moved.

#vengefultouch is a study in determination and perseverance. You can call me Annika and I am over 25. I will only follow blogs who are 21+. 

Oryan Johnson is an FBI OC who can fit into any fandom.

Memes are a great way to start an interaction.

“No,” he breathes out, leaning in closer once again. Eyes locked, lips turned into a small but mischievous smirk. “Jus’ the ones tha’ wanna ‘rrest me.” This is too much fun. Playing with her, a cop, the other side of the damn law. If just she wasn’t so beautiful and smart. If just he wasn’t drawn to her.

He picks up his glass again, drinking from the beer, but keeping his gaze on Oryan the entire time still. “Why don’t we…forge’ ‘bout work for a bi’?” Eric suggests with a tilt of his head to the side. “Jus’ be ourselves, without this bloo’y ‘I’mma ‘rrest ye ‘cause me stupid boss told me ta’-thing? Jus’ us. A few drinks. A bi’ talk. Start from the beginnin’ - two strangers who met a’ a bar.” The smile turns sincere before he extends his hand to Oryan. “I’m Eric.” Again. “I’m from Oireland, bu’ if ye want me ta - I can be from America, too,” he continues in an accent-free voice.

her eyes roll so hard, oryan fears they’ll pop out of her head. But it does little to diminish the smirk on her lips as she takes another sip from her glass. Liquid burns and flushes her cheeks. Oh, she is about to walk down a very, very dangerous road. If her bosses found out....Who is to say Eric isn’t using this as a ploy to get her guard down and take advantage? To murder her in her sleep or steal her case files? Fuck it. She thinks.

That last comment earned her a bemused chuckle. It was like something out of a Tarantino film. The sexy assassin. He had to admire her stateside vitriol. Any English police officer would have served him a witty insult back and shared a good laugh with his colleagues over  the soft toff in the suit wandering haplessly into trouble, allowing the whole thing to fly right under their radar. This agent, by contrast, seemed to have taken up King Arthur’s sword and mantle and wasn’t going to lower her hackles by a single inch until she got to the bottom of this. Which was indeed bad news for Sebastian - given that he was entirely responsible for it. The last thing he needed was an FBI agent watching his every move.

As she paced the room with cool aloofness, Sebastian watched the woman with an intense curiosity, trying to fill in the blank spaces of a mental schematic of her instincts, her movements, her emotional levels and what expressions they correlated to. It wasn’t looking good for him so far, and it was difficult to work out a battle plan. Safest to play the peace-loving idiot for now and hope she swallowed it.

‘What is it with Americans and guns…’ he murmured, shaking his head. ‘You’re overreacting, Rambo. Everyone’s overreacting. They were probably journalists, they ran me off the road to try and get a comment on my brother’s last assassination attempt. I’m the only one in this god-forsaken family who hasn’t been threatened at gunpoint. Now can we at least go home? I want a drink, and the horses need bringing in. You can bring the bloody AK47 with you.’ He stood from the sofa edge he had been perching on and made towards the door.

she looks at him with a dubious expression. No way in hell he’s that dumb. Sure, Oryan’s heard of journalist doing crazy things for an interview. But those who ran you off the road? They wanted you killed. So unless those assassins were poised as journalists, it’s the only way she can draw any sense from Sebastian’s comment.

Ignoring the Brit, going back to look out the window, she huffs. “What is it about you Brits and gun ignorance?” She shot back. “It’s called the Second Amendment and this,” Oryan peers over her shoulder, pointing to her hip, “is a nine millimeter. There is more than one type of gun out there.” She rolls her eyes before continuing her vigil. 

Hues drop to her phone, checking her messages. Still no word from the office. She needed an escort. Oryan wasn’t sure she could move Sebastian on her own. Not with at least two armed men out there.

“Look, go out on a limb of good faith here, okay?” Sara asks, feet already carrying her backwards, leading the other towards the back of the building. “We’ve got all the time in the world. We’ll make this right.” The Waverider materialized into view for Oryan once they were in the clear, the bridge opening up for them to enter. “After you.”

@vengefultouch continued from here

she isn’t gun or trigger happy, but when something appears out of thin air, Oryan reaches for her gun, safety off, ready to shoot. “What the hell?” she questions, looking at Sara and then the space ship. No fucking way. As if her red flags were not already raised, they’re sky high now.

the vampire leans forward, vixen’s smile on her lips. “You’re nervous,” she purrs. “Don’t be.” Tinkling bells fill the air as Oryan laughs. Pulling back, she leans against the countertop. “I promise this isn’t meant to be an intimidating interview. I just want to get to know you. Your likes and dislikes. To see if you’ll be a good fit for my staff.” A staff which is non existent at the moment. But Ophelia doesn’t need to know that.

Silver dress ripples like water as she glides through the room. Every pair of eyes turn to her, envious and curious. Oryan can’t help the smirk on her full lips, tongue darting out to wet her flesh. So many beating hearts. So many fluttering pulses. So much....arousal. Were she a younger vampire, it would be intoxicating.

Stiding to the bar, she orders a vodka on the rocks, ignoring all the eyes that stare at her. Save for one pair. She locks eyes with a woman and smiles.

Delicate fingers twist around the ruby red flame, watching it jump from pad to pad. Parlor tricks to ease the monotony of her mind. But even that grows tiresome.

Finding that she no longer wishes to be stagnant, Oryan impulsively flees her proverbial nest, mounting her motorcycle and speeding off into town. It’s the closest she can get to actually flying. A chance to ease the pressure of the world.

City lights, pedestrians, and buildings fly by. She goes recklessly fast, ignoring any signs of caution or protesting passerby’s. It’s a thrill, really. A chance to live on the edge. With murder no longer filling that lust in her heart, Oryan has turned to alternative measures.

Pulling up along a cobble road, parallel with the beach, she dismounts and walks along the sandy shores. It’s quite tonight. Still. Until it isn’t.

Commotion draws the vampire’s attention as she blends with the shadows, creeping forward. What is going down by the waterfront?