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please enjoy this random, self indulgent, incredibly stupid little thing I wrote over the past few days. i am in no way a writer, just a bitch who thinks there is not nearly enough shane walsh fanfiction out there. hope yall like it :)

my girlies are tagged at the end. ♡♡♡

(dont feed this into any form of ai engine or repost to another site thank yew)

Come Back With A Warrant

Shane Walsh x Reader

No use of y/n

very dumb, very fun.

neighbor!shane/asshole!shane

You hadn't lived there long, a couple weeks maybe. Enough time for you shove your boxes of belongings into the small living room and stack them up haphazardly against the wall, wrinkling your nose at the prospect of unpacking them everytime you walked past.

They haven't been touched, they just sit there, irritating you everytime you head out the door for work. Yet you still don't open them because you're lazy. Unable to care too much about anything inside your shitty little rental. And its all his fucking fault.

Shane fucking Walsh.

He lives directly opposite, you even share a damn porch. Its utterly unfair, you'd saved for years for this. Broke your back and fucking cried yourself to sleep just to finally have a place of your own. Somewhere to rest, relax. Fucking wind down after another bullshit shift.

That was too much to ask apparently, fate has other ideas for you.

He's a cop. An angry one at that. Always snarling and kicking his boots off as loud as he can, the noise of them hitting the porch deck makes you wince as you curl up on your sofa, slugging back cheap wine and trying to decompress from a long day.

The walls are thin, made with cheap plywood, hope and underpaid labour. You hear everything, always.

He talks to himself all the fucking time, ranting and raving about any god forsaken thing that pops into his head at any given moment. His tv is always turned up to the highest volume, you know more about football than you would fucking like to thanks to him. He's mean, angry, and downright rude every time you bump into him when you leave for work.

He sneers at your polite greeting the day you move in. You're all fingers and thumbs, dropping your keys a few times and apologising profusely for bothering him as he leans against his doorframe, shirtless with his brows raised like he can't quite believe he actually has a neighbor after all this time alone.

"Im so sorry! I just moved in today, I hope im not disturbing you."

"Darlin' you could disturb a fuckin' deaf man with all that damn racket your makin'. Key goes in the lock girl. Not on the goddamn ground hm?"

Safe to say, the interactions only devolved from that point on. He would scoff when you came back late, a tired look on your face from dealing with the public, a stain on your shirt from some asshole who thought tossing a soda at you would make you move quicker.

"Is yer fuckin' machine broken girl? Lookin' a lil nasty right now. Not real professional of ya sweet cheeks."

"Oh eat shit deputy. Ya shoot any fucking innocent people recently? Seems like your bag."

And then you'd stomp inside, slamming the door so hard those fucking stupid boxes rattled against the wall. The sound of his mocking laughter ringing in your ears for the rest of the night.

It spiralled almost instantly into a war the next day, and he really had nobody to blame but his own goddamn self.

His chosen victim was a potted rose bush, a small thing, barely even flowering yet, situated outside your door and apparently slightly too close to his own side of the porch deck for his liking. You clicked open the door, breathing in the soft scent of the newly budding roses, smiling to yourself as you leant against your own doorframe, sipping coffee and enjoying the morning peace.

"The fuck is that shit?"

Or not.

You tip your cup toward him, squinting in the morning sun and giving him a look.

"Good morning to you too deputy. And this? This is coffee. Are you mentally deficient?"

His eye starts twitching, he's splayed out on the shitty wooden bench on his side of the deck, scowling at your new plant. Glaring like its personally offended him.

"Don't be fuckin' smart girl. It don't suit ya. You know damn well what the fuck im talkin' bout."

You shrug, adopting a serene expression and sighing into your coffee. Goddammit you will enjoy this morning, he is not about to take that from you.

"Its a plant. Its got flowers on it. Its on my side of the deck. What is your problem?"

His boot starts tapping on the wood as he leans forward, gesturing at your side of the porch as a whole. His shirt is open. He looks good. You refuse to notice.

"My problem is alla that shit. You, yer fuckin' plant. Those dumbass boxes your ass ain't unpacked which i can see through your damn window when I walk by everyday."

Blinking at him as he rages at you like a rabid dog, you sip your coffee again and hum, purposefully ignoring everything he's just said to you because riling this man up is wildly entertaining.

"Are you not used to the concept of a neighbor deputy? I can explain it to you if you'd like? Real slow, i'll even use small words."

He stares at you for a full minute, unblinking, fingers twitching on his thigh. You stand there, eyes wide with mock innocence, slurping coffee and refusing to budge an inch. He finally scoffs, kicking off the bench and stalking inside his own place. Muttering to himself as he slams the door shut.

You grin, victorious, finishing the dregs of your drink and heading back inside. Getting ready in double quick time because they've stuck you on a double shift at the last minute and of course this would happen when you finally found some fucking peace of mind. Heading out the door, you pat your little plant as you pass on by. Cooing at it for a job well done as you leave for work with a skip in your step for the first time in a while.

When you get home that day, the rose plant is gone. And there's an empty beer bottle with a cigarette butt inside it, sitting in its place. The butt bobs around in the bottle, floating in the leftover drops of beer as you come to a complete halt on the porch.

He stole your motherfucking rose plant.

Your own eye starts twitching now, and you can feel a frustrated scream bubbling up your throat. Forcing yourself not to yell, or scream, or fucking break his door down because he would most definitely fucking write you up or arrest you just for the fun of it.

Hes standing in his kitchen at his window, grinning at you and looking far too pleased with himself, it makes your jaw ache and your head pound.

Oh, it is on asshole.

The next day passes in the same fashion, you go to work, you get pissed off and have multiple items of produce launched at your head, you arrive home tired and annoyed, no rose bush in sight, just that stupid fucking beer bottle with a lone butt inside. Mocking you.

Also, no Shane throwing his weight around. Just his boots, tossed haphazardly across his doormat and the faint sound of the tv rumbling from inside his apartment.

You blink at those boots, tilting your head as a very very petty idea comes swimming to the forefront of your mind. He deserves it really, after all, he fucking started this.

Jackpot baby.

That evening your sitting peacefully on your shitty little couch, sipping a glass of white wine and crunching on the ice cubes while you stare at the stack of boxes. Trying to muster up the energy to finally unpack them, frowning at them like they weren't placed there, and then fully ignored by you for the past couple weeks.

Your door bangs so fucking violently you just about shit yourself. Wine sloshing out of your glass and soaking your pajama shorts. Dammit.

"Aight you think yer fuckin' clever huh? Real damn cute sweet'heart. Open this damn door, and gimme back my fuckin' boots."

You grin to yourself, sauntering over to the door and sliding it open to reveal an incredibly pissed off Shane. He's in his full uniform, gun belt clipped on and everything. Except he's barefoot, which is hilarious and totally ruins the intimidating vibe he's obviously going for.

"Your boots? What boots? Only thing i see missing is my plant. Stealing is a crime right deputy? Should I make a report? It was expensive after all."

You widen your eyes, and he scoffs again, placing his hands on your doorframe and crowding into your space. Your eyes flick down to his bare feet and you cough out a laugh. Biting your lip to smother it while his jaw ticks like a bomb just waiting to go off.

"Lemme tell you sumthin' little miss. You got exactly ten fuckin seconds to gimme my fuckin' boots back. I ain't know nothin' bout no damn plant aight? Ya hearin' me girl? Git fuckin movin. Now."

You sigh, again. You do that alot when he's around. He really brings out the worst in you. But you dont back down, slugging back the last of your wine and stepping up to him so your toe to toe. Literally. Does he not own socks or something? Strange man.

"I have no idea where your boots even are deputy. Maybe you shouldn't keep leaving them on the porch overnight. So shall I file a report about my plant then? We could do a joint one, im happy to come down to the station with you."

He runs his hands over his head, laughing once under his breath and nodding, before he stalks back into his apartment. Thinking thats the end of it you turn to head back inside, only to have your name called as a very angry, very handsome, barefoot sheriff's deputy slams your rose plant back next to your doorstep.

"Ain' nobody filing no reports girl. Now go git my fuckin boots 'fore I let myself in an' tear your shitty little place apart."

Well. Thats unexpected.

He stands there, tapping his bare fucking feet against the the decking as you try your absolute hardest not to burst out laughing, nodding sagely and trying to look contrite as you point upwards.

He stops tapping, stares at your finger, looks up at the porch roof, then back down at you with an expression on his face thats so fucking comical you almost break. Almost.

"Ya put my fuckin' boots on the roof. On the fuckin' roof."

You grin, a full blown, wide, cheek stretching grin. Rocking on the balls of your feet as his brain short circuits right in front of you. Raising your hand, you start ticking his offences off on your fingers, one at a time.

"You stole my plant. Your mean to me all the time for no fucking reason. You watch your stupid football games too loud and your barefoot on my side of the porch. Yeah they're on the roof. Happy climbing deputy. Don't break your legs."

Then you skip back into your apartment. Cackling like a madwoman when you hear him start to cuss to himself, the wood creaking under his weight as he no doubt starts climbing up the trellis to retrieve his stupid boots.

Asshole.

It seems to calm down for a while after that, your rose bush flourishes happily on your side of the porch, you've put cute little fairy lights up over your doorway. And, just for fun you bought a cushion with the words 'i am an asshole' printed right in the centre.

It lives on his bench now, he scoffed when he first saw it, shaking his head and tossing it at your door while he stomped his way inside his apartment. You put it back immediately, and now he uses it to rest his elbows on when he cleans out his guns after work. The lone beer bottle has been painted (by you obviously), and has become home to his bore brush for some reason.

You voted for more flowers. You were ignored.

"You should quit that fuckass job girl. Ain't bringin' you nuthin but stress and a damn stank face when you walk your ass up my porch."

The shift had been incredibly shitty today, and he was in fact correct. Your face was doing something that made him stop cleaning out his pistol and frown at you. Gesturing to your shirt, which, again, was covered in something sticky that would take at least three wash cycles to remove.

"I have rent to pay deputy. We can't all be public servants like your fine self."

You plop down next to him on the bench, staring vacantly into the middle distance and contemplating the merits of a sick day. Several sick days. A sick month in fact. Shane stares at you, jaw ticking all over again because you just sat down on his fuckin bench like you had a right to be there what the fuck is going on.

Instead of shoving you off, or kicking your ankles which he would usually do until you rolled your eyes and left. He just sits there, his eyes drilling a hole into your head as his gun sits forgotten on that stupid fucking cushion you forced on him.

"Nah. We not doin' this girl. Yer quittin that damn job. Damn near killin' yourself every night and fer what huh?"

You blink at him, half asleep and feeling so fucking done with everything that you don't even remember to hate him properly. Its exhausting anyway. You plonk your head into his shoulder, and then groan out loud. Sounding a bit like a dying animal. Because he's right. And its annoying, and he's so fucking attractive and he smells good and your loosing your mind right now.

"I really, really fuckin hate my job Shane."

"Yeh girl. I can tell. Ya happy there? Cuz I tell you what, ya start droolin on me and your ass is gettin' launched over the damn railing darlin. Promise you that right now."

You grin into him as grumbles, adjusting his weight and slinging an arm over your back and grabbing one of your legs. Hitching it up over his thigh so you're basically half in his lap.

"Not a word dammit. I ain't wanna hear one fuckin word ya hear me?"

And sat there, half in his lap, basically dead on your feet and covered in sweat and other bullshit that you can't even name, you feel at peace, a weird type of peace. But its nice, calming. You almost drift off right there on his shitty bench while he plays with a strand of your hair.

"Girl first thing in the mornin' you're unpacking them fuckin boxes do ya hear me? Goddamn things blockin ur window, can't see shit from your kitchen."

Then with a quick shuffle, and a strange grunting noise from shane, your tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, squealing and laughing as he kicks open the door to his apartment.

"Girl imma give you sumthin' to get real loud for in a minute. Been pissin me off since ya moved in. Goddamn menace. Fuckin boots on the roof...."

(This entire fic is dedicated to my freak bitch bbyg wifey melly @scrmqwn I love you girl. ty for letting me yap at you for months now, I hope u like it, shaney is an asshole and we love him for it ♡♡♡)

(Big shoutout and many hugs to my girl @houndofsevenhells for proofreading this for me and just generally being a lovely fuckin friend ♡♡♡)

(Final tag for the frankie fuckin queen herself miss helly @hellilovedit thank u for boosting me up so much in the dms, if not for u I would've ditched this whole thing and trashed it. i hope the wait was worth it bby. ♡♡♡)

#jon bernthal #shane walsh #shane walking dead #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction

Hiii I have a question, are you ever gonna reveal who is the father in the Matt x reader x Frank fic?? Please ignore my question if you don’t know yet or simply don’t wanna answer!! Thank youu🫶🏻

Hiiiii! I don’t plan on revealing it! I’m honestly not sure who it is. Even from the get go I never made a definitive decision. And all three of them love their baby and don’t care. So it shall remain a mystery!

Judex, Judicum, Infantem

#frank castle #matt murdock #frank castle x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #charlie cox #the punisher #jon bernthal #matt murdock x reader x frank castle #frank castle x reader x matt murdock #fratt x reader