This book has imagines about Norman Reedus and his characters.
I take requests. I will wright any kind of story you would like.
I also do smut. So be prepared there will be smut in this book.
I hope you enjoy!!
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Guns, guns, and more guns. The Saints were back in business, and it turned out business was good. Handling weapons all day left a metallic smell on my clothes, my hands, even my hair smelled like gunpowder. I tied back the thick, bouncy mahogany curls I'd been cursed with, and continued sorting the display cases and putting away ammo packs. Half my body in a cabinet, I jerked up when I heard the doorbell ping, smacking my head on the roof of the cabinet.
"Shit!" I hissed, slipping out of the cabinet before I rubbed the back of my head. And by God, there they were; The Saints themselves. "Yer brother 'round?" Connor asked, cocking an eyebrow at me. "Nope. Just me. What can I get you boys?" I had the unbearable urge to wash my hands, the smell of weaponry making my stomach churn. "Jus' some ammo." Murphy shrugged. "And rope." Connor added. "You an' yer stupid fuckin' rope!" Murphy looked at Connor, smacking his arm. "Every time I get rope, y'fuckin' need it anyway!" Connor smacked Murphy right back, and they began to curse at each other in such thick accents I lost complete track of what they were saying to each other.
"Boys!" I shouted, putting my hands up and over the counter, snagging their arms by their midnight black jackets. "Aye. Sorry." They apologized in unison, but only Murphy made eye contact.
I swallowed, hard, as a small sideways grin crept across his face. I cleared my throat and looked away, because his blue eyes weren't cold. They weren't the eyes of a heartless murderer. They were eyes of a man of good faith, a belief in something better than the world we'd been given. And, to be honest, the warmth they held was burning a hole right through me.
"Just step in back, grab what'ya need. You know it's always free." "Thanks, Iris." Connor stepped around the counter, patting my shoulder.
The MacManus brothers rarely went anywhere without each other, but I'd caught Connor speaking to my brother here alone during the early morning hours. Usually checking to make sure the police force had covered the tracks of the ammo that was mysteriously disappearing without purchase. And of course, the FBI had looked the other way on the matter as well.
I heard them bickering about Connor's rope and Murphy's six inch blades, and I giggled. I went back to stocking the display cases, after all we were technically closed today. Church and all. The boys usually stopped by after church, their beautiful crucifixes hanging proudly in sight. I'd never seen them without them. It must've been a bout fifteen minutes before they scared me again, repeating the same stupid action of bonking my head on the cabinet roof. This time, though, Murphy grabbed my arm when I backed out of it.
"Y'all right?" He asked, hand still around my arm as I rubbed my head. "Sure am." I replied, looking up at him. He was a little over three inches taller than me, and it was all too easy for our eyes to connect again. "Ye.. Ever feel like goin' for a drink? I know a place, 'round the corner." Murphy quickly let go of my arm and wiped his palm on his jacket, like we were third graders and I had cooties. I giggled. "Sure."
