#stardew valley Shane | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deepestnightcolor · 3 days ago

Note

I feel like you’re the only one that would write this OUT like i imagine it cause you always eat… pheromone perfume on sam—he would act like a puppy and sniff you as soon as he gets the first hint of it and gets so h word too……..

Honestly if u could do all the bachelors causeeeeee i would love to see shane react to this too lowkey….

☾ ꜱᴍᴇʟʟꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴠᴇɴ ☽

ᴀ/ɴ: Well, here we go. I wanted to try with Sam and Shane at first, so I hope you enjoy!

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x Fem!Reader Shane (SDV) x Fem! Reader

ᴡᴄ: 1114 words in total

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: humping, cursing, despair, they cum quickly, lol

ꜱᴀᴍ

The scent lingered in the air the moment you had set foot through the door, and Sam was on you the exact same second. “You smell so good,” he whispered with his face nuzzled in your neck, his hands already roaming your body like this was the first time he was allowed to touch you, groping and gripping at your curves as he panted in your scent. “Are you drooling?” you asked with a laugh, trying to run your hand over the spot on your neck that had started feeling wet all of a sudden. Sam, however, didn’t let you. He nudged his face further into the crook of your neck, trying to inhale all of the sweet scent that radiated from you. And so what if he was drooling? It wasn’t his fault! His tongue was heavy with spit, and he was too busy to breathe you in to swallow it down. Speaking of tongue. A fat stripe was licked up your neck all of a sudden, forcing a small whine out of you. “What is this?” Sam asked, and at the same time, he didn’t give too much of a fuck about the answer, because his dick had gotten hard and was throbbing with each inhale of whatever you had put on. It made his head spin and heart race, and God, he couldn’t get enough. “New perfume,” you tried to stammer out, just to end up being cut off by a rough hump against you. “S-sorry.” Lies. He wasn’t sorry, not in the state of mind he found himself in. No, Sammy boy was desperate, pulling away from your neck just to smell your collar bones, lapping up the taste of your new ‘perfume’ there, throbby fat cock desperately grinding into you. His balls felt so tight already, pierced tip already weeping for you. He was gonna cream his pants like a desperate fucking whore, he knew it! Yet it didn’t stop him. Quite the opposite. His rutting became faster, harder, more pathetic as he whimpered against your skin, his hands having now slipped beneath your shirt to grope at your flushed tits. “Smells so good,” he whined against you, drooly mouth latching onto your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt, blue eyes looking a little teary as they looked up at you. It made you weak in the knees, if you were being honest, your hand finding blond strands of hair as your boyfriend dry humped at you, his whiny begs turning into something more fragile. “Babyyyyy,” he groaned out, drooling over your tits as he rutted his aching cock into you, spittle hanging from the corner of his mouth and coating his lips, his hands holding on to your butt to press you into him further, not able to get enough of you when everything inside of him roared your name. Another sob of your name, and suddenly, your boyfriend tensed, a blush spreading out on his face as he held his breath. You didn’t need to look down to know what had happened; poor boy had actually creamed his pants for you and now was standing there, holding on to you like he was scared that you would vanish. “Sam…?” You murmured after a while, but the man didn’t react, just panted with his head lowered. “Sam,” you tried again, nothing but a squeak leaving you when you were suddenly picked, fast feet carrying the both of you up the stairs. “Need you,” the blond whispered as he tossed you on the bed. “Need you so bad.”

ꜱʜᴀɴᴇ

The fuck was this? It had started out subtle at first, barely notable, especially not in the living room, but still there. Shane had tried to ignore it, deciding it was probably nothing more than a new crop you had tried to cultivate – you had planted some weird shit before, after all. But despite being so subtle, it was so hard to just ignore. In fact, it was so hard to ignore that Shane couldn’t. No, it drove him crazy. Made the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand, and was his fucking heart racing? The fuck? Frustrated, the man slammed his controller on the table, boots he still wore in case he needed to head out to help you heavily coming down on the wood floor. “Babe? Do you smell that?” He called as he made his way to the stairs. Why the hell was the smell getting stronger here when it was a plant from the outside? Shane swallowed. If his heart hadn’t been racing before, it sure was now, pounding in his chest. And what was even weirder was the fact that he felt…aroused? His thick brows furrowed in confusion, corks in his head turning as he tried to figure out what was happening, and yet he came up with nothing. Nothing that kept him from taking two stairs at once to get to the bedroom, anyway. To the source of this annoyingly beautiful scent-

“Babe?” he asked again, this time a little breathless when he slammed open the door, finding you sitting in front of the mirror, turning around in surprise. “Shane! Sorry, did you ne- Shane!” You gasped, suddenly finding yourself pinned to the bed, large palms ripping at your clothes, causing the seams to rip open. His face was buried in the valley of your breasts within seconds, inhaling with a deep huff. “What the fuck is this?” he asked, voice a little sluggish, too busy to palm at his hard dick through his pants to really care for the answer, barely having time to struggle out of his own pants. “It’s a perfume-“ The sharp bite to your tit made you swallow your words, moaning as you felt the chubby head of your boyfriend’s dick rut against you pantie-clad folds. “Take them off,” the black-haired man whispered, voice nothing but a low growl. He would have done it himself, if he hadn’t been so busy inhaling that sweet scent radiating from you and if his hands hadn’t been shaking so much. They were doing a great job groping at your body, anyway. “Shane,” you whined, and God, how it made his dick throb, vein pulsing dangerously. He was going to cum and he hadn’t even felt your pussy yet. How pathetic. What was even more pathetic? That he didn’t give a flying fuck. Honestly, he could have cared less that his dick was drooling fat drops of pre-cum on your now bare panties. Could care less what this smell was. Whatever this was, Shane decided, whatever the hell this fucking smell was, he would make the most of it.

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mongoosingisme · 12 hours ago

Text

H'okay, trying this again on the big internet (formatting is hard on a phone)

Responding to this LOVELY 2-part ask from a couple days ago, specifically part 2.

It's a direct continuation of Pepper Problems, so you'll prolly want to read that first (but I mean you do you).

I expect to tie two more requests into this series, so if you're waiting on me I SEE YOU I HEAR YOU I LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH YOUR TIME IS COMING.

Okay. Housekeeping over.

Title: (Insert clever title here - the draft is called "Shane Longing Two")

Pairing: Shane x fem!farmer

Word Count: 2929

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only, if you would be so kind

Fic and tags under the cut!

Tags: Fantasized oral sex, actual honest to goodness oral sex, longing, pining, yearning, etc etc etc, also some boob touching

The farmer was a problem.

Shane had given up trying to solve it. There was no solving with her. Only enduring.

He knew how to endure.

She’d gotten comfortable with him over the months. Sliding onto the stool next to his a few times a week. Telling him about her day, whether he asked her about it or not. Trading jokes with Emily. A wave and a cheerful greeting to anyone who passed by.

Still a ray of fucking sunshine, even as the days grew short and dark and the holidays approached.

Shane hated this time of year.

There was the practical (gifts: what do you even get for a six year old? Or your aunt, who’d been looking at you like she once looked at an injured donkey, a look of frustration and pain and anticipated grief?)

There was the existential (another year with no changes, just the spiral of existence crushing in closer, same and same and same yet somehow heavier and heavier and heavier)

There was the farmer, showing off a dress that Emily had made for her.

She stood and twirled. “What do you think?”

She was talking to the writer. The one she talked to Emily about. Mr. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he? With the hair and all? But he’s focused on his writing right now and I’m not looking for anything so we’re just gonna keep it as friends.”

“A vision!” The writer was leaping up, spinning her around. A dervish of velvet and curves gently hugged, toes barely seeming to touch the floor.

If she asked what Shane thought about her dress he’d say nothing. Because what he thought is that he wanted to know what she was wearing underneath, and if what he could uncover would feel as soft on his tongue as the fabric he’d crush and tear to get there.

See? A problem. A big fucking problem that wasn’t getting any better.

“I don’t want to go.” She was sitting down next to him, the lightness gone from her voice. Always so much quieter when he was near her.

“So don’t.” Not much more to say than that.

She sighed. “Yeah, but it’s the holidays and it’s family, y’know?”

Shane didn’t know, but he absolutely was not opening that can of worms, no fucking thank you.

He made a noncommittal sound.

“Oh! I just remembered!” She tapped the back of her hand against his shoulder. She was always touching him like that, all casual and off-hand. Every time it felt like a shock going through him. Kept his mind from clouding, from drifting.

He loved it and he hated it.

“I was gonna ask - could you look in on the chickens for me while I’m gone? Just once or twice? They should be all set up with food and stuff, I just hate to think of the heater going out or something.”

“What do I get out of it?” His question was for show. He’d do whatever she needed in a heartbeat.

She didn’t need to know that, though.

“The satisfaction of a job well done?” She gave him her best “I am sunshine incarnate” smile.

Shane gave her a look of disgust.

It made her laugh.

He liked it when that happened.

He wanted it to happen more.

It was a problem.

“Check in on the house too and I’ll pick up your tab for a couple nights. I don’t trust the boiler - wanna make sure it keeps pumping while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, alright.” He did his best not to sound eager. Like the idea of poking around her house a bit wasn’t appealing. Like he wasn’t actually the creep he knew he was.

“Thank you.” She sounded relieved, gave him one of those real smiles.

Shane didn’t respond. He just took a drink.

“Your dress!” Emily had caught sight of the farmer, was hurrying over to see her.

“My dress! It’s perfect! Thank you!” She was standing again, spinning, light and joyful, the skirt flaring out in a way that let Shane catch a glimpse of thigh.

The farmer always wore pants.

She was less of a problem in pants.

“You look incredible! Shane! Doesn’t she look amazing?”

Fucking Emily. She knew exactly what she was doing.

What was he supposed to say? That the dress was sparking a new obsession? That he was fixated on how loose the skirt was, how easy it would be to ruck up, how anything she was wearing underneath would be nothing, nothing to rip and tear and pull aside? That the velvet could fall around his head, muffling the sounds she’d make, just a little, as he ran his mouth and his tongue and his lips and his fingers over the part of her that had to be the most warm, the most her?

Was that what he was supposed to say?

The farmer gave him that fake grin again. The sunshine one. The one that made her eyes sparkle.

It was an out, he realized.

“Seen better,” he said, and took a drink.

“Ugh!” The farmer put her hands over her heart as though wounded.

“See, he was raised in a barn,” Emily said. “Literally right next to a horse’s ass. Really rubbed off on him.”

“You rubbed off on a horse’s ass?”

Shane shot the farmer a sideways look. She was smirking. Fucking cutie.

“It was a magical time,” Shane droned.

Emily rolled her eyes. “You two deserve each other.”

“Not sure if that’s an insult or a compliment.” The farmer settled back down.

“Insult,” Shane and Emily said together.

“Well, fuck you too, then!” the farmer said cheerfully, and drained her drink.

———————

Shane had been drinking more these days.

It wasn’t a problem.

Everything else was the problem.

The sound Marnie would make when he retched in the morning.

The way work made his shoulder ache.

The way his boss looked at him like he wasn’t quite a full person.

The way Jas would wake up crying some nights, gasping, sobbing, reaching out and clutching and there was no calming her, and it was easier to just let Marnie take care of it, to soothe her like she used to soothe him, to put a pillow over his head and drown in uselessness, to wonder if she really would be worse off without him.

The farmer.

So it was established. The drinking wasn’t the issue.

He was going to skip it that night anyway. Head straight for the farmer’s house after work, check on the chickens, go and inside and… fuck, what was it he was supposed to do?

But it was cold out, and work had been long with all of the holiday merchandise going out, so he’d stopped by the saloon for a drink or six.

It was still cold when he left. Colder, really, snow coming down all hard, like pellets, and he’d forgotten his gloves that day. He wasn’t moving all that fast. The road kept jutting up to make him stumble. It took a while to get to the farm.

He was shivering as he finally ducked into the coop. All was well, the chickens warm and cozy. The heater was running. It felt nice on his chilled cheeks. The coop smelled good, all fresh shavings and warm, healthy hens. He thought about picking one up, letting its heat soak into his hands, but they were sleeping and he didn’t want to disturb them.

The farmer’s door was locked. The key was under the mat like she said, and the house felt warm when he stepped inside. He turned on a lamp by the door.

He’d never been in her house.

It was messier than he expected. Tools strewn on the kitchen counter. A pile of books and mail on an armchair. Clumps of fur in the corners (did she have a pet?). Laundry piled on the back of the couch.

He drifted over.

His hands were a problem.

They were picking up a shirt from the pile of laundry, bringing it to his face. It smelled worn, a faint scent of soap covered by something earthier. He breathed in deep.

His cock twitched.

The room was spinning, just a little.

It wasn’t a problem.

He wondered what else he could find in her laundry pile.

His cock was getting harder.

It was okay. He had infinite space for shame.

He lifted the next garment (leggings, by the look of them) when he heard a rhythmic banging. Boots knocking off snow on the front porch. He dropped the pants, kept his body turned towards the couch as the door opened.

“Fuck!” It was the farmer. He turned part way to look at her. She was covered in snow, velvet dress peeking out from a puffy coat, holding a hand over her heart. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Shane mumbled.

His cock was a problem.

She was a problem.

“Shit, you’re here. I tried to text you, but Yoba forbid I get any fucking service when we’re going through the desert.” She was shaking out her coat, hanging it up. “The thing got cancelled due to the storm, and of course no one tells me until I show up at the fucking venue, and if they think I’m going to hang around after all that they have another fucking thing coming.”

Shane took a deep breath. Tried to will himself to relax.

His stomach was churning, fear and beer and embarrassment and want.

The room felt a little fuzzy around the edges.

“So I’m back, and it is fucking freezing out there.” She was messing with the thermostat. Shane heard the boiler start to purr somewhere below him.

He tried to focus on the sound, and not the way the farmer looked.

Her hair was wet, melting snow dragging it down.

Cheeks ruddy. Eyelashes dark.

Fucking delicious in that dress.

A problem.

“I’m an ice cube, feel my hands!”

“Fuck!” She’d pressed her cold fingertips to the back of his neck.

“You’re so warmmmmmm….” A hint of a moan.

Something in him was fraying.

“Except for my hands.” His voice was only a little ragged. It was playful, right? Giving as good as he got? Turning to face her, pressing his hands onto her neck and shoulders.

Yoba, she was warm there.

She made a sound of mock distress. “Gloves, Shane! Have you ever heard of them?”

The room was swimming now. The farmer was the only thing that felt real.

Her skin was so soft. His hands were moving on their own, fingers spreading, tracing down, brushing over the deep red velvet and the curves beneath.

Pressing.

The fabric was soft, but not as soft as the farmer.

“Shane?” She didn’t sound mad. She didn’t sound scared. She didn’t sound disgusted.

She sounded… curious.

She sounded like a problem that needed to be solved.

Sometimes you could solve a problem with finesse.

But sometimes a grenade was also a solution.

Shane knew where his strengths lay.

He fell to his knees.

“Are you alright?” Her hands were reaching down for him, gentle, worried. His were doing what they’d wanted to do since he’d first laid eyes on that dress: clutching at the skirt, pulling it up, letting his mouth fall forward.

“Fuck,” she gasped as he pressed up between her thighs. “How much did you… fuck.”

He had to press in deeper, to mouth against her. His lips were moving. The stubble that plagued his chin and cheeks caught at the nylon hose she wore. It pulled at his face. It separated him from her.

It was a problem.

So he solved it. The thin fabric parted easily beneath his fingers. Her dress draped over his head, just like he imagined it would, soft and quiet, blocking out the world.

But not the farmer.

She was right there. A cry of surprise as he ripped her tights. Hands in his hair now, gripping tight, and fuck, he knew it, he fucking knew it, knew that she’d know just what to fucking do. He knew she’d grab hard, press him into her, press herself into him, offer herself up to his mouth and his teeth and his tongue and his fingers, fingers pulling, pulling cotton aside to reveal soft, warm, fragrant skin.

So warm. So fucking warm.

So much softer than the velvet.

So pretty.

He ran his tongue down the place she parted. She whimpered, shifted her legs, tried to open up for him.

(what a good fucking girl, he knew it, knew she’d be so fucking good for him when he got his mouth on her…)

He could help with that. Shift forward and hook her leg up over his shoulder (the good one, the one that still felt strong and capable). Steady her as she leaned back against the couch. Pull and pull and pull at the gusset of her panties, the backs of his knuckles brushing against her folds as he did so. She gasped, pulled him in deeper, and she was all soft and wet and warm and welcoming, inviting him to taste, to fucking delve, and so he did. Tongue loose at first, covering as much as he could in case she changed her mind, pushed him away, left him sprawled on the floor, useless and alone.

But no, she was making noises, good noises that said he was supposed to stay right there.

(fuck, the noises she was making, breathy and needy, whines and gasps and little moans, better than he could have imagined, so much fucking better, raw and honest and real and good, almost as good as the way she tasted…)

So right there is where he stayed. Mouth wide, tongue firmer, listening to the sounds she made, cataloging the way she moved. Her hips were shifting, like she was trying to bear down on something, and oh fuck, oh sweetheart, he could absolutely help her with that. Not a problem at all to press his hand up, fingers searching, just one at first, stroking in time with his tongue, gentle and slow until she was whining, bearing down harder, welcoming him in

Yoba, she was wet.

(she wanted it she wanted it fuck fuck fuck she couldn’t hide it it was right fucking there, so wet and soft and yielding, he could push his cock right into her like this, so fucking ready so quick, so needy for him, she needed it like he did…)

Her moans changed as she clenched around him. Lower, longer. She tightened in time with her hands in his hair, clutching harder and loosening as her walls pulsed.

“More,” she gasped, and he didn’t know if she meant fingers or tongue, but did it matter when he could give her both? Press another finger into her, focus in on her clit. Quick flicks, she liked that, if the way she gasped his name was any indication.

(fuck fuck fuck fuck she was saying his name Yoba’s fucking Light he never would have thought his name could sound like that, like lips on his neck, like a tongue down his throat, like a hand stroking his cock…)

His mind was fuzzy, and the temptation to give over to instinct grew overwhelming. He let her hands in his hair guide him. Let the way her hips stuttered show him how fast to go. Let her use him, grind against his tongue, rock against his fingers. Let her drown him, take the breath from him, just movement and soft and wet and tight and gasps and sobs and his name

(his name his name his name…)

And then her legs were shaking, hips taut, hands in his hair so tight it pricked tears in his eyes, and for a moment nothing was wrong, there was nothing dragging him down, only what he could give and what she would take, all perfectly aligned.

An equation balanced.

A problem solved.

“Fuck, Shane!” She said it shaking, drawn out, clenching around him so tight and hot he wondered dimly if she’d branded him.

He worked her through her climax, slowing as she loosened, as her grip became gentle, as she let go of his hair, let her fingers trail down his jaw, his neck.

He didn’t want to move, but something was churning in his stomach.

He didn’t have much space for good in his life.

The farmer wouldn’t fit.

He had to get the fuck out of there.

“Shane?” She sounded uncertain as he slipped out from under her hip.

The room was spinning again.

A hammer had started pounding behind his right eye.

He staggered to his feet.

“Are you okay? You don’t… are you gonna be…?”

He hadn’t even taken his coat off. His boots were still on, heavy and loud as he made for the door.

“Shane!” She said it once more, in a voice he’d never heard before. Choked, a little panicked.

He didn’t look at her.