i mean shane is already mean but he is extremely meaner when he is irritated at whatever stupidity the group has gotten into that day, unfortunately andrea was on the receiving end of his anger.
andrea and sweetheart were in the woods behind camp when she suggested you carry a pile of firewood back to camp, of course you weren't going to disagree and protest against her needing help. it was already bad that others in camp thinking that you aren't able to pull your weight because shane is always helping you so you gave her a sweet smile, holding out your arms and letting her pile on the wood.
"there. should be the last of it! are you sure you gotta it?" she questions worriedly, holding out her hands incase you drop it all. "of course!! its not thag heavy, see!" you bend your knees into a squat to show her how light it is. you make your way through the woods back to camp, when you get half way there in the line of sight of shane, you call out to him, "shane! look what i hav-!" unaware that a big ole log is in your path due to how high the pile of wood you have is stacked.
you trip over the log, the wood goes flying in the opposite direction and you land on the gravel hard. you tried to put your hands out in front of you to lessen the impact but it didn't. shane heard your voice but when he turned around he only saw you go down, "oh fuck!" he drops the gun he was cleaning on the table and makes a beeline directly towards you.
he can hear your wailed sobs, when he jumps over the log he see you sitting in your butt with your hurt knee towards you, when you look up he sees your lip wobble and your eyes watering, "pa!" you reach out your arms for him to pull up into a bridal position. "oh come here, kiddo. you're okay." he shushes you before carrying you back to camp.
once you two are close enough in sight, dale is the first to ask what happened, "ion know dale. she was carryin some damn sticks piled yay high." shanes annoyance seeps through, "you got a first aid? her knee is banged up pretty bad." he turns you to show dale a better look at your leg.
"yeah, its above the kitchen sink in the rv." dale looks apologetic towards the young girl. shane nods before taking you into the rv and placing you down on the nearest seat before grabbing the first aid "aight baby girl, this is gonna sting okay?" he takes the cotton swab filled with alcohol and gently dabs your knee. you jerk your knee away from him, "ow! ow! stop it, it hurts" your tears begin to come out again. shane grabs your ankle keeping ahold of it, "i know baby, i don't like doing this as much as you don't like it happening."
once he is finished cleaning up your knee, he places a childern princess bandaid that he found in the first aid over your knee, "there you go, all better." he places a kiss on the top of your head before grabbing your hand and walking you out the rv.
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warnings: smut, porn w no plot, toys, overstim, not proof read
fully influenced by that dream.
it’s dark. distant hushed voices interchangeable with rustling sheets. there’s a giggle followed by a much clearer,
“ah- shit”
the rustling gets louder, and then suddenly there’s a hand. flipping the camera back upright. setting the scene. two figures, bare and basked in the glow of sunset. one gazes shyly into the lense, face half hidden in pillows, blinking slowly at the device capturing every moment. contradicting the way your ass perks high in the air.
the other drapes over your body, planting heated kisses along the length of your shoulder. “You’re doing great.” Shane reassures, nuzzling into your neck when your head tilts to give her more access. she sucks on your skin, hands drifting to squeeze your hips. morphing your even breaths into soft and scattered pants. fingers twist tightly in the sheets, pushing back into Shane’s body. her strap shifts inside your tight hole, pressing deep and the tiniest movement drags out a long moan.
“there she is.” shane rises, sitting back on her knees. she’s grinning, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. admiring the arch of your back, her hand following the patch of her gaze up your spine as she gives you a few shallow thrusts. “what?” shane croons, hearing you whimper. she draws back, glistening silicone pulling out just to sink back in. “what do you need, baby? talk to me.” slow, deep thrusts stretch your dripping cunt
you squeeze tight, making each drag of her strap inside your cunt deliciously painful. shane swears she can feel it. “you. i need you,” arching further, you rock back against her with desperate little whines that shoot straight to shane’s clit. meeting her thrusts, soft slaps of skin growing louder as her hips connect with your ass. “please. please fuck me.”
“i am fucking you-”
“harder!” you reach blindly for her. eagerly pulling at her her waist, her thigh, begging for more. shane laughs, low and raspy. “yeah, yeah. alright.” she smacks your ass playfully. once more for good measure, to watch it giggle. then she’s grabbing you again, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.
shane fucks you like she means it, how she knows you want it. strands of dark hair cling to her face, slicked down by sweat. dripping off her from exertion. your cunt swallows her strap greedily as she pounds you from behind. taking each sharp thrust with a strangled moan. head to toe, pleasure sings. the latter curling as your legs shake. every little reaction shane tore from you. mouth falling slack, fingers twitching. it only spurred her on. a deep need to make you feel good which would only settle once you were satisfied.
she loves how loud you get. the noises tumbling from your lips are pathetic. shameless. completely lost to her. “yeah, fuck. you like that? taking it so good, baby.” shane’s words are muffled by the hem of her slutty white tee, trapped between her teeth. her damp skin shines, tits bouncing with the rhythm of her thrusts. nipples on ten. nipples stiff and aching from when she’d released you to touch herself.
now shane grips your waist hard. thumbs pressing into the small of your back, fucking you into the mattress. she’s getting herself off, as much as you. chanting a single strained word beneath her, “yes. yes. yes.” you voice what shane feels. the way she’s rutting into your cunt, the base of the strap rubs torturously against her own throbbing clit.
“oh fuckk,” shane groans, “so good.” she grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging your head up. face hot from being smushed into the pillows, your expression one of pure sin. you’re so close.
“smile for the camera, beautiful.”
the camera. fuck. you’d forgotten all about the camera.
shane moves it at some point throughout the night. catching a new angle.
you’re too blissed out to notice, of course. on your back, legs spread wide and pushed back. shane’s elbows hooked under your knees. to keep you still as your body squirms violently beneath relentless stimulation. wanton cries pass into her mouth, kissing you sloppily between each one.
a buzzing wand slides firmly over your swollen clit. shane holding the toy between your bodies as she slides her strap in and out of your drooling pussy. evidence of previous orgasms cling to you in wet strings of slick, shane’s thighs sticking to yours. a creamy ring of cum coating the silicone lodged inside you. such a pretty mess. one you both intend to make even worse.
“don’t stop. don’t stop” you cling to her, gasping, nails biting into her skin. scratching at her shoulders and back, marking her. “gonna cum again!”
shane chases when your head tilts back, slotting her lips over yours once more. she can only moan into your mouth, a choked, pained noise. she tenses above you, every muscle in her body drawing taut before releasing as shane cums again. the toy buzzes wildly, feeling the vibrations through the base of the strap. shane’s stuck in her own puddle of slick and cum. her underwear soaked through, clinging to her cunt. her brows are furrowed hard, panting loudly, letting the shocks of pleasure race through her.
fighting the tiredness threatening to slump her, shane fucks you through your next orgasm. her arm trembles where she holds herself up above you. but she keeps at it. strap sinking deep until you’re spraying the both of you with your release. “holy shit…oh fuck” you’re whining into each others mouths. tongues sliding lazily in comparison to how shane fucks you. who can’t bring herself to stop, not until you’re twisting away from each other. wracked by overstimulation.
it falls dark again.
a sort of quiet settles then. immediate when the echoing toy clicks off. nothing but uneven, deep gulps for breath. followed by giggling, a mix of breathless laughter. sweet sounds. and finally the soft smack of lips, as shane kisses you yet again.
If you have any more ideas about Shane and the stoner reader I would love to read them
content tags are implied age gap, brief mention of animal death (in a movie), drug use, dacryphilia, he is a warning because he is mean, hardly proofread, reader uses she/her pronouns
Shane was in the dog house. You were angry with him for some stupid reason, he told himself. It was completely illogical. It all happened when you were watching tv together late one night. “I was talking to my friend Sierra from work - You remember me mentioning her?”
Shane gave a noncommittal noise in this throat.
“Well her boyfriend is such a tool. They’ve been together for like a year and he makes her split the bill every time they go out. Every time! Like I don’t think he has ever offered to pay. I am trying to tell her that my boyfriend would never do that. She should break up with him.” You turn your gaze away from the tv look at him “What do you think?”
"Boyfriend?" Shane questions.
You eyes widen. "Well yeah." You hesitate "What do you mean?"
"You calling me your boyfriend, sweetheart? No need to make labels where they aren’t needed."
And that is where Shane dug his own grave. He winced at the sound of the door slamming behind him. “You’re such a jerk” you cried from the other side of the door. The lock clicking into place was the final nail in the coffin. He wasn't sorry for what he said. You were overreacting, he told himself. You just needed to cool down. He'd be smelling your fruity shampoo from the top of your head, feeling your soft skin under his touch soon enough.
Shane sat in his truck, deciding his next move. His stomach growled an angry rumble. He considered driving to the diner in town to get dinner, but what was the point if you weren't going too? The food would be tasteless and unsatisfying. You wouldn't be there swinging your legs, kicking his shins under the table. You wouldn't be there to eat half your burger, then ask to try some of his because his looked better. Even though they were both burgers. You wouldn't be there to talk his ear off about your day, and what tv shows you were watching, or books you wanted to read.
He wondered what you were doing right now. It was evening, so you were probably home from work by now, and settling in at your apartment. He knew you liked to wear one of his t shirts from the pile he left in your dresser. He could see you now, drifting like a ghost though your apartment, t shirt hanging like a dress on your frame, your bare legs covered with soft hairs, dotted with mosquito bites. You'd probably pace the kitchen, grinding a few nugs in your weed grinder, but in your distracted state you'd overgrind it into a pungent dust. You'd probably get frustrated and cry at this.
You didn't cry often, but when you did it made his heart soften, and his cock harden. He always associated your tears to when he first met you. Your giant, watery eyes looking up at him from where you perched on a bar stool. Your wet face, pouted lip, the way your small hand swirled the vodka soda you didn’t want to drink. Yeah, he had been a goner that night.
The second time you cried in front of him was when you watched a movie together. You had selected it, but regretted your choice after the scene of the dog dying. You curled into his side, stifled sobs am racking your body. He tried to pet your hair, muttering “It’s alright. It’s not real. It’s just a movie, sweetheart.” But you were inconsolable, pressing your face deeper into his shirt. The sounds you made, the way you me fingers fisted his sleeve. It recalled a memory when he had fucked you too hard. And too long. You made those same hiccupping sounds when his body blanketed yours, fucking the mixture of your combined spend back up into you. “S-Shane it’s too much.” You whispered, unsure of you wanted to push his shoulder away or pull him closer. He had pressed down on your lower belly, earning a soft groan from you. “Pussy’s still taking me so well, baby. You can do it, brave girl.”
Maybe you were a crybaby after all, he thought. Shane sighs and turns the engine over. It was a short drive back to your apartment. Enough time to think of a way to make it up to you. His crybaby.
Can you write more about Shane? I love him and the stoner reader's dymanic
content tags are: reader uses she/her pronouns, no physical description of reader, somnophilia, drug use
Shane found it so endearing when you were sleepy. If confronted, he would of course deny it, saying it was nice when you had finally shut up and given him some peace and quiet. But he honestly thought you looked adorable blinking your tired eyes, moving slow, and leaning into his touch so compliantly.
When he stopped at your apartment early in the morning, and you open the front door to him still in your pajamas. Your hair is a mess, and you rub your eyes, gravitating into his side for warmth. You accept the paper to-go cup of coffee he brings you, and the little trinket he presses into your hand after pulling you onto his lap. A coyote tooth, an interesting rock, and most recently an eagle feather. You suck down the coffee (bitter, from a gas station) as he rubs the back of your neck, tucking you under his arm. “I’m gonna charge this with my crystals under the moon” you mumble, twirling the feather in your fingers. “It’s gonna be full tonight.” You shuffle across the room to place the gift on the windowsill.
Laying in bed after splitting an edible. The tv drones quietly in the background, long forgotten after your high invited you sink into the cool sheets. Shane lays behind you, cocooning your body with his. He pulls your pelvis even closer into his, the curve of your ass giving him some much needed relief against his erection. Shamelessly he rolls his hips up into your ass, palming your breasts and soft stomach underneath your tshirt. You stir after one particular nudge of his harness into your back. “Shane?” You whisper.
He shushes you, turning his voice into a human white noise machine. And even though the scratchiness of his face against yours should wake you up, the familiarity comforts you instead. “Shhh it’s just me. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.” A soft pat to your mound, and he lifts your knee slightly. “Just let me in baby, then you can go back to sleep.” A kiss to the side of your temple. His warm chest pressed into your back. The world is fuzzy at the edges and he cannot help but speak so softly to you, handle you with utmost care when you trust him enough to let your guard down as you sleep next to him.
Falling asleep in the passenger seat of his truck. The roads are long, and gently curved. The low hum of the engine lulls you into serene sleep. He takes the long way so you have extra time to sleep; and he has extra time to glance over at you slumped against the window. You had a big day, you deserve the nap, and he deserves to hold onto your knee a little longer.
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⤷ let's get a little rhinestoned .✦ ݁˖ shane maguire x reader
⤷ content tags are: alcohol and drug use, dubcon for the fact that they are both under the influence and he manipulates reader, pussy pronouns, making out, reader uses she/her pronouns, no physical description of reader, implied age gap, he is mean but reader is extremely into him
“What are ya drinking?”
The voice pulls you from your mindless tapping on your phone. The voice is deep, with the tiniest rasp. But mostly the voice sounds bored, already disinterested in what your answer will be, before you've even opened your mouth up to reply. You wipe your eyes, brimming with tears no matter how many times you insistently wipe them, and look up. In vain, you scrunch your eyebrows to make out the figure in the dim bar, and through the haze of your watery eyes. The man is handsome, despite the arrogant smile on his face, grey strands at his temples catch the light off the dive bar's neon sign. His bulking frame hovers a safe distance from yours, but close enough to smell Tide on his tshirt. You wipe your damp cheeks, and notice a flash of white teeth as the man half smiles at you - he seems amused at your silence.
Oh, right, he asked you a question. Your head ducks down to the glass, then up to the bartender expectantly.
“Vodka soda” the bartender mutters from over his shoulder.
“Vodka soda” you repeat. You swirl the drink, and the medicinal smell wafts at the motion, burning your already bloodshot eyes. You unconsciously wrinkle your nose.
“What, you don’t like it?” He sits on the bar stool next to you, setting his sweating beer down with a thud. "Are you even old enough to be drinking here?"
You bristle. Did he come over here to chat you up or to ridicule you? It was beginning to sound like the latter. "Um yes I am old enough. Jus' never liked the taste of alcohol, I guess" Your lips feel loose, you notice, and immediately you push the glass away from you. You shake your head, and look up at the man. His gaze is fixed on you, as targeted as a hunter's, but expression unreadable. You continue, "I dunno. You’re supposed to drink liquor when you’re sad right? To drown your sorrows?”
“You can” he shrugs, and reaches into the front pocket of his flannel shirt. He pulls out a neatly rolled joint, and holds it between you. A peace offering. “But I’d rather smoke mine”
Instantly you perk up, posture changing into something a little more hopeful. “Oh!” You wipe the remnants of snot from under your nose “Why didn’t you just say so?" You hop off the sticky barstool, and trail behind the man across the dive bar.
"I'm Shane" he says, as he holds the door to the bar's outdoor patio open for you. You pass under his arm, and tell him your name.
It's a clear California night. The mountain air is crisp and more stars are appearing in the sky with each passing minute. You gaze up at them as Shane sits beside you, lighting the joint, and taking the first hit. He passes the joint to you next, and asks "So? Boyfriend troubles?"
"Ugh" Your shoulders slump as you inhale, choosing your next words as you blow out. The weed is sweet, not too skunky (which you hate), and the smell reminds you of a pine candle you have in your apartment. "Ex-boyfriend now. He is no more. All of his clothes and things are in the dumpster currently. It all happened when-"
Shane holds his hand up to stop you. "I don't need the whole story, sweetheart."
"Oh" you breathe, and pass the joint back, his warm fingers brushing yours. "Well you asked." A prolonged pause, then you add. "The moral of the story is that he cheated."
Shane sighs, and takes a slow hit of the joint. The smoke curls into the cool, night air. "Want me to shoot him?" He offers.
A small laugh escapes you. It's raspy from the snot left in your throat, but it still feels good. Your veins buzz warmly and you hold out a grabby hand for the joint back. "That's so sweet. Thank you. Let me think about it."
His callused hand rests on your knee. How long has it been there, you wonder, stroking the tiny, soft hairs of your thigh?
"You cold?" he asks.
"A little" You admit, pulling your jacket tight across your torso, and take the last hit of the joint. You're stoned now, that familiar feeling of disconnected bliss ripples through you. You scoot closer to him on the bench, so his jeans press against your bare knee. Honestly, you can't tell if you are truly cold or just covered in goosebumps from the way Shane's finger tips graze your thigh. Your nose presses into his shirt, the pine tree favored weed and now more of the Tide smell makes your head feel as light as air.
His hand is basically on your ass on the walk to his truck. If you had called him out on it, you bet he would deny it - say he was just guiding your lower back. But you felt him palming your ass. The weed makes you contemplative but quiet. You're just focused on the sounds and sensations you feel; thoughts and worries all fading into the background. There's the thudding of truck doors, and being instantly warmer inside the cab. Shane pulls you onto his lap, spreading your legs over his makes your skirt ride up, which annoys you. But then you're making out - rough stubble scraping your chin and lips. His tongue tastes like beer as it roughly probes yours. His hands feel rough, but warm on your thighs. Suddenly, you pull away with a wet pop, clumsily wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You've opened your mouth to speak, but now the words have completely left your brain.
"What, sweetheart? Too stoned to talk?" He teases, pinching your warm, tingly cheek.
"I think I was going to say that it feels good."
"You don't have to stop to say that. 'Sides I can tell. You're dripping on me."
"No I'm not!" you blurt indignantly, squirming in his lap. Your glassy eyes widen at his comment, but he just chuckles softly.
His hand cups your damp, cotton covered mound to still you "Poor thing's cryin' more than you were earlier"
At the contact to your clothed cunt, you whimper. It's like the nuisance buzzing in your center has finally been quieted by his touch. It's a relief, but you could use a whole lot more of it.
"I know, sweetheart. I know. Poor thing." He mutters, guiding your jaw up so he can kiss you again. Teeth and scratchy stubble soothed by saliva. "You don't have to say anything. I know."
Farm work was hard, but having Shane at home made it so much easier. It wasn’t just that he managed to take care of household tasks with an surprising level of efficiency, it that he had a way of wanting to be with you that gave more than it took.
Like on a Thursday night in spring. Your body ached from planting, and even after an extended shower you still felt like there was dirt engrained in your pores. Your nails were broken, lips chapped, skin covered in seven different levels of farmers tan, but still Shane looked at you like you were the hottest thing alive.
Before Shane, sex could often feel like a chore, an obligation, something that had to happen to avoid pouting or a fight. It was energy you had to spend at the end of an already exhausting day. But Shane would just pat his lap as he sat on the couch after dinner and let you collapse into his arms.
There’d always be something playing on the TV, some gridball game or a movie that came out a decade ago. It never mattered. What mattered was how it felt to sink into Shane’s hold. You’d straddle him, lay your face in the crook of his neck, feel his heart beating beneath his stubble and skin. You’d melt by degrees, his hand wandering up under the back of your shirt, his thighs shifting to help you fall deeper in.
And sometimes that’d be it. No sex, very little talking, just Shane holding you while you let your body recover from what you put it through day after day. It was safe, comfortable, undemanding: just you and the person you loved, together in a way that made sense.
But sometimes the shifting of Shane’s thighs would grow a little more pointed, and you’d lift your hips up so he could pull your clothes down your thighs. He’d use his fingers first - teasing, readying you - and then he’d help you lower yourself onto him. He’d hold your hips as you sank down, encouraging you as you stretched around him (that’s it baby, just like that, fuck, you feel so good, just go slow, you got it, feel so fucking good for me…)
And then…
Nothing.
Just you. Just Shane. Just the two of you connected. He’d wrap his arms back around your waist, let his lips rest on the side of your neck, and go back to watching his show. As the minutes passed you’d feel yourself sinking even further into relaxation: hips loose, eyes closed, hands resting on Shane’s sides. There was nothing you needed to do, no work to be done, just rest and connection.
The two of you could stay like that for long enough that you’d lose track of where you were. It’d have to end sometime, though. Sometimes, if you were up for it, Shane would help you move, pulling your hips back and forth as you’d grind on top of him. Sometimes he’d roll you over on your back and do the work himself.
Just as often, though, you’d find yourself drifting off with him inside of you. On nights like that, you’d blink your eyes open to find yourself being carried to bed. Shane would always laugh off your apologies, brush away any attempt to open yourself back up to him. (You couldn’t even stay awake long enough to get to bed - you think you got enough left in the tank to handle me?) Instead, you’d find yourself pulled into his arms, spooned up close as sleep found you again.
It’s why you had the energy for the work you chose to do, you figured. It didn’t matter how much effort poured out of you and into the fields. When the day was over, Shane would always be waiting for you, and the time you stole to spend with him never felt like labor.
icky step uncle Shane stealing reader's panties and dress when she goes for a swim in the lake....
ughh he so does that and watches to see the confused/worried look on your face when you get out the lake. watching you look around for your dress every where but it’s gone.. tip toeing into the back door with your hands doing a poor job at covering your naked dripping body, unaware your step uncle is watching you the whole time with a bulge in his pants.
shane acts clueless when you ask him an hour later after you got clothes from your room, if he had saw any dresses or undergarments around the house. nd he uses them to jerk off, spilling in them all messily like a perv
