the couch creaks softly under the rhythm of your movements. shane lies beneath you, his breath coming in slow and controlled. his free hand finds yours where it rests on his chest, fingers intertwining loosely - holding on without clinging too tight. his hips lift slightly to meet yours as your walls flutter around him.
the silence between you is electric, broken only by the soft sounds of shared breaths and skin slapping. shane stares deeply, half-lidded, watching you with intense eyes, focused on the way you're squeezing him tight. you move above him in a slow, steady rhythm. his hands rest on your hips, guiding you up and down, soft groan escaping him when you sink down deeper.
"god... look at you.” his voice comes low, rough around the edges - the kind that makes your pulse jump. his hands slide up your back beneath your shirt, thumbs tracing gentle circles just above your spine. each touch sends a shiver through you as you feel goosebumps all over your body.
shane’s control finally snaps - his hands tighten on your hips as he lifts you slightly, then pulls you down hard with a low groan. the rhythm becomes rougher, less measured. the couch creaks under the force of his thrusts. every movement is sharp and urgent; his breathing turns ragged, forehead damp with sweat as pleasure builds fast and intense.
the tension coils tighter in your stomach, each movement sending sparks through your nerves. shane’s strong hands guide you just right - up and down, steady and sure as he watches every flicker of pleasure on your face. soon enough your breath hitches; fingers clutch at his shoulders for balance as the wave crashes over you - quiet cry slipping out before you can stop it.
shane feels the way your body tenses then shudders and he doesn’t slow. Instead, his hips snap up harder now, chasing his own orgasm. a quiet grunt escapes him when you grind down just right. he tilts his head back against the cushions for a second, eyes closing at the sensation, then they snap open again to lock onto yours.
when it hits him - waves of release crashing through - the sound he makes is muffled against your shoulder where he buries his face. he holds you flush against him through it all, pulse racing, heartbeat loud in both your ears. shane’s arms wrap around you loosely as you both catch your breath, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath your cheek.
after a long moment of quiet, he presses a kiss to your temple. "you're perfect." the words hang between you. he doesn’t say anything else after - just holds you closer and rests his chin against the top of your head.
shane maguire x fem! reader | 18+ headcanons, 2k words.
cw | explicit material, p in v, oral, degradation, rough sex / manhandling, dirty talk, outdoor sex, salirophilia / messy sex, hair pulling, slapping, erectile dyfunction . . . possibly more. shane is a dirty man.
nsfw material below.
shane isn't a picky man but i get the vibe that he's more of an ass and hips man. that's not to say he doesn't enjoy a nice rack (he definitely does!) but he likes having a little something to grab. along with that, he'd like it if you had a little more meat on your bones.
shane loves being able to hold onto your hips as he has you bent over and watch as your ass bounces with each thrust. he'll grab a nice handful before slapping your ass, grinning as he's able to watch it slowly grow redder with each smack.
he almost always wants to be on top. his favorite positions are ones where he can push you down and press his weight on you. enjoying how it feels to be able to manhandle and push you around.
most nights, he wants to fuck you in doggy. he'll pull on your hips to make you meet his thrust or grab your hair and pull your head back so he can force you to look up at him while he takes you roughly.
other times, he'll start out in doggy but then force his weight down on you. pushing your shoulders down so only your ass is up while he tells you that you look like a bitch in heat. or pinning your whole body underneath him while he thrusts deep into you, brushing hair away from your face while he sucks marks onto your neck and shoulders.
he loves when your hips jerk or you unconsciously move your hips forward from being overstimulated. it gives him the chance to grab you and pull you back towards him enough that he's deep in you. whispering in your ear, "don't you run away from it. fuckin' been asking for it all day."
shane is very much into degrading and teasing you. he loves calling you names, mocking you for being so needy and willing for him, making you repeat what he says so that you degrade yourself, make you ask or beg for things he knows your shy about. he's mean when he does it too.
as i said before, he also loves being physically dominant. his favorite positions are always where he's in control and can manhandle you around. he'll grab you roughly, slap your ass and even your pussy so you whimper for him, pull your hair, spit on you or in your mouth, and he thoroughly enjoys putting you in a headlock. he likes for things to get messy!
his absolute favorite though is mocking you for enjoying it all. some of the stuff the two of you do would make a, as he puts it, 'normal woman' slap the shit out of him (which you still do & he appreciates that) but instead you moan and curl your toes. he loves to point it out because then he gets to watch you squirm half with embarrassment and the other half arousal.
"look at you. you're all fucked dumb and still grinding on me like a little slut. slap you around and get you all whiny but you still want more. just a greedy little cockwhore, huh? bet you'd let me do anything to you, that's how desperate you are. your even clenching around me right now. like when i make fun of you? fuck's wrong with you? good thing i'm willing to put up with it, huh? you'd go crazy without me."
while shane loves being dominant, that doesn't mean he needs you to submit to him. he likes when you banter with him and give him a taste of his own medicine. tease him and be rough back. grab him like you own him, call him a dirty old man and mock him like he does you, bite his lip, try to push at him and slap him. he'll take it all in good fun and he'll respect you more for it.
shane loves to randomly grope you. it happen so often that it basically becomes a part of normal affection. some boyfriends hold hands and hug their girlfriends, shane fondles your tits and swats your ass. he'll come over to give you a kiss and let his arms come around you so that he can start squeezing your chest only to walk away as if nothing happened.
some of his favorite times to do it are when you're doing chores. you're trying cook up dinner and he's coming up behind you to squeeze your ass while he compliment how the food smells. you'll be vacuuming and bend over to grab something, only to feel his hand lightly smack your ass while he lounging on the couch.
if you complain he'll tell you that it's "what you get for bending over in front me," or "i'm just trying to how my love for you, baby, thought that was what you wanted."
shane loves when you go without a bra or underwear. part of it is because of the above, makes randomly groping you more fun. whenever he's feeling you up and notices he'll get this massive smile across his face. whether it be realizing that you don't have on a bra or sliding his hands up your dress to find you bare.
he loves it in other situations too. i could see him even jokingly telling you that it's just more natural for you not to have them (or any clothes, he'd love that too) on. a cold breeze will come through and your nipples will harden, showing through your shirt. shane will make no effort to hide how obviously he's staring at them with that wolfy grin of his.
regardless of how he figures it out, he's going to be pulling you close soon after while he talks about what a naughty girl you are. sliding his hand under your clothes and kissing you. slowly pushing you to the nearest surface or the ground if there isn't one around.
"you know how much i love when you don't wear nothing underneath. i think you love it too. that's why you keep giving me easy access, yeah? want me lose control, don't you?"
and when you nod your head, telling him yes with a little smile. he can't help but smile back.
"mmm, yeah? i knew it. my slutty baby. just as much of a nympho as me, maybe more."
he's got no qualms about fucking outside. it's probably his favorite place to do it, actually. shane will take you on the ground and let the grass stain his clothes or push you against a tree for something solid. he's nice enough to rub lotion onto your scratched up skin afterward.
seeing you in camo and hunting clothes really gets him going. especially if you're capable outside. he likes a capable woman and the clothes being sort of frumpy plays into it for him. because then he get to pull them off of you and start to really see your body.
shane is a very natural guy and that absolutely extends to how he feels about you shaving down there. shane loves a nice bush. he actually prefers it to you being completely shaven. it does sometimes get in the way when he's down there doing his thing but he won't complain. if you ask for his opinion, he'll tell you to keep some down there.
with his age and also how much he drinks (and maybe smokes?), i feel like he'd struggle with not being able to get it up sometimes. which is something that he does not take well. unfortunately shane is absolutely going to get embarrassed and yell, and probably even blame you, if you try to comfort him over it. he sees it as you babying him. it'll take a very specific approach to get the night back on track and for him to give it a second chance.
i feel like if it was a long lasting issue that he might try something like viagra. he wouldn't tell you about it though, feeling like it would be him admitting to it being a problem. he'd just take them and hope you didn't comment on it.
he has no problem being open about what he's into or asking you to do stuff with him. even when he knows most people would find it nasty. shane is a very honest and confident person, if you don't want accept how he is then you're welcome to move on. we are who we are, after all.
shane likes when you wear your hair in a ponytail or braids. he's the kind of gross that he calls pigtails or double braids "handlebars". anytime you're hair is up like that, he can't resist giving your hair a little tug with a dirty smile on his face.
he'll love it if you wear it like that when you suck him off. that way he can hold onto your ponytail and control how fast or deep you go. if you don't have your hair up when you start, he'll gather it up in his hand as if you did to pull on it.
in a way, he likes fucking your mouth more than you just blowing him. he'll be holding your hair and bring his free hand behind your neck to hold you in place before he starts thrusting into your mouth. telling you to look up at him while he fucks you face. he likes being able to control if he makes you gag or not.
there is very little you could do that could turn this dirty man off. the only thing that really comes to mind is trying to have an emotional, vulnerable conversation with him. that might work.
shane isn't just a dirty guy when he's camping. he loves for it to be messy in bed too. he loves seeing you get visibly sweatier and dirtier as you become more fucked out. he wants to see your hair getting damp or sweat dripping down. saliva and spit stuck on your chin after you go down on him. shane can't help but find it sexy when you have tears on your face too.
but his most favorite thing to see on you is dirt. we already established that he likes a good outdoors fuck but he wants to see it on you too. mud and scratches on you knees after you've been kneeling down to blow him. grass stains and dirt on the back of your shirt from you laying down for him. the more covered in it you can be, the sexier he finds it.
there's one time where the two of you went at it hard. ending it with the both of you filthy. your hair bogged down from sweat and dirt everywhere. mud slathered all over your bodies. dirt on your side of your face and leaves stuck in your hair from when shane pushed your head against the soil while he fucked you. he looks no better.
he regularly thinks about it as the hottest you've looked to him. the two of you ended up washing off in a nearby lake, you letting him clean your body as his cock slowly stirred for a second round.
*: ꔫ :* thanks for reading! use the link below if you'd like to see more of me <3
homepage.
we all know how bad shane likes silly bottle beer right, what are we thinking about shane fucking you in missionary, a single leg dangled over his shoulder while he holds down the other to reveal ur clit, and when you’re being whiny and bitchy his hold his the bottom of the coooollldddd bottle to your clit as a warning!!!!!!
oh my goshhhh he’s so mean I love him
he was literally taking his sweet time to fuck you too, holding one of your legs to his chest with one hand while the other brung the cold bottle to his lips for him to take a swig of. but every time he would take a drink he would stop thrusting :(
it was making you so annoyed cos he was basically edging you without realizing, his cock just still in your needy pussy because he’s too focused on his beer. so now you’re crying and squirming around so the older man will pay attention to you..
“shanee.. go faster! you’re going too slow!” you whine repeatedly, grinding your hips on him so that he’ll reach your gspot, and you could hear him grumbling above- taking his last swig of the liquid before looking down at you.
you were startled when he bent down to put pressure on your thighs, he spread them wider and wider till your stretched hole full of his dick was exposed :( 
shane rubbed your clit in little circles that had your head falling back on the pillows, “mm keep d-doin that..” left your lips in a short lasted ecstasy which made him laugh to himself. he pressed the bottom of the cold beer on your cunt out of no where and it made you jolt from the bed with a yelp. “stop y’re bitchin before I give you something to cry about bambi..” he barked, he doesn’t let you move or anything. forcing you to feel the cold chill of the glass as you try your hardest to escape.
and he’s pressing the bottle all over your soaked pussy, it feels so foreign and weird, and shanes thrusting into your sloppy hole again so your whole lower half was just making you squirm. you’re all babbles now— almost incoherent mumbles about how you’ll behave and stop whining! but he probably doesn’t stop even when you swear you’ll stop complaining, he makes you cum from that like the mean guy he is.
⤷ 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."
and while we’re talking about erectile dysfunction I’d like to pass the spotlight to mr Shane Maguire. god he would be the worst about it. unlike Dex, Shane would be so embarrassed and frustrated if he couldn’t get it up. like, zip his pants up and storm out of the room frustrated. he does not want to talk about it. he flinches from emotional intimacy like it’s a hot pan and he is never, ever vulnerable with you.
so getting him back into bed after he’s failed to get hard is like coaxing a mutt into your arms while his haunches are raised. he tries to play it off like he doesn’t care or like it’s your fault and he’s mad at you, but it’s actually dredged up some insecurity in him and you have to walk a fine line to get him through it. not mocking him, but not being so careful that it feels like you’re babying him.
just being gentle but firm as you lead him back to bed, kissing him, grinding on him, taking it slow and letting him see that you want him and he makes you feel good even if he doesn’t get it up. you grind on his thigh until you come and he realizes how nice it is to see you fall apart like that, desperate and needy on top of him while he remains clear-minded and in control. if he doesn’t get hard, you still had fun together. if he does, you show him as much patience as he needs, without any pressure.
it’s intimate and tender in a way he doesn’t know what to do with. he won’t say it with words, but you know you’ve wormed your way into his heart when he wraps you up in his arms and presses soft kisses into your hair when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.
Summary — You’ve been dating Shane for awhile. Somewhat long distance. But you go out to Yosemite for some research for your ecology thesis.
cw: implied!younger Shane (late 20s / early 30s), reltionshop is described as ‘seeing eachother’ and that’s it, reader is getting their masters degree, gn!reader, fluff, no explicit sexual content …
1.1k words !
Forty-five minutes.
You counted.
Not intentionally at first. The realization simply dawned on you somewhere between Shane explaining the advantages of one rifle caliber over another and his lengthy opinions on proper sight alignment.
By minute thirty-two, you had started keeping track. By minute forty-five, you were beginning to wonder whether it was physically possible for him to run out of things to say about firearms.
Apparently, it wasn't.
"And that's why bolt-action rifles are better for consistency," Shane continued, stepping over a fallen log without missing a beat. "People get obsessed with newer models, but half the time they're sacrificing reliability for—"
You nodded absently, crouched beside a cluster of vegetation. The notebook balanced against your knee was significantly more interesting than whatever Shane was currently rambling about. It was background noise to you.
You were in the middle of collecting data for your master's thesis. Specifically, you were studying the relationship between forest regeneration patterns and herbivore browsing pressure in post-fire ecosystems. A topic that fascinated you and bored almost everyone else to tears. Including Shane.
Yet somehow he had spent the last forty-five minutes following you through the woods while simultaneously conducting what felt suspiciously like an unsolicited seminar on hunting.
You glanced up long enough to watch him gesture dramatically with one hand. The man was genuinely passionate about this. It made something warm form in your chest, that was almost embarrassing.
"...and people forget that trigger discipline matters even when the weapon isn't loaded."
A pause. Then Shane finally noticed you weren't paying attention. His eyes narrowed.
"You hear a word I just said?"
You looked down at your notes. "No." You said shamelessly.
His jaw dropped. "You weren't listening?"
"Mm-mm.” You shook your head a bit, more focused on writing.
"I've been talking for almost an hour."
"I know." You sighed.
"You know?"
"I timed it." You said, dangling the stopwatch you kept in your pocket out in front of him.
The offended look on his face was immediate. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
“Now that’s just rude, sweetheart.” He tsked.
"No, what's rude is explaining firearm safety to someone who's trying to work.”
"I was keeping you entertained." He said, a sleazy grin appearing on his face, leaning against the tree in front of you. Shane looked entirely too pleased with that explanation.
“Keep telling yourself that.” You muttered, rolling your eyes. God. He was impossible.
You returned your attention to the plants in front of you, carefully recording measurements and observations.
The area had experienced a moderate wildfire several years earlier, making it an ideal site for studying recovery patterns. You were halfway through documenting a patch of young saplings when Shane crouched beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched.
"What're those?"
You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow then speaking, "They’re obviously saplings." You that cocky tone in your voice Shane loved to shut down.
"Don’t be a smartass."
"They're juvenile ponderosa pines." You added on, ignoring his comment.
Shane nodded thoughtfully. Then pointed toward another cluster.
"And those?"
"Trees, Shane. Those are trees.." His expression flattened. You smiled sweetly. Shane immediately reached over and flicked your forehead.
"Ow." You muttered. Shane’s laughed, the kind that echoed through the trees. Warm The sound always caught you off guard. Most people assumed Shane was gruff. An asshole. Too egotistical for his own good. Which was all true, but his laugh. That never reflected any of that.
You hated how much you liked it.
"You deserved that." He finally spoke.
The realization annoyed you enough that you returned your attention to your notebook. For approximately thirty seconds.
Then Shane started talking again.
"...and another thing people don't understand about hunting—"
You groaned. Loudly. Then you two started walking again, you were semi-present for this one, nodding and humming.
The conversation finally died when Shane spotted movement through the trees. His hand shot out immediately, catching your wrist before you walked any farther. Shane crouched behind a cluster of shrubs and gestured for you to follow. You sighed but complied, lowering yourself beside him.
"There." His voice dropped automatically. Quiet. Focused. Almost professional. You followed his gaze.
A deer stood in a clearing roughly eighty yards away, ears flicking as it grazed lazily among the brush. Without hesitation,
"Okay," he whispered.
You already hated where this was going.
"Now, first thing—"
There it was. The lecture. Again. Shane carefully unslung his rifle, eyes never leaving the deer. "When you're lining up a shot, you want to—"
You reached for your own rifle. Shane didn't notice. "—keep your breathing steady. Most people jerk the trigger because they're nervous—"
You checked the safety. "—and your stance matters. A lot of people think it's all in the arms but really—"
You adjusted the stock against your shoulder.
"—it's about balance. You want your weight distributed evenly and—"
"Shane."
"What?"
"Shut up. I know what I’m doing."
"No, trust me, sweetheart. Hunting isn't like reading one of your little textbooks."
You stared at him. He kept talking. Completely oblivious.
"Now watch. You line up the sight like this, then you account for distance, wind conditions, terrain—"
"Shane."
"—because if you don't understand trajectory—"
"Shane." You repeated, louder this time.
"What?" The irritation in your voice finally made him look over. You were already aiming.
His eyebrows furrowed.
"Why are you holding it like—"
The shot rang out. The sound cracked through the forest. Birds scattered from nearby branches. The deer dropped instantly. Silence. Complete silence. You lowered the rifle.
Slowly.
Then glanced at Shane. Gauging for a reaction. Shane remained frozen.
"...huh." He blinked. Once. Twice. "You..." Another blink. "You've hunted before?"
You stared, then laughed. A genuine laugh. “Mmhm."
His expression shifted between confusion, offense, and disbelief. "How have we been together for eight months and I've never seen you hunt?"
You shrugged. "You never asked."
“Well Yknow, I assumed—"
"That I couldn't?"
"Well, yeah." The answer came a little too fast. You raised an eyebrow. Shane groaned.
"Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Anytime.” He said with a grin, then pointed to the deer. "You know, you just made an eighty-yard shot."
"Seventy-eight.” You corrected, a smug expression on your face as you put the rifle on your back.
Shane looked a little irritated. "Seventy-eight?"
You nodded, shrugging. “Yeah, I paced it.”
"Who paces distances?"
You gestured vaguely at yourself. "A scientist, jackass."
Shane dragged a hand down his face. For the first time all afternoon, he seemed completely at a loss for words.
It was wonderful. Absolute bliss.
"You let me explain rifle safety for an hour."
"You seemed excited."
"You could've stopped me."
"You seemed really excited." You emphasized.
Shane groaned louder this time.
"You are never letting this go, are you?"
"No."
"Not even a little?"
"Nope." You said, popping the ‘p.’ You stood and brushed dirt from your jeans. Behind you, Shane stared at the deer, then at you, then back at the deer.
Finally he shook his head and laughed. "Unbelievable. You’re un-fucking-believable." He muttered, rolling his eyes. Smacking the back of your head
a/n : dividers by @/cursed-carmine … this is a soft launch into my ex-wife x Shane fic
the need for extra man power has you back in the yosemite, it's all too familiar--the trees, trails, the campsite you walk into, the man that looks like he has always waited for you to come back to him.
a/n: I told myself I wasn't gonna write for Shane, but I had this idea and I NEEDED to write it.
“Here comes good ol’ green jeans.” Shane doesn’t look. You don’t acknowledge him, “You happy?” He continues, you are stepping out of the bush, pushing aside a branch that is too low.
“Never happy to be back here.”
Shane scoffs, tipping in the last remnants of his coffee from a familiar mokapot like it isn’t twenty one hundred, “Ain’t talking about here and you know it.”
“Outside this park isn’t any of your concern.”
“Can’t ask my wife how she’s doing?”
“I ain’t your fucking wife no more.” You snap—he’s always known exactly how to push your buttons. “‘Kay wifey.” You’d kill him, but he’s never been too good at covering his tracks. Someone’d find him in a day or two—too little time to cover up. “Whatcha doing here wifey? Ain’t you SOU?” Your jaw is clenched tight enough to crack. You don’t bother to ask how he knows about your transfer—back when you had been married you were just in Cannabis enforcement. He darts a glance towards your dog, a familiar German Shepherd with a tail that doesn’t wag when she sees him.
She remembers, even if she had just been in training during your messy, drawn out divorce. “Coming to interrogate me ‘bout that girl too? Just a few hours after Turner too.” Turner, you slide a finger through the loop of your jeans.
“No, Maguire. I was called in ‘bout—” you cringed at how quickly you slunk back into familiar patterns of absorbing his lingo, “—about that girl, but just as help. Baile and I are.. good.” He had always known. It was just a matter of how often he acknowledged your skill (not at all.) He is staring down at the finger looped into your belt, too smug. You hate him, so you untangle your hand and try to focus on the sounds of the woods, rather than the heat of his stare—the knowing, as if maybe, maybe, you knew that at the end of the trail, it’d be Shane.
“Just passing through.” You add, noticing the way that Baile is alerting toward a smaller tent in the corner, a half-buried backpack you don't recognize inside. It's a small gesture, the way her ears are standing at attention and she can't seem to turn away, even when her eyes are darting at Shane, cautious of a man more animal than her.
He tips some of the coffee back, edge of his arrogant smile making you want to smack it out of his mouth. “Right by my campsite.”
You walk past, wordlessly, past the stump of a tree with a bullet hole in, darting a glance inside the tent but unable to make out details ads you're prepared to disappear back into the forest. The only tell of movement is Baile’s growl—a thin, rather weak noise that you’ve always joked is why she isn't for bite work. Then Shane’s rough hand is grabbing your wrist and you are swinging around with a right hook that he barely avoids, but doesn’t let go of your wrist.
Age looks good on him, you think. He has always looked best under the stars, might’ve been ‘cause the dark hid the ever-present arrogance. You were used to men like him. Once it didn’t bother you.
Might’ve been that the moonlight made him look otherworldly—half his face obscured, the wetness on his lips glistening and reflecting stars, well, you had always had a curiosity for what was on the dark side of the moon.
You never knew why you ended up with Shane. It could’ve been timing, the perfect storm of you both being fresh out of the Army and struggling to adjust, leaning into familiarity but you knew why it ended—always choosing a slightly different path: Ranger and Green Beret, Wildlife Management Officer and Game Warden, stewing and leaving.
“Your boyfriend is so cute.” Kassandra whispers, conspiratorial as her sweat slick arm presses against your own bare one, her warm skin bright to the point of almost glowing against your colder one.
You look over towards Shane, glowering against the wall of the bar—eyes never leaving you, ‘supposed to be protective but making you look as out of place as you feel. “Thank you.” You don’t break eye contact, voice raised—not enough to be a shout despite the rowdiness of the crowd mixing with the music that would’ve made it understandable.
You just want your next words to carry, “He’s a rescue.” Kassandra is laughing, airy and lightly draping over you like a summer cover-up. Shane doesn’t look amused. He never is. Just go home.
“Get your hand off me ‘fore you lose it, Maguire.” His grip tightens, never one to back down from a challenge. There is something in his eyes, something that isn’t remorse—a man like this can’t feel something as paltry.
You could remember a time that his world might’ve revolved around you, you could remember a time when his undivided attention was a prize to be won, how poignant that you seem to be his focal point when you no longer want it.
“Going ‘round at night when there’s a killer out there.” Shane is shaking his head, sounding disappointed but still unable to take his eyes from you.
On the worst nights of your failed marriage, you thought how easy it would’ve been like to put your glock to the back of his head, how easily your marriage could’ve been if you shot his brains out and analyzed his every thought, then shoved the messy pieces back in, took a stapler to the wound--no more dancing around the issue, no more of his silence and inability to apologize or process his emotions.
You felt that familiar urge now, trigger finger twitching with the force of your want—a congealed, pulsating mess inside your chest. “A killer got my wrist caught.” His jaw clenches, he is a coiled spring waiting to launch against your face—it’s all too familiar.
It’s all too easy to fall back, so you use your free hand to pry his hand off you—it lifts easy, Shane knows he’s already pushed you to the point that you’d beat his hand off if he didn’t.
When you are too far out to punch him, just far enough that he is half obscured by the forest and you can only make out pieces of his torso, some of his pants and the loose way his hands rest at his side, his mocking, bitchy voice is calling out to you “G’night Maguire.”
🛑Brothel settings, mentions of p****titute, drugged tea and stealing money as a business profession.
The whispers fell on deaf ears as you strode through the crowd, glances varying from affection to hatred.
A veil drapes across your face, leaving those alluring eyes of yours to any poor man who falls into your siren's gaze.
"A whore in broad daylight." A man crudely chuckles, rolling his eyes down your backside as you walk by.
He's right.
You're a prostitute, a temptress-
However, it was a con. A cruel assumption based on your origin but not your character.
It's true, the brothel is a grand portion of your life, raised by the ladies of the night yet being hidden from the real truth of their occupation.
Secrets couldn't be hidden forever especially a darling woman like yourself became the apple of clients' eyes.
No matter the price, the hostess never approved... although, she refused to miss an opportunity to make a profit.
In comes the bait-You, your role involves enchanting the eager client into partaking in the herbal tea.
You're unsure of the substance in the teacup. By observation, it smells like jade yet the color bleeds violet if it's butterfly tea.
As pretty as it seems-Madame Xiao warns you countless times, never fully explaining just saying enough to make you obey.
Fear drives away the curiosity.
-It's strong enough to knock out a man three times your size. What do you think will happen to you, my dear?-
Madam was right. Men large and small pass out all the same.
Most men often want you close yet you remain on the other side of the table. Distant and cold as you watch their Adam's apples.
-The bittersweetness slides down their throats.
One cup is enough. However, some men possess diverse palates.
"I don't like tea." The stranger whines, toying with the empty porcelain. "Got anything stronger?" His lips curl into a playful grin.
Three years. Three years of no change. Til a man draped in ebony attire with crimson accents, a handsome man paired with thick brows and a lethal jawline.
"Uh?Miss?" The man raises his brows. Your soft features charming from the moment he arrived-despite your beauty. He wasn't sure if anything was going on upstairs.... in your head.
You stumble, dumbfounded by an simple request; the steeping tea overflows the cup, saturated the table's silk cover.
The stranger's large hand slipped onto yours, taking the kettle off your hands. "Alcohol, miss?" he asked again, tilting his head up.
His limpid eyes sparkled with childish mischief.
To be continued 💕I hope you like the story so far. It's been collecting dust in my drafts.
