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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"Bullshit!"
"It's true."
"There's no way it's physically possible."
"Of course it is."
Fifteen minutes after watching the latest episode and you and Norman are still arguing heatedly and more than a little drunkenly about what you've seen.
"You're full of it," you yell at him, sloshing wine from your glass as you wave it in his direction.
"C'mon, I'll prove it to you," he yells back, grabbing the glass from your hand and setting it down on the coffee table. He gets to his feet, swaying a little and pulls you up with him where you crash into him, nearly sending you both back down onto the sofa before he steadies you.
He pulls on your hand, towing you after him through the kitchen and opening the door to the garage. He fumbles for the light switch as you shiver beside him, the cool air inside a contrast to your warm house, making you tug down on the bottom of the oversized t-shirt you stole earlier when Norman took it off. As the stark, fluorescent lights suddenly spring into life, you see goose bumps standing out across Norman's bare torso and you have this overwhelming urge to just pull him back inside the house and warm him up. Let him win the damn argument, you think, it's not like you're really fighting about it anyway, it's all in fun. But he pulls on your hand, leading you across to where his rental car is tucked in beside your beat up ride, same as it is every weekend. He leaves his more conspicuous vehicles at home, preferring, for your sake, to keep a low profile during his visits to your home, showing up in a non-descript rental car instead.
He lets you go, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his sweatpants, pulling them down just far enough for you to get a tantalizing glimpse of his happy trail as he searches for his keys, just that little bit too inebriated to find them without digging around. With a triumphant grunt, he pulls them loose from his pocket and starts stabbing at the buttons on the key fob until he finds the one that opens the trunk and pops the lid.
"See?" he says, crossing his arms and smirking at you.
"See what?" you reply, mocking his stance. "Like I said, there's no way two grown-ass human beings could comfortably fit in the trunk of a car."
"Pffft," he huffs, waggling a finger under your nose, "I'm telling you, Em and I both fit in, no problem and they shut the lid on us."
"Bullshit, I know you used a cut-away trunk."
"For some of it, sure, but we also used a real car."
You skeptically raise an eyebrow at him.
"Goddamit, woman, I'll prove it to you."
Before you can stop him, he's clambered into the empty trunk, curling himself in on his side and looking up at you expectantly.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asks, holding out a hand to you and beckoning you in.
