Wanted by The Wanted | ✔️

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Hey! To the side are all of Avyn's piercings and 'accessories'. She also has a tongue piercing which is a black stud but I couldn't find a picture of one without cringing. Oh and I think I'm addicted to cat scratch eyebrows, they just look so cool. And damn, that hair. So jelly.

OH, DON'T STEAL MY ISH, I DON'T STEAL YOUR ISH, OKAY?

Question: Jelly or cake? Cake for me :)

Anyhoo. On with the chapter. Please enjoy and hit that little star to make him happy :)

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:| A V Y N L U N A V E R |:

"You're a fucking wimp," I scoff at the unamused piercer as she pokes a needle through my ear for my third helix piercing, "That doesn't hurt at all."

She sighs and rolls her grey eyes, putting the needle down and inserting a simple, silver ring. While she begins drawling through the speech of how to clean and take care of it (which I have heard at least 1002 times already), I space out and glance at myself in the small mirror opposite me.

"If this piercing rejects, come see me again. You're lucky you haven't pierced your tragus, they look fabulous but some people have some wacky stories about them rejecting," the piercer finishes, picking at her blood-red nails after removing her gloves.

"Whatever, thanks," I shrug at her before leaving the confining room, finding myself in the main corridor.

As I'm leaving, my eye catches the screams of terror resonating from the television screen above the counter. I look up and see a man frantically reporting a story, eyes struggling to pinpoint on the camera as he hurries to speak, "I-I'm at the scene of the crime with Mr J-John Brookens, please sir, how do you think this h-happened?" he stutters out, pointing the microphone st a tall man with gelled hair and large glasses.

"I assure you, everything is fine, everyone is safe and this will not happen again. A.C.R.E will not get away with this mur-"

The guy standing at the reception area switches the television off just as a red warning sign begins to flash on the screen. I glare at him, "What the hell? I was watching that!" I seeth as he pushes the matter aside, "Whatever, we're closing up now. Get outta 'ere before you stir up some unwanted trouble."

Baring my teeth at him, I walk out, muttering under my breath as the squeaky door slams shut behind me, trapping me outside in the cold. I walk down the street, sleek leather jacket pressed against me in a feeble attempt for warmth. Looking around, I notice that most people have fleed in an attempt to escape the cold.

"Losers," I roll my eyes - it's hardly ever cold here, only glaringly hot, and when temperatures finally drop below zero, people complain?

"Did you just call me a loser?"

I pause my hand which was reaching into my pocket and direct my attention to the rest of the street in search of the silky voice. No-one's there.

"I'm here, idiot," the now-infuriating voice snaps as I turn to my right to see a grumpy-looking man leaning against a lamppost.

His hands are shoved in his pockets, eyes concealed by his low-hanging hood.

"Well I wasn't talking to you," I bite back, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from my pocket and removing one while I walk away sassily, mood soured.

When I'm about to cross the desolate road, he calls out with an unimpressed tone, "You look not a day older than sixteen. You shouldn't be smoking."