. "Bad time?" he asked, frowning slightly at your facial expression.

"No, no...uh, it's fine..." you opened the door more, and he could see off to the side was - no. No it couldn't be. A fucking inflatable sex bed?

"Uhm, that new?" he joked, facing flushing a little, the sucker almost fully falling out of his mouth. You looked at it, frowning more as you stared at the inflatable bed before you.

"I- uh, looked back at the purchase when I opened the package...and..."

"It's a sex bed?" he offered, smirking slightly, he walked up to it. You had actually put the damn thing together. Handles, handcuffs hooked on it. You'd actually put it completely together. "Why didn't you just...leave it?"

"Well - there isn't a refund for it so I thought if I put it together I could maybe figure out how to make it seem less..." you sighed, rubbing your forehead a little. "Less..."

Sebastian snorted, "less like a sex bed?" he asked, as he looked at it, "well, the handcuffs clipped to it don't help at all," he added with a mock tone of helpfulness. Then, he began to smirk even more.

He popped the sucker out of his mouth, walking up to the bed on the floor and crouching down, "so...like...it's for couples to try out positions on, and all that?" he voiced, glancing back at you. You looked absolutely mortified at the fact he was standing near it and that only made Sebastian smile more.

"I guess..."

Standing back up he walked to the kitchen, trashing his sucker, he unzipped his jacket and rested it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He gently leaned against the chair, studying you. "Well if you can't get a refund on it, I suppose we might as well test the thing out. See if it's worth the money. What'd you spend on the thing anyway?"

He couldn't help but laugh a little at the way your eyes widened in slight shock at his comment, "uh...$70ish maybe?" you mumbled, eyes quickly looking away from Sebastian. He could feel himself nearly chuckle, but he kept it in. "Test it out?" you finally added slowly, looking up at him.

"Yeah, you know, test the thing out? Might as well, what else can you do with it?" he asked easily, slowly walking back over towards the inflated bed. "Let's see how it goes."

Your head bobbed pathetically in agreement and Sebastian smiled slightly, lips connecting with yours. He easily leaned you against the mattress, making sure you were comfortable the entire time. Sure you'd had feelings for Sebastian that had sat with you since you'd originally moved into Pelican Town, and sure you'd wanted to be with him for a while - this wasn't exactly the way you'd anticipated it happening though - not that you were complaining.

He propped his knees on the bed, keeping you laid back, his lips trailed to your jaw, moving towards your neck.. Soft teeth biting at your sensitive skin, you felt a pathetic whine escape your lips. "Sebastian~" you could feel the smirk against your skin causing shivers to run down you.

"God, you are so reactive, hm?" his hands moved from beside your body, quickly running down your skin, he tugged at the hem of your shirt but stopped before trying to take it off. Instead his lips trailed to your collarbone, nipping softly there. His tongue lapped at the skin, swirling over the spots he'd bitten and you knew he was leaving hickeys on you - hickeys that your summer clothes wouldn't conceal. Your hands ran up to his hair, raking your fingers through it. Once you reached the middle, your fingers gripped, tugging slightly. He let out a soft groan. "Fuck...alright, impatient," his lips reconnected with yours upon your tug.

You let his hands wander up your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra, slowly his thumb rolled over your nipple as it hardened under his touch. Your hips pathetically rolled underneath him, trying to gain any friction. Any satisfaction you could get. Bucking your hips up to try and meet his hips. With a smirk against your lips, Sebastian shoved his hips against you, the clothing between you two left you feeling unsatisfied even as he humped you through the clothing. "M-more?" you practically whined out, fingers pulling on his dyed locks. He pulled back with a grin.

"Needy, hm?" he quickly ripped off your shirt, "s'okay, I find it hot," he added, lips reconnecting with your collarbone, hands running to your back, finding the bra clasp and quickly fumbling to undo it. As expert as he was with words and attitude, this was the moment you realized he might be a little inexperienced. He struggled, a soft cuss escaping him before he gave up. Instead he tugged it over your head, throwing it aside. He propped your back against the mattress, slowly spreading your legs. "Mind handcuffs?" he asked, but he was already cuffing you. You shook your head, letting him cuff you to to bed.

"Don't mind-" you murmured before his lips reconnected with yours. His tongue slowly graced along your bottom lip, before his teeth bit at it, you quickly opened your mouth and he slipped his tongue into your mouth and eagerly explored it. After a few moments, he pulled back, panting, he propped himself back, examining you laying on the bed. Hands handcuffed to the sides. Shirtless. His eyes flickered down to your jeans and then back up to your eyes.

Hesitantly, he moved to unzip your jeans, unbuttoning slowly. "You alright with this?" he whispered slowly. You nodded eagerly.

"More than," he smiled at that answer, slowly unzipping the jeans. He easily took them off, throwing them aside. Leaving you in just panties. He studied you like this, eyes raking over your body eagerly. His hand gently rubbed you through the panties, lips kissing yours. Moans escaped your lips, and as your lips parted his tongue slipped back into your mouth. When he decided he made you eager enough - a pathetic wet spot soaking through your panties, he finally took those off.

He didn't say anything for a moment, making you feel vulnerable. Your body instinctively moved to close your legs, but Sebastian caught them, slowly spreading them. He smiled softly. "I've wanted to do this for so long, don't hide from me," he whispered, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. "Been thinking about this since I saw this bed."

Sebastian undid his own jeans, and through his boxers you saw his erection sticking up. Once those were off you finally saw him. Eyes widening a little, he smirked slightly. "Nervous? That's okay, it's my first time too," he placed another kiss on your forehead, hands moving to grip the bed above your head. Slowly, he moved to shove himself in. Just the tip first, you bit your lip pathetically as whines erupted from you. He stopped, waiting for you to take the tip without complaint - once you seemed calm he began pushing more. It took a few minutes, and the occasional reassurance, before he was fully in. "I'm gonna thrust now, okay?" you nodded weakly as he slowly pulled back, then pushed himself back in. Your hands pathetically moved to try and grip him, but the handcuffs kept them in place. "S'okay, baby, next time I'll take those off and you can rake those nails down my back, how does that sound?"

"So...so good~" you whimpered back, moaning as he pulled out and slowly pushed back in. For a while he let you adjust to this steady pace, not increasing until you seemed comfortable and then picking it up. He became a little eager, gripping the bed and tossing his head back as he thrusted into you. The slapping sound filled the room as you slowly bucked your hips up to meet him. Soft groans escaped him, and he bit his lip a little as he thrusted, lost in the feeling.

Your walls tightly clenched around him, and Sebastian let out a pathetic whine of pleasure, his hands gripping the bed. Moaning out his pace picked up, hearing the slapping sound of skin and the intertwined moans made you get even closer. "Cum...cum on my dick, please...fuck," Sebastian encouraged, grunting as he tried his best to give you as much satisfaction as possible. You felt the heat in your stomach, the tightening knot, and then your mind fell blank. Saying his name like a mantra, Sebastian groaned out, head thrown back as you came all over his dick, quickly he pulled out, spilling his seed onto your stomach.

"Please...please tell me you're keeping the mattress?" he asked, as he slowly pried himself off you.

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#sdv smut #farmer x sebastian #sdv x reader #stardew valley smut #sdv sebastian #sdv sebastian x reader #female x sdv sebastian #sdv sebastian x female reader #stardew valley sebastian #f!farmer x sebastian #stardew valley x reader #sebastian sdv smut #stardew valley sebastian smut #stardew valley

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shehungers · 29 days ago

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LUCID

sleep paralysis demon x reader | 18+ | 3k

you're a chronic insomniac desperately searching for relief. your best friend and neurologist makes a suggestion to participate in a sleep study utilizing a new drug still in the testing phase. without any other options, you agree, and the first night of the study, you awaken in the middle of the night thinking it didn't work....

story warnings; dark content; dubcon; somnophilia, hair pulling, choking, "invisible hands", some culturally sensitive discussion, implications of unethical medical practice, mc is implied to have a messy past, details of insomnia, unsettling + dark imagery, detail heavy, probs inaccurate depictions of a sleep study, roughly proofread. I'm also aware that most "sleep doctors" are pulmonologists—fight me👊🏻

reposted from my deleted blog theoxenfree.

this is a concept piece for a larger project—incubus phenomenon. would appreciate it if you'd leave feedback + reblog!!

Children at your daycare liked to draw you fanciful pictures of the other lives they lived in their dreams during afternoon nap time. You were shown orange tabby cats with green eyes garbed in full-plates of knight’s armor, brandishing a fish sword against a foe to save the world.

Most often, they dreamed of their families and drew bright, brave versions of themselves holding hands with a parent, a sibling, a bipedal family dog with an electric collar. A few of the children never smiled in their self-portraits.

The proportions of everything were always silly: gigantic tree trunks with tiny, green bundles sitting atop of them, three enormous fruits supported by brittle vines and growth in bushes, cats and dogs with ears as tall as their bodies, Mom with purple skin instead of brown, Big Sis looking particularly volatile with a theratrically large snarl. Despite this, the children beamed in pride whenever yesterday's drawings would come down off the wall to be replaced with the new.

For some of these kids, this was their own equivalent of having art hung on a refrigerator; to you, it evoked dull, thready jealousy because they were in possession so simple, so biologically normal to them and everyone else around them that to be incapable of the same thing was, surely, a major defect.

Sleep was already a treasure you were seldom allotted the pleasure of greedily surrendering to, but to dream sounded like a terrifying experience to you altogether. It took work; a stringent routine of warm showers (hot and scalding water was forbidden), with an array of chalky, dissolvable tabs and shower gels and shampoos and moisturizers and essential oil dehumidifiers and soy candles and hot tea and special pillow sleep spray you’d seen in an online ad while thumbing through socials.

It took pajamas that were loose, soft but not silky, it took a satin bonnet and a satin eye covering (the kind with pockets for your eyelashes to move), comforters soused in lavender spray meant to magically work out the tightness in your shoulders and calves without the need of paying for a masseuse’s bony elbow. It took purchasing a battery-operated alarm clock to wake yourself for work so you could shut off your phone and leave it plugged into the wall downstairs.

You'd nearly forgotten—you couldn't have sugar after half past six, you had to stagger your water consumption after that time as well because the urge to piss would keep you awake for hours after the fact. The television needed to be off once you finished putting away dishes after dinner.

If you were lucky, this would work and you'd sleep a total of two or three hours uninterrupted—never fully tipping over the edge of wakefulness into deep sleep, but enough to keep yourself going during the day, grocery shop, wrangle the small children, scrape at a bar, get dicked down into your mattress every now and then, and visit Sujay for your usual appointments.

“How do you feel about trying something different?” he always gestured to one of the modern-looking armchairs upholstered in teal polyester before bringing you a tea of some sort. Today was a floral white tea with a spoonful of honey. “Ah, my friend, I worry for you. We've done so many studies, we've tried so many different things. Does none of it help? At all?”

“Not really.” you admitted after a sip, singing your tongue once and placing aside the cup and saucer pair. “I don't know if I can keep doing this until the day I die, Sujay. What do you recommend next?”

Dr. Sujay Patel was your neurologist, an utterly brilliant man, and a close friend from your early university days. Despite the rest of your friend group falling apart, pulled in separate directions by the strings of fate and temptation of money, you'd managed to stay in contact with Sujay throughout grad school. There'd been an intermission, probably a period of two years, where you'd forgotten he even existed.

You were out making a disaster of your life on sleepless, drunken benders because you hoped enough alcohol would either knock you out or kill you. The normal distractions came with it: your entire family dynamic corroding and combusting, an ex getting too big for their britches, and a roommate suspiciously eager to rally behind that ex.

Sujay came back into the picture following a nasty incident of alcohol poisoning that left you bedridden in the hospital for a week. You had decided then, in that uncomfortable bed with their starchy, crunchy white sheets and the bathroom being too far away to simply get up and walk to, that you'd abstain from alcohol forevermore.

He'd seen you in a state of soul-weary disarray not long after you were discharged and had decided to take you on as a patient.

“Now, you have a choice here, just remember that.” Sujay sat adjacent to you in the exact chair you were in. He wasn't daunted by the heat from his tea and took some time with it, whether to savor the subtle notes of it or to consider his words, you weren't sure. “But, a colleague of mine at a… pharmaceutical company has been working to get an experimental sedative into some studies. Testing periods, I guess you could say.”

You're convinced by his dedication to his tea to pick up yours again. “Does it work?”

“As of now, one-hundred percent of those who have participated have reported high-efficacy, or at least have claimed it to be effective in some manner.” His mustache moved as he sipped. You drank as well. “I think you should submit to the study and if you're accepted into one of the control groups—commit to it. We're running out of options otherwise. I don't want you to start mixing up your own cocktail of things. All it takes is the wrong thing once, y'know?”

The chair groaned while you adjusted your weight in it. You sighed. “Would that once be such a bad thing, though? At least I could sleep.”

“I'm a doctor,” Sujay looked over his square-rimmed glasses at you, forehead wrinkles enormous, whites of his eyes showing more than the hazel of his irises. “Behave yourself.”

“Fine.” Mesmerized by the stray tea leaves that had managed to escape the metal ball steeper, you said, “tell me what I need to do.”

Sujay had sent you away that day with a whole host of follow-up appointments and a glowing review to his colleague in hopes of skipping the line as much as possible. Sometimes, it was beneficial to have friends in high places, especially when that means you get a call two days later for preliminary, formal interviews and an offer to participate in said study once clearances came through and your blood work came back as desired.

A month to the day when Sujay first mentioned the possibility of a magical cure all to your relentless insomnia, you were brought into a minimally furnished room—the standard, bland cookie cutter type that hadn't an ounce of personality—dotted from head-to-toe in stickers for neuromonitoring, heart rhythm, and whatever else they fancied, you supposed.

It was only after you had changed into your soft, but not too soft, pajamas and covered in wires that you were handed a tiny purple pill. The color of it was obviously a dissolvable casing and food coloring, but what amazed you was the fact a drug this small was meant to induce the best sleep of your life.

“Take the pill, drink at least four ounces of water, and lie supine.” The technologists outside your room, speaking into an intercom, elaborated afterward that they wanted you to stay on your back while you slept. You didn't bother to point out that you weren't stupid—just tired. “We understand that not everyone finds this position comfortable, but to receive adequate results and to measure your vitals at all times, we ask that you try your best.”

You weren't going to hassle them about this and did precisely as they instructed. Shoved the pill down the back of your throat, drank the bottled water, and tried to get comfortable on your back.

You closed your eyes.

A part of you wondered why you had assented to Sujay’s suggestion so easily, especially where everything else had failed. He was one hell of a friend, and had always been that way for you, but as a doctor, you wondered if two years of cheating through medical school, so as to not royally piss off his parents and be disowned for failing, was finally catching up with him somewhat.

You recalled being startled when he told you he hadn’t married yet and didn't intend to as some deep-rooted act of spite against his family and the traditions they had held over his head all his life. Traditions that had been weaponized against him, rather than supplement his life as an extension of his history, of the things he loved, of a chance to explore more of himself.

You had listened wordlessly the entire time he spoke about it, still sipping on his tea, the results from your latest brain scan clamped to a clipboard on his lap—

This wasn't working.

This was so stupid.

You opened your eyes and sat up in the stiff bed, carefully maneuvering your fingers around your orbital bone to force away the puffiness and exhaustion still lingering behind them. It was only as you rubbed your eyes that you noticed your face was empty of cold stickers and a thousand wires. You didn't hear distant blips in the machine measuring your heart rate, nor track the voices of anyone outside your door.

The room was still the same—the outdated, bulky dresser with claw feet, a few gray chairs you could buy on display in a window somewhere, a low oval table, a bedside table for your glass of water and a crisp, neatly folded change of clothes for the next day.

It was only unusual that you were bare of the technologist’s monitoring equipment and sitting amid an unfaltering, deep silence that amplified the sounds of your very existence. Your slow breaths with a quickening heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears, and the coarse rustle of bedsheets as you shifted around the mattress to bring some sense to what was going on.

Would the technologists have come into the room and removed everything from your body without waking you? More miraculously, without you rousing and throwing your hands on them for touching you first?

“Maybe the drug worked?” you had to consider the possibility, even though it still felt as far-fetched as the holistic medicine practitioners online telling you that an herbal cleansing juice could regenerate organs entirely. “Did I actually sleep? I don't remember dreaming, though. Aren't I supposed to dream?”

You looked to the one, single-paned window across the bedroom to spy how far along the morning had progressed, but found yourself sucking in and holding in a breath instead.

There, standing in your view of the outside, was the silhouette of a tall man. Everything about him was indistinguishable aside from the depth of darkness that made him up. Within the confines of the dim room, alight by a single lamp with an amber bulb that seemed to weaken by the second, this man stood apart from the shadows as something deeper, blacker, but corporeal.

He was every bit a part of the dark as much as he wasn't. And you couldn't tell if he was fading you or turned to look out the window at the parking lot two stories below.

“Hi—hello. Are—are you one of the techs?” you had finally let out that breath, now focusing on gauging the guy’s level of sociability, and by extension, his friendliness and the likelihood of him lunging at you. “I, uh, just would've really appreciated it if someone had woken me up before taking off the stickers.”

You were able to see out the window from the gaps around his body, taking note that it was still dark. Very dark. Beyond that, nothing else was discernible from where you sat and what he blocked.

The study wouldn't have finished yet.

Those techs would've taken precaution to wake you up if something had happened.

“Am I asleep?” you asked the wordlese man. “Am I dreaming now? Are you a dream? Is that what it's like?

You never imagined that there could be so much lucidity within a dream, a level of consciousness so similar to a state of wakefulness. When you thought about moving, you could perfectly flex your fingers, curl your toes into the high-pile carpet underfoot, touch the airy fabric covering your body and feel it touching you in turn.

How normal was this really, though? No one had ever told you about dreams like this. Theirs were always fragmented and discombobulated, just like the kids in daycare who drew pictures of pig astronauts and flame extinguishing spatulas. You knew of a rare few in the population capable of controlling their dreams, steering the outcome in the direction they pleased, but even those people were overrode by their own brains.

This was something completely different.

You became especially convinced of this when you thought the stifled air suddenly shifted with a light breeze, a soft whoosh in your ear. A chill erupted over you, making your skin burst with goose flesh, your brain chasing a shiver down your spine as if cold fingers stroked you all the way down the length of it. Those same fingers stayed low, hovering across your lower back before pushing into you, arching you down onto the mattress.

That freedom you thought you had only moments ago was gone, stolen by this invisible hand on your body that was rounding to you and reaching for your chest. Until now, you thought this had simply been a part of the dream—something you had believed to be in control in when the reality was much different—but, as the buttons on your sleep shirt unfastened before your eyes, the thin layers opening you to the cold, inky air, you weren't sure what to think, to do.

Another hand joined the first with long, heavy fingers to knead at your body and take your pants off of your hips until you were fully exposed to the darkness and the thing still dwelling within the room. It hadn't moved an inch since you'd noticed it a while ago; it never became any clearer, any more defined in the clothes or wore, and trying to look upon its face only filled you with puzzlement and dread.

The large hands were so cold despite all their movement on your hot skin, all of the work they did to start riling you up and making you moan. One of them groped your chest, felt your throat, squeezed your jaw as though to force your gaze at one point in particular (the ceiling), pushed apart your lips to dip into your mouth and wet its fingers on your tongue.

You did so as it was the only thing you could do freely right now.

Those fingers, covered in your spit, caressed you between your legs, stroking you in motions neither gentle or harsh. The muscles in your thighs flinched, stomach tightening, your throat vibrating to produce a moan smothered by the second hand circling your throat, gripping firmly enough where you could breathe, but just barely.

The thing couldn’t stop your thoughts, as much as it seemed to try, so it took to interrupting them—distracting you but squeezing your neck, yanking your head back into the pillow by your hair, adjusting itself to thrust multiple fingers into your body, burying them to the knuckle.

You tried to win this war of willpower by thinking about Sujay and his mustache and his stupid glasses. They were green, sometimes blue; seldom did he like the tortoiseshell look.

The thing lunged at your neck again, this time taking you underside the jaw and forced your head back into the pillow while it fucked you deeper on three fingers.

You wanted to make a sound; a moan, a scream, a torturous whimper or pleasure for the way your body was rocked on the bed, creaking with the weight of a pair combined and not just how it appeared. Your nostrils flared, heart rate at an uneasy high, breaths stuck in the column of your throat behind the hand holding it.

The pressure continued to stack higher and higher, building to such a point where you knew you were about to lose it, unravel, praying that this thing would grant you the kindness of fucking you out of your orgasm.

Your abdomen was wound tight, your groin ached terribly, and your thighs started to shake. Behind your eyes, the kaleidoscopic wheels of color intermingled with the darkness and it all slowly burned to white.

And then—

“Good morning!” you were being shaken awake by one of the technologists, a middle-aged woman with blue eyeliner. she didn't expect for you to jolt upright, stick straight, and launch the covers off of your body. “Oh—hey, honey, you alright? We’re done until tonight. How do you feel?”

You were slow to respond to her, occupied by the morning light filtering in through the window across the bedroom. She gave you some time to gather your bearings and took her time removing the stickers and wires from your skin, suggesting you spend some time really scrubbing in the shower later to get off all the adhesive.

“How about now, honey?” she pulled the last sticker and wire combination off of your shoulder. “You with us?”

You didn't know how to answer that, especially not with how damp you felt inside your thighs.

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nestinmattress · 2 days ago

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NESTIN - All Season Mattress - Health Matters - Mattress Matters

#nestin mattress #buy mattress online #best foam mattress #online mattress shopping #good mattress brands in india #purchase mattress online

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nestin300 · 1 year ago

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#best foam mattress #purchase mattress online

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homesolutionsonline · 2 years ago

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youtube

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snehalpatel · 2 years ago

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youtube

Online shopping vs offline shopping are two distinct methods of purchasing products or services. Online shopping involves buying products through the internet, here are some mattress-buying guides India, how to buy mattress online.

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giuseppe-yuki · 7 months ago

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joyride

lance stroll x fennec fox shapeshifter!reader

w.c.: 2.1k

warnings: one suggestive comment, a bit of profanity

part of my shapeshifting!reader series

summary: lance makes a accidental purchase (ft. k-mag + laura)

picture credits from pinterest :)

after a tiring day, it was nice to decompress on you and your boyfriend’s xl california king memory foam mattress. covered with silk sheets and pillow covers with a thread count in the thousands, lance always made sure you both had the most comfortable, luxurious lifestyle. that’s what you liked about lance. he was always so kind and considerate, looking out for others.

but, he wasn’t being kind right now. as you idly scrolled through your phone, splayed out on the bed, lance was next to you, eyes glancing up and down as he browsed through an online shop on his phone. you frown as you watch him continue to click through on the website. as his girlfriend, you deserved his utmost attention, right?

you sit up, and crawl towards him, wrapping your arms around his midriff and burying your head into his chest. he spares you glance and a pat on the head before continuing his shopping.

“lanceyyyy!” you trill, voice a little muffled from your position, “what are you even doing? shopping for the latest clive christian or creed cologne?”

he laughs, and you feel his chest vibrate underneath you. “no,” he laughs, “i still have the five bottles you bought me that random saturday a month ago!”

oh yeah, you think. he borrowed the expensive cologne from his friend just once, but you got hooked onto the nice scent and decided to buy him several bottles just because. as one of the youngest ceos ever of your own company, it was nice using your almost-bursting bank account to treat your boyfriend once in a while.

“okay… then what are you buying that possibly is taking you twenty hours?” you ask, pouting at him.

he looks at you on his chest, underneath his raised hands holding the phone. “well…” he hesitates a bit before continuing, “you know how chloe is having a baby with scotty?”

you nod, adjusting yourself on the bed.

“i’m going shopping for the baby!” he exclaims, flashing you a smile. “i’m buying him the latest toys that i just know he’ll love.”

“lance,” you say slowly, “you do realize that the baby is literally still inside of chloe, right? he’s not going to be born for a long while.”

“yeah, yeah,” your boyfriend says, waving a hand dismissively. “i know, but i want to get a head start and get better presents than everyone else.”

you roll your eyes. “mhm, sure, baby.” but, you get a little curious. tilting your head, you ask, “what are you buying though?”

lance puts his finger in front of his mouth in a “shushing” motion. “it’s a secret,” he whispers.

you sit up, reaching for his phone. “what? why can’t i see?” you protest.

“nope!” he declares, snatching his phone away from you.

you groan, and turn away from lance in annoyance. “fine, then!” you sulk.

pulling out your phone, you go back to scrolling mindlessly, back towards your boyfriend, while said boyfriend happily adds another item to his cart.

as you scroll through tiktok, you notice the time. it was around four am, which was pretty damn late considering that you had media day tomorrow. you almost turn around to let lance know but remember that you are mad at him. sparing him a quick glance (he was still clicking around another expensive online toy shop, you bet), you turn back to your phone. that’s when you notice lando’s girlfriend’s profile lit up with a green circle on the corner.

you shoot her a quick text,

hey, what r u doing up? i saw your online bubble on tiktok like two seconds ago, lmao! u do know we have media day tomorrow right?

it isn’t long before she sends a message back.

i was gonna go to bed early but lando was streaming and forgot about the time.. you know i can’t sleep when he's yelling at the top of his lungs. anyways, what are you doing up at this godforsaken hour???

you snicker to yourself. oh yeah, you definitely know what she means. both of you guys gossiped about how loud they were playing their little pvp games, whether it be COD or fortnite. they say some of the weirdest things too, like ‘he’s coming! he’s coming!” like, okay, calm down there buddy.

before you respond to lando’s girlfriend, lance lets out a shout. “i’m done!” he sing-songs. he sets down his phone on his nightstand and smiles out you sweetly, like he hadn’t just spend a million years ignoring you for shopping for his nephew who wasn’t even born yet. still mad, you glare at him, and get back to typing a response.

yeah girl, i get you. lance always starts raging at his monitor when he plays his video games 🙄 no but i was up because my bf was literally online shopping till like five minutes ago! like, what are you buying that is so important it needs to be bought now?? its almost four am, istg we are going to be so sleepy in the paddock tomorrow!

she replies swiftly,

omg, maybe he’s buying you that limited edition birkin you told me you were eyeing a couple of days ago! but yeah, we should get to bed. goodnight!

her profile shows her going offline then, so you shut off your phone as well.

lying back onto the impossibly soft pillow, and tucking yourself under the covers, you look towards the white painted ceiling of your apartment. “so what did you order, lancey?” you ask.

next to you, your boyfriend turns onto his side, hand propped underneath his head, smirking. “you’ll see tomorrow, baby.”

you wake up the next morning to the doorbell echoing through the whole apartment. lance is sprawled next to you, hair messy and mouth slightly open, snoring. his legs are tangled with yours, and the sun shining in through the windows makes the outline of him glow like a sleeping angel. god, you loved him. leaning over, you pepper kisses all over his face to wake him up. almost instantly, he awakens and starts laughing, trying to push you away and block you with a pillow. when you finally stop, he blinks sleepily at you with a smile on his face.

“well, that’s one way to wake me up,” he says.

you are about to reach forward to kiss him again, when you realize the poor deliveryman that was probably still outside has been waiting for the last five minutes.

after getting into your paddock-ready fit, (you had consulted with zhou’s girlfriend beforehand to find the best outfit to wear) while lance talked to the deliveryman, you head towards your apartment’s living room to start breakfast.

you were surprised to see not one, not two, but at least twenty boxes in all shapes and sizes practically flowing out of your living room.

“what the fuck did you buy, lance??” you exclaim. you spot pictures on the side of many of the boxes depicting their contents. “an indoor slide playset, trampoline, lego death star???” you cry in disbelief, pointing to each of the boxes. “baby, chloe’s child is negative one years old! he’s not even born!”

“well, i’m just being prepared!” defends lance.

you raise an eyebrow.

“the death star is for me though,” he says sheepishly.

“alright,” you say, sighing. “i guess you get a head start on being the favorite uncle, although i’m sure daniel will be one of your biggest competitors in that field.”

laughing from lance’s cry of outrage to your statement, you turn towards the kitchen to start breakfast when you find two identical boxes blocking your way. on both of them an identical smiling child in an aston martin electric mini car.

you whip back towards lance, who is giddily running around opening all the other boxes.

“lancey,” you say slowly, “did you buy two mini aston martins?”

your boyfriend turns around, looking at you next to the unmistakable two boxes containing the luxury mini-cars. “erm.. it appears so! i guess i accidentally pressed the buy button too many times,” he states embarrassedly.

you are about to tell him off for his silly mistake when you come up with a genius idea. “hey! actually, can i take one of them for a test drive in the paddock? i can safety test it for your sister’s baby!”

lance looks at you, confused. “huh? you’re too big for the car, though!”

you gasp dramatically, jokingly putting a hand on your chest. “lance!” you say insulted. “did you forget i can shift into a fennec fox? also, did you just call me big?”

laughing internally at lance’s stunned expression, and panicked stutters, you decide to add more fuel to the fire. “that’s funny for you to say, when you’re not so big yourself!” you say haughtily, hinting at something else.

all it takes for you is one look at lance’s distressed face for you to burst out laughing aloud.

it didn’t take much for lance to forgive you for the joke- just a big homemade breakfast with plenty of pancakes, bacon, and fried eggs that his athletic trainer would have a heart attack looking at, plus a few kisses on the cheek. after breakfast, lance happily loaded the mini aston martin into the back of his actual aston martin for you.

that’s how you found yourself racing through the paddock at the fraction of a speed that lance usually did on the circut. it felt fast to you though, wind coursing through your prominent fox ears and your fluffy fur. of course, you caught the attention of many fans throughout the paddock; it wasn’t common to see a fennec fox driving a pink mini aston martin being chased down by lance stroll himself.

you use your paws to control the steering wheel as you race past fans in colored merch and even a few stunned drivers. you keep in control of the vehicle until you reach the haas motorhome.

your hand slips accidentally off the slippery steering wheel, so you accidentally drive the toy car straight into the first person that walks out of the motorhome- kevin magnussen.

the collision wasn’t too forceful, but it was enough for kevin to drop the coffee he was holding onto the ground.

“what the hell?” he shouts, clutching his shin.

behind you, lance sprints toward kevin, apologizing profusely.

before kevin can start to ask questions about why lance's fennec fox was driving a mini aston martin in the paddock, lance snatches you out the vehicle with one arm, leaving your legs dangling in the air, and somehow lifts the entire mini car with his other hand. without another word to kevin, he dashes away.

he doesn’t stop running until he arrives at his drivers room, passing fernando who gives him a weird look. lance shoves both you and the car into narrow doorway of the room before shutting the door behind him firmly.

“omg, that was so embarrassing. we are not doing that again,” he mumbles, leaning on the now-closed door and covering his face with his hands.

you quickly shift back into your human form. “what??” you complain. “that was kind of fun, though!”

he cuts you off with a glare.

the next time you handle the vehicle, it is in the haas motorhome.

along with a bottle of expensive champagne, you approach kevin timidly.

“hey kevin,” you say shyly, “um, here is some champagne. i’m really sorry for almost running you over with my aston martin.”

kevin looks at you, scratching his head. “oh! it’s okay. it didn’t hurt that much, it was just a bruise.” he gracefully accepts the bottle from you. he’s about to turn away when he spots a flash of familiar pink behind your legs. furrowing his eyebrows, he questions you, “why did you bring that wretched vehicle within my vicinity again?”

“oh yeah!” you say with a smile. “since lance is prohibiting me from driving it ever again, i was wondering if laura and agnes would like it!”

as if summoning them, the girls in question appear behind k-mag.

you watch as their eyes grow wide with want. “omg pappa, yes, we want it!” they chime in unison.

“the next toy shipment arrives tomorrow!” lance says happily, scrolling on his phone.

you roll your eyes as you both walk hand in hand through the crowded paddock the next day. lance was starting to get an unhealthy addiction to buying toys for his sister’s baby.

“alright,” you remark flippantly. “as long as you didn’t buy anything too extreme.”

lance’s response to your statement is cut short by a yell that sounds remarkably like kevin’s.

you both turn towards the sound just in time to see laura magnussen back up, then drive the pink aston martin straight into her father’s shin again.

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moons-and-mobility-aids · 4 months ago

Text

Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy.

The pain is an old acquaintance, but its visits are no less unwelcome. It starts in the small of your back, a dull throb that radiates upward until it rests heavily on your shoulders, seeping into your muscles and settling there like a weight you can't shake off. You've known this discomfort many times before—it's as much a part of your life as the wheelchair beneath you—but familiarity doesn't make it easier to bear.

On better days, you might distract yourself with work, lose yourself in the process of filming and editing until the hours slip away and the pain becomes a distant hum. But today isn't one of those days. Today, the pain screams for attention, and no matter how hard you try to push it aside, it refuses to be silenced.

You sit stiffly in your chair, every inch of your body tense as you stare at the screen of your laptop. Notifications blink in the sidebar—messages from subscribers, comments on your latest post, purchases from your latest PPV video. On any other day, these would bring a flicker of satisfaction, a reminder of the community you've built and the support they offer. But today, they're just another task, another demand on your time and energy when you have so little to spare.

The thought of spending the next hour fielding messages, putting on a brave face and keeping up the pretence of high spirits despite your fatigue is daunting. You know your limits, and right now, they're closing in. To push through would be to invite a storm of pain that could sideline you for days. And that's a risk you can't afford.

Drawing in a deep breath, you open a new message to your subscribers. You've done this before—those rare times when the pain became too much, and you needed to step away for a bit. Always vague, never revealing the true reason behind your absence. You've kept your health private since the beginning, and you don't intend to change that now.

You: Hey everyone 💕 just a quick note to let you know that some personal stuff has come up, and I need to take a break from messages for a few days. No worries, though! I have plenty of content scheduled, so you'll still see new videos and posts while I'm away. I'll be back to answering messages soon, but I just need a little time off. Thanks for understanding 💕 I'll talk to you soon.

The message sends, a faint sense of guilt washing over you. It's not that you've ever promised to be available around the clock, but there is an unspoken obligation that comes with managing your page. Your subscribers pay for the privilege of access, and while the content will continue as usual, it's the personal interaction that some of them crave.

You can almost see the responses now, words of concern mingling with offers of support. But those are worries for another time. Right now, all you need is rest, a reprieve from the constant demands of your online persona.

The pain has spread to your legs, a dull throb that promises no respite. A weariness settles over you, heavy around your eyes. You've done what you needed to do, set the wheels in motion for the next few days. Now, there's nothing left but to try and rest, despite the discomfort radiating from your body.

You manoeuvre your wheelchair closer to the bed, then reach out, fingers grasping the sheets. With a grunt, you pull yourself onto the mattress, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through your limbs. But finally, you're settled, your head sinking into the pillows. It's not perfect—far from it—but it's a hell of a lot better than the chair.

Your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on your breathing—in, out, in, out—trying to push away the persistent ache. For a while, there's only the sound of your own heartbeat, a steady rhythm in the quiet room.

Just as sleep begins to claim you, your phone buzzes on the bedside table. Your hand shoots out, instinctively reaching for the device. Another notification, another chance for income—it's a lifeline you can't afford to ignore. The screen lights up, casting a glow across your face. It's OnlyFans again, this time with a message from Prongs.

ProngsPlayground_free: I sent you a $100.00 tip with the attached message of 'Hey, love. Saw your message—hope everything’s okay. You don’t have to respond or anything, just wanted to send a little something to make your day a bit better 💖 take care of yourself.'

This isn’t the first time Prongs has tipped big, but this feels different. There’s no pay-per-view content you’ve sent, no special offer enticing the extra credits. He's tipped just because.

The screen blurs for a moment as you blink away sudden tears. You can’t afford to let them fall, not with the makeup you’ve painstakingly applied, but the emotion is there all the same. Gratitude swells within you, raw and real, mingling with something else—a sense of connection that goes beyond the superficial exchanges you’re used to. Fans don’t usually do this, not without expecting something in return. Tips often come with demands; they are transactions, not gifts. But this... this feels genuine.

Prongs doesn’t know the half of it, doesn’t know the circumstances behind your plea, but he seems to care. Is it possible? Can someone who watches you night after night from a world away actually see you—not the fantasy, but the person beneath?

A flicker of temptation stirs within you, the thought of thanking him for his words, just a brief reply to acknowledge that you've seen it. It would be nothing more than a courtesy, a small gesture to show he isn't shouting into the void. But you remember why you sent the message in the first place—you need to disconnect, retreat from the world and nurse your wounds in solitude. You can't afford to engage, not even with Prongs, whose energy often brings comfort and laughter.

Not today.

Nevertheless, as you set the phone aside, a faint smile tugs at your lips. It's but a small thing, this unseen thread connecting you to another soul in the vastness of the universe, yet it lightens the weight on your chest, if only for a moment. He doesn't know the truth of your situation, the depth of the shadows clouding your vision, but the simple act of reaching out, however unknowingly, reminds you that you're not entirely alone.

The day stretches on, feeling longer than most as your body refuses to cooperate. The pain ebbs and flows like a tide against the shore of your tolerance. You try to distract yourself by scrolling through social media, watching videos, but nothing holds your attention for long. Your thoughts keep circling back to your OnlyFans account, the accumulating messages, the content you're unable to create.

You've always been organised, scheduling your posts at least two weeks in advance. No one will truly notice your absence from the platform—not yet—but the knowledge does little to ease the tension coiling in your gut. There's a gnawing sensation that you're falling behind, missing out on opportunities to grow your following, even as you know health should take precedence.

The sun has long since set, casting your room into a cocoon of darkness only broken by the glow of your computer screen, when another message notification pings.

ProngsPlayground_free: Just wanted to let you know that Moony and Pads send their love too. They asked me to pass it along. 😉 No need to reply, but we're all looking forward to having you back.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, a tiny release of tension in the tight coil of your chest. The heaviness is still there, yes, but so is something else. Something warm and quiet that whispers, "You're not alone."

Because it's true. You've always known, on an intellectual level, that OnlyFans is more than just content creation—it's about fostering connections, providing a personal touch even across the digital divide. But it's one thing to understand that in theory, and quite another to feel it so acutely when you're the one needing reassurance.

The thought of them—Prongs, Moony, Padfoot—possibly sitting together somewhere, their eyes glued to your videos, their hands flying over keyboards to send these messages. They care. It's a small balm on the raw wound of today, even if you cannot reach out to them in return.

Your eyelids grow heavy as you let the phone slip from your fingers and clatter onto the bedside table. You sink further into the plush pillows, body still aching, but mind finding a semblance of peace amidst the chaos. Maybe you won't be able to film for a while. Maybe you won't be able to reply to every message, every show of support. But that’s okay. Your fans, they understand. They'll wait for you, just like they always have.

And for now, that has to be enough.

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