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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You open the door to Travis' loft with the key he gave you and call his name. There's no reply which is strange as he was supposed to be home and the place looks deserted. You stand there for a minute, debating whether to leave or not, as cold rainwater drips from your hair down inside the back of your jacket. You shake your head, sending droplets of water cascading around you and decide to at least dry off a bit and wait out the rain before you leave again. Maybe Travis has just gone out to get smokes, forgetting you were coming over, and he'll be back soon.
You head into the apartment, smiling at the eclectic mix of furnishings and art decorating the place. You've only met Travis' roommates a few times but they seem pretty cool and they've made you welcome here. The door to his room is closed and, when you open it, you're surprised to find him lying on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. He's wearing his paint crusted coveralls, pulled down to the waist, with an equally paint stained t-shirt on top. His feet are bare and you can tell by the paint smudges on the top of them that he's been creating wildly again with no regard for himself or his surroundings.
Your heart flips as he lowers his arm, blinking his sleep deprived eyes, as he tries to focus on you. He smiles his crooked grin at you as he rolls into a sitting position and fumbles on the bedside table for a cigarette.
"You're all wet," he observes, talking around his cigarette and waving a finger at you as he searches for his lighter.
"No shit!" you reply, walking into his bathroom to get a towel.
You take off your soaking jacket and hang it up, standing in the doorway to towel your hair. You're aware of Travis' intense gaze watching you from the bed. Satisfied your hair isn't going to drip anymore, you hang the towel back up, running your fingers through your damp locks to loosen any tangles.
"So, how's the project going?" you ask him.
His face darkens, brow creasing as he scowls, looking down at his feet. Your heart sinks a little. You know he's been struggling with whatever he's working on and you miss your happy-go-lucky Travis, with his nervous laugh and the way he blushes when he stumbles over his words. It took a long time for him to let you into his world and, while you've seen his mood swing when he's creating, you've never seen him in such a dark place before.
"Can I see it?"
You regret the words as soon as you say them
"See it?!" he spits, stubbing out his half-finished smoke in a shower of sparks. "See it? It's a fucking mess, Klar, why would I ever want you to see it?"
"I just thought..."
"You thought what? Huh? You thought fucking what? You know... maybe you should see it, see what a failure I really am."
