brass handles

BloodLust - VI (M)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Genre: Drama/Supernatural/Smut

Word Count: 2430

“Come in”

You took one last breath to calm your nerves before twisting the brass handle of the office door. The hinges creaked as you pushed it open, and you slowly began your advance towards the velveteen desk couch, which was turned around facing the ignited fireplace behind it.

Your footsteps were feather-like against the stone floor as you slowly approached the hunched figure in the vintage one-seater chaise. With the orange light of the fireplace, you could make out the features of his battered body. A cut adorned his bottom lip, another, red on his cheek. Rips were torn into the fabric of his blazer and shirt. His expression was stern and brooding as he gazed into the flames.

Keep reading

Not Your Fault

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Request: Can you do one with either sirius or draco, where they and the reader are pretend fighting, but they accidently kinda injure the reader? And the reader punches/injures them back and some stuff happens and then their first kiss?? Omg im so bad at explaining geez thanks

Originally posted by nellaey

Y/N ducks behind the couch, panting hard as she listens carefully for any signs of movement or the telltale sound of her best friend’s footsteps. Hearing nothing, she grins and pushes herself up, beginning to tip-toe across the room. Almost there… She stretches her arm, reaching a hand out and trying to grasp the ornate brass handle, but she’s pulled back at the last second. Letting out a loud squeal, she pivots in the person’s grip only to see the smiling face of Draco Malfoy. “Gotcha, love,” he says with a smug smirk, then pulls a laughing Y/N towards the fireplace.

Draco chuckles at her efforts to pull herself out of his grip and tightens his hold on her. “Is that all you got, babe?” Y/N pauses for a second and grins up at him, making his cocky expression falter, then wrenches herself out of his grip forcefully. Draco stumbles back in surprise as Y/N shouts out in victory. “Ha! I win, I win, I win, I –” “Not so fast, love,” Draco interrupts, then pushes off his heels and launches himself at the girl. As soon as he has her in his arms again, a tickle fight ensues, Y/N writhing on the ground letting out a constant stream of giggles and breathless curses and Draco running his hands up and down her body, a huge smile on his face. “Still think you won?” he asks, and Y/N says something that can’t be discerned at all through the rest of her laughs. “Hm… what was that, love? Couldn’t quite hear you…” Draco mocks. He starts tickling her even more furiously and Y/N rolls over in an attempt to escape from his nimble fingers. The minute she moves, however, there’s a sickening crunch and a loud gasp escapes her flushed face and wide open mouth. Draco ceases immediately and quickly moves closer, heart jumping in his chest when he sees the stream of blood flowing from Y/N’s head and creating a pool of crimson on the floor.

“Y/N? Y/N, love, answer me!” he gets no response from her and she flops around like a lifeless doll when he shakes her slightly. He looks around wildly for the source of the injury and glares at the bottom ledge of the fireplace when he sees large spots of blood dotting its surface. Scooping Y/N up, he disregards his wand, leaving it lying on the floor, and sprints towards the hospital wing.

Draco kicks the door of the large room open and the sound of it reverberates through it. The patients lying in the hospital beds scattered throughout the room look up in shock and Madam Pomfrey bursts out of her office, staring at Draco’s looming figure in the doorway. “Well?” he practically roars when nobody moves, making the poor matron jump. “Help her!” Then words efficiently spur her into action and she bustles over, dragging Draco to a bed and having him lay Y/N down. He does so incredibly gently, brushing her hair out of her face, careful not to jostle her head. He starts to pull a chair over so that he can sit with her, spend as much time with her as possible, but Madam Pomfrey practically shoves him away. She draws the curtains around the bed and as Draco makes to protest, she cuts him off with a stern, “She needs rest and I need space. You can see her later.” Draco stands still, completely shell shocked, staring at the light blue curtains as if he can see straight through them.

Eventually, the whisperings of the other patients get to him. He whirls around, shooting everyone a glare that silences them immediately, then begins pacing up and down the ward. He listens to the loud sound of his footsteps echoing around the room and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out thoughts of worst case scenarios. Please let her be okay

The sound of curtains sliding across a rod suddenly hits his ears and he runs towards the source, staring at Y/N’s face as its slowly revealed. “Is she – I mean, will she –” Madam Pomfrey cuts him off in a firm, but not unkind, tone. “She’ll be fine, Mr. Malfoy. She just needs some rest.” Draco sinks into the chair that he had pulled up before and takes Y/N’s hand, slowly stroking the back of it with his thumb and watching as her eyes slowly flutter open. She coughs a little, clearing her throat, but her voice is still hoarse when she speaks. “Hi, Draco.”

His heart nearly splits in half at just those two words, it seems, and he offers her a shaky smile. “I-I’m so sorry, love…” his voice trails off as Y/N shushes him with a smile of her own. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that right?” Draco shakes his head and opens his mouth in an attempt to protest her words, but Y/N jerks forward and covers his mouth with hers, swallowing whatever he was about to say. Draco and Y/N lose themselves in the kiss, Draco caressing her head lightly and tenderly, and Y/N gripping Draco’s strong wrist, holding them in place. Y/N pulls away, her head still spinning slightly, and Draco moves forward, mimicking her motions as if he’s drawn towards her, unable to help himself. Y/N gives Draco another sweet smile. “It’s not your fault.”

Dearest Cat,

You have me at something of a disadvantage, Miss Grant.  While you were able to survey the entirety of my bohemian studio from your place just inside my doorway and can now picture me writing to you in any number of places within my little sanctuary, I have only seen the library of your sprawling D.C. penthouse.  And while, yes, I can see you penning these letters in the leather armchair by the fireplace hearth, or at the creaky brass-handled desk in the corner, or even (dare I suggest it) on the overstuffed microfiber sofa in Carter’s little reading nook, is it too much to hope that there are other pieces of your home that have been privy to our correspondence?

The table in your (no doubt) gourmet kitchen?  The media room where Carter plays his video games and you catch up on all the latest with CatCo, penning your next letter atop your own embroidered throw pillow?  Wrapped in a blanket on the second balcony outside your bedroom?  I wonder.  Are there two pairs of glasses on your nightstand, or three?  Idle thoughts.

My handwriting is only Carter’s age, I’m afraid.  Krypton was entirely technological.  Writing was an antiquated lost art, relegated to what my father always called the “frivolous vocations of history and archaeology.”  He indulged my forays into art, but never taught me to write our language.  When I arrived on earth, Eliza spent hours teaching me my letters, helping me find just the right pressure so I wouldn’t tear the paper, break the pencil, dent the table.  And oh I loved it.  The way the slightest press of ink or lead or wax to paper left my thoughts behind.  The words felt tied to me in a way they never did when they could be tapped onto a screen.  I taught myself to draw Kryptonian glyphs and I wrote my name on every surface I could find, in English, In Kryptonian, in Arabic and Russian and Chinese.  I embraced technology easily at CatCo, because it reminded me of home, but my soul will always yearn for the curve of the C in your signature or the flourish by which you cross your T, if only because it ties me to Earth, my adoptive home.  Now you know the true secret of why I always insisted on staying while you signed all those documents.

I recognize the quirks in your characters too, Cat.  The way your letters flatten when you’re mad at me or curl a little on the ends when you drop your pragmatism and allow yourself to dream a little.

Your gifts are extravagant and heartbreakingly lovely.  Don’t think I don’t recognize the same model of outrageously overpriced Mont Blanc that graced your own desk throughout my employ with you. The way the ink soaks into linen pages bearing my name is an unexpected luxury I may never get fully used to.   It’s far too much, and I’m not worthy of such spoiling.  But, I know better than to tell you I can’t accept it.  Besides, I want it, which, of course, you already knew.  I’ll save the pen-chewing for dimestore Bics on my first drafts, agreed?

Now, I fear I must shift gears from this indulgence in the poetic.  If your security team is receiving legitimate threats on your person or your life, Cat, you must do as they say.  I don’t care if they cover the entire route from your office to the White House in bulletproof Kevlar canopies, you follow orders and stay safe.  Not everyone is as open to the presence of alien life on this planet as you and the President.  And you are a target now, whether you’d like to admit it or not.  You joke about me coming to protect you, but so help me Cat Grant I will be glued to your side if I hear so much as a whisper that you are denying your protective detail.  You brushed aside my protection once and it nearly got us both killed.  I won’t allow it again.

Stay safe.  Stay whole.  Stay unharmed.  It’s important to me, Cat.  So much more than you know.  When I see you, I promise I’ll tell you why, but until then, listen to the DEO, even if you still won’t listen to me.

Yours, etched in pen,


The True Companion

Manufactured either in the US or in France/Belgium c.1869~1870′s - serial number 204.
.32 cap and ball twin-shot cylinder, single action with spur trigger, brass knuckle folding handle, brass frame, blued cylinder.

A very streamlined version of Louis Dolne’s more famous Apache pepperbox, without the useless folding blade and with a noticeably slimmer profile due to its reduced cylinder capacity. There’s no way to know if that gun was a copy or a production of Dolne himself, but the lack of name and the use of a caplock firing mechanism indicates it might have in fact been an American production.


Cherry wardrobe with Shoji Screen doors. Cherry and Tasmanian Oak dovetailed drawers with carved walnut handles and brass inserts

This is the piece that I have spent the past 6 months working on.

Much time was spent on the design and how I envisioned this to be. I wanted this to be modular and able to change configurations, yet still be beautiful as a collective.

There are 3 separate pieces to this unit. A large one for hanging clothes with 3 accessories drawers. A mid sized one consisting of 12 drawers, and a small unit for additional storage.

Hand planing each board and joining them together by hand took a considerable amount of time. But I had to make sure they all look pleasing as well as are stable before moving on to the joinery.

The shoji screen doors too some time to get right. It was a tedious affair of tiny tenons and mortises. They needed to fit snuggly yet have just enough space for expansion and timber movement.

The rest of the time was spent on cutting the countless number of dovetails, carving the handles and eventually fitting the drawers. 

This is the largest piece I have ever built and I am so proud of it. I amaze myself at what I can make from this tiny space I have and this pushes me ahead to greater achievements to come.

Six alternative doors in your house

1. If you reach under your bathroom door, you may be able to extract a small brass handle recessed into its lower side. Closing the bathroom door and pulling the handle should enable you to open the door upwards instead of sideways, revealing a long dark chute leading down into the depths of the earth. This is the Sundries Disposal, a feature installed in most houses built after 1975 by order of the Global Mystical Court. Should mystical forces need, for whatever reason, to take over your house, the chute is intended to help them dispose of any of your fixtures and fittings that do not fit their taste or decorating requirements. We do not recommend venturing down the chute as it is our understanding that the goblins at the lower end did not agree to have avocado bathroom suites dropping on their heads at regular intervals and are somewhat irate about the matter.  
2. If you can get into the right dream, you should be able to find that door in your hallway; that is, the one that leads to the top floor of your house, the floor that is only there in dreams. The contents of this floor may vary, but do try to get in when the library is in residence. It has a fine collection of books that their authors only ever dreamed about. Sometimes that door leads to a lift instead. Do not, whatever the temptation, take the lift downwards below the bottom floor of your house.  
3. If you lever the skirting boards of your house away, you may sometimes be able to discover doors used by the little people. Whether these are readily discernible or not depends on just how little the little people in your house are, as well as how fast they are at removing doors. In some cases, doors used by the little people may also have been repurposed by use for the very little people. If you open a little people door to find a host of smaller doors behind it, it is likely that your house has very little people. Be sure to leave gin out for them in the summer, when they are in danger of evaporating.
4. Many sofas these days have vents into an alternative universe located at the far end of the crevice down the back of the seats. This is a hygienic measure, designed to save your living room from the unpleasant odours that can arise from crevice crumbs. If you take apart your sofa, you may be able to widen these vents into a passable orifice. This is one reason that sofa disassembly and recycling is usually recommended to be done by a qualified technician. The alternative universe is, however, rather nice at the time of year if you do not mind getting covered in crumbs.
5. If you remove all the doors in your house and put them in a big pile with some sexy music playing you can sometimes get them to mate. Be sure to provide any pregnant doors with a warm, safe and dark environment. Once they have whelped, the baby doors will distribute themselves around your house. Baby doors usually lead to cupboards, but you may often find one or two upstarts which open onto secret passages instead.
6. Is there a door in your house that you and all the other inhabitants and visitors have been ignoring? You know, because it leads into hell or has been enchanted by an evil fairy or is behind that elephant in your living room or something? Think really hard about this. Ignoringness is the sixteenth superpower and is tremendously hard to beat. However, if you can defeat it then you too can bask in the knowledge of the horrors lurking within the heart of your home. In fact, if you have an elephant in your living room it may well be standing there precisely so as to hide the door. Elephants do this a lot. It is part of their wider service to a world they love.

A cased English vermeil desk set for an officer of the 6th Dragoon Guards
circa 1869

In the form of an Albert pattern officers helmet for the 6th Dragoon Guards, the Carabineers; white silk plume; the top hinged for the inkwell, the lid with gilt-stamped blue silk lining with maker’s label, top stamped Manufactured by/R. Bruce/Silversmith & Jeweler 275 Regent’s St. S.W. London hallmarks for 1869 and maker’s mark E.H.S, Edward H. Stockwell. The whole mounted on a trefoil-shaped faux-malachite base with gilt beaded border, the pen receptacle flanked by two silver stands-of-arms, each composed of two Snider-Enfield carbines, a cavalry saber and a cartridge pouch; front with glazed compartment containing a miniature silver and enamel Indian Mutiny campaign medal. Complete with original blue baize-lined oak case with key, the top with folding brass handle.


Standard Arms Model G

Patented c.1906 by Morris Smith, manufactured by Standard Arms c.1909-10′s - serial number 7534.
.25 Remington three-round internal box magazine, long stroke gas piston semi-automatic or manual pump action, engraved brass handle - originally lacquered black.

A fancy and unusual ealry semi-automatic sporting rifle, betrayed by the lack of strength of its internal parts which turned it into a jam monster. It’s okay buddy at least you look good when you do it.


This was a very productive month, although not intentionally, but we’ve created many cool new items and this gauntlet is another one. Made for an a-w-e-s-o-m-e customer of ours from the US. The best designs always come when you work WITH the client. This was an outstanding experience. Thank you Mike!
Sorry for being a bit verbose, but i really want to explain in detail -
this gauntlet has wet formed knuckles and cuff. The arm part is molded as well to hold removable mild steel protective inlays. The dagger was fully hand crafted from scratch using mild steel with a brass handle and fits into a sheath. All parts are secured together using only authentic brass and copper rivets. Check out all the photos for more details.
Another variation coming soon, photos are almost ready.

Fun new words!

Choir: Trendy throat cult
Soccer: Toe ball run fun
Tennis: Netting the whites w/o fish
Orchestra: Rub dem string
Band: Too much brass to handle
Science: Do you even vape @erth
History: DED
Math: More like meth amirite
Football: fat man suit collide: voyage
Basketball: Swoooooosh
Theater: Lick a bum hole it for art
Lion: Orange loud fur
Marmite: Salt shit spread
Hippo: Fat water horse
Jokes: Giggle triggers
Halibut: Big ass swimmy swim
Justice: The Government Tries™
Baking: Lightly burned wheat substance
People: The cause of every problem
Legs: Supportive meat sticks
Bacon: Hot butt strips
Koi fish:Angry aesthetic swimmy swim
Oprah winefry: Loud bread enthusiast
Beyoncé knowles: Creative child namer
Chris Pratt: Funniest fried rodent ever™
Aubrey plaza: Pretends to be angsty
Jimmy Fallon: Small funny man
Ellen degeneres: Gay humorer
Jennifer Lopez: Not Jennifer Lawrence
Tyra banks: Tear a bat into pieces
Fork: 3 large ones all attached
Lamp: Hot and nice on a stick
Printer: Cumin out but I wanted it
Bread: Yeast on a journey
Corn: Smol yellow nuggets
Tree: Peekin out from dat erth
Florida: Gators in my ass
Billboard: Paper but not smol
Cup: Bebe bowl
Soup: Hot thick juice in a fat cup!!
Gucci: Gastroenteritis
Kate spade: Catty Spice
Louis vitton: Loose Vitamin
Ferrari: Ferris Oil
Anne kleini: Ankle Lime
Marc Jacobs: Microphone Jacket

The Teacher Named Daddy - Jimin (Smut)

For a lovely Unnie who sent me a request and a message a while ago, here you go @xxsaskia1xx 

You walked to your locker, feeling stiff and almost worried about this after school help Mr.Park had offered to give you. You grabbed your biology text book out of small blue locker, sliding the cold silver key to the left and removing it, the door successfully locking. You walked upstairs and along the corridor until you came to his class room, the brass handle was screaming out for you to open to door, so you followed it. “Oh Saskia! You made it!” Mr.Park spoke, a smiling appearing on his face at your appearance.  He had red hair, which framed his face allowing it to appear slimmer and evolve a cute fringe flick in there too. He was supporting a tight white shirt and a black tie, along with some black suit trousers and slightly pointed black loafers. He removed his circular glasses and name tag as he moved closer to your desk. “I love your hair colour, it really suits you” he said sweetly, “Thanks sir, It’s called cosmic blu/black” you spoke, enjoying telling him about your new choice of colour. “Any recommendations for me?” he said jokingly, “I think you’d suit orange hair!” you blurted out a little to quickly, like you’d been thinking about it. “Oh really?” Mr.Park said, shrugging of the misleading conversation. “Just a thought…” You said, attempting to hide your blush. “So what was the question you needed help with?” He asked moving closer to you, “This one, ‘Explain why the body reacts in different ways, depending on situations.” You spoke, reading the question to him, he moved closer. “Saskia, I’d like to show you an example of this…If you’d allow me?” He questioned, you had no idea what you where getting into, but you had admired this man since he started working here, so you nodded your head as you gulped. “Stand up for me” he spoke, you both stood up. “turn round” he spoke, you turned to your back was now towards him. You felt his arms snake around your waist, you shivered at the close contact, you had dreamt of for years. “Now,” he whispered sensually in your ear. “If I where to peck small kisses onto your neck” He spoke, as he began kissing, “and say… I added in a bite” He said biting your neck slightly, making you jump slightly. “See, a reaction, now if I where to…here” he said trailing one of his hands to your breast, earning a moan from you. “Another reaction.” He spoke sensually, “Do you get it yet? or shall I keep going?” He asked, whispering in your ear You knew it was so wrong but you where love sick and needed a release. “K-keep going…” You stuttered, attempting to find your lost breath. “Now lets see this, close your eyes.” He said sternly, you immediately done as you where told. “Imaging me, laying you across this table, kissing every inch of your body, as my hands massaged your boobs, then I slowly remove your, little lace panties, before sliding one of my long, thick fingers into your dripping heat, imagine me moving faster and faster, adding more fingers and curling them to his the perfect spots, imagine once you’ve orgasmed me using my tongue to clean every inch of you up, then imagine me stretching you out, like you’ve never before experienced. Imagine feeling yourself fill up around me, as I thrust into you with all of my strength, making you orgasm over and over and over until you struggle to walk for a week or even more.” He whispered in your ear, heating your body up like never before. “Now shall we see if that got the reaction I expected?” He asked as he trailed his hand under your skirt, he slid a flinger deep into your folds, sliding your lace panties to the side. Pulling out you saw a clear/white residue on his finger. “As I thought” He spoke, as he tool his finger into his mouth, tasting your juices. You shuddered at how much this man turned you on. He spun you round, lifting you up so you where perched on one of his desks, he walked away from you, turning the lights off and locking the class room door, the light of the sun giving you just enough of a light to see each other clearly. He placed a hand on each of your closed thighs, gently moving them open and standing inside them, he took his hand up to your face, stroking your cheek lightly as you looked him in the eye. He began to unbutton your shirt, popping the small white buttons, one by one, slowly revealing your lace white bra, making your bust look fantastic. He then removed the shirt and tie from your body, starting next on your skirt, he pulled on the elastic hem, dragging it down slightly, just enough before it fell all by itself. He pulled your shoes off, followed soon by your thigh high socks. There you where, sitting in front of your teacher, who you had crushed on for years, in your lingerie. “God, you’re so beautiful” He said, trailing his hands from your shoulders to your thighs. He leaned in for a kiss, which you gladly accepted, it began with small pattering of pecks on your pump lips, he then trailed his hands to your waist, of course your hands snaked around his neck pulling him closer. He began opening his mouth into the kiss, so you followed along, once he could feel you soften sightly he slid his tongue from your bottom lip, into your mouth as you tasted every part of his. After the long make out session he began trailing kisses down your cheek, then along your jaw line, getting lower to face your collar bones and lastly the tops of your plump breasts. You moaned into his shoulder as he bit down on your new found sensitive spot. He kisses further down, going to unclip your bra. “You need to loose some clothing before we continue” You spoke, with sudden confidence as you pulled his tie off, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his deeply carved six pack. Followed by an indescribable V line. “Like what you see baby?” He smirked, beginning to kiss you again. Unclipping your bra. He began to massage your breasts as he kissed you, he removed one hand and placed it on your thigh, gently trailing it up and down, getting closer and closer to your heat. He lay you back, as he slid your soaked panties off, “You have to be very, quiet or we’ll get caught” he said, you nodded towards him, he slid a finger over your folds, feeling you twitch under him, he slowly slid a finger in, twisting and curling it, you began to groan softly. “Shhh baby, quiet time” He spoke again, kissing you in an attempt to drown your moans. He added two more fingers, curling round, hitting your sensitive spot, you could feel a clenching sensation in your stomach. “Wait, Mr-“ “Daddy. It’s daddy when we’re doing this he said. “D-daddy, I feel something” you said, never having felt an orgasm before. “Its normal, just let that feeling go, cum for Daddy, Princess.” He spoke as you released over his fingers. You tipped your head back, relishing in the magical movement. “Now lets get you cleaned up” He said leaning down, bringing your legs over his shoulder as you seen his red hair disappear in between your thighs. You felt his plump tongue inside you, he tongue caressed your walls, making you shudder and stifle a moan. He leaned closer, whispering into your ear “I’ll pull out before I cum” sending chills down your spine. He undone his belt, followed by his zipper then finally his boxers revealing his hardened member, large and throbbing. Begging for its release, he slowly slid into your tight walls, making you quiver. Once you had adjusted yourself to his size you gave him a nod, telling him it’s okay to move. He slowly rode his hips gently into yours, creating a rhythm you guys began to moan, trying to remain quiet yet proving very difficult. He began to pick up the pace as you tightened around him. He let you release before, pulling out and cumming all over your stomach, you stammered a breath before he scouped the liquid from your stomach with two fingers, “suck it” he said. You looked at him questioningly before taking his fingers Into your mouth and tasting him, you know you should’ve hated it but it was as if all the thirst you had ever felt in the world had been quenched. “You’ll taste a little more next time princess. But for now, we should get you cleaned up and home.” He spoke handing you your bra, shirt, tie skirt and socks. “Yeah” you spoke, getting re dressed. “Saskia; I know it’s not much to say but; I do really like you and I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.” He said serious and sincerely “thanks Mr Park” you spoke; feeling strange about the name. “Call me Jimin out of school” he said happily. “Okay, thanks. Jimin.” You spoken as he fixed his tie and reapplied his glasses and badge. “Here’s my phone number, in case you  have anymore…questions” he said joking/sweetly. You laughed slightly walking over to the door and unlocking it. “So see you tomorrow? Third period?” You said smiling. “See you then Saskia” he spoke as you exited the room, walking down the hallway, thinking only about Park Jimin.  


The barrel is an unusually large 7-¾ inches long and the caliber is an impressive 50 caliber percussion. The barrel address reads in one line Deane, Adams & Deane Makers To H-R-H Prince Albert 50, King William St London Bridge. Given the extensive and beautiful work on the revolver, the long barrel, and large caliber one could conclude that this is undoubtedly a presentation to a Maharajah from Prince Albert to be used as a howdah pistol. The entire pistol features gold damascened beautiful and incredibly intricate koftgari decoration in the form of flower blossoms and vines. The cylinder features a repeating geometric patterns and swastikas. The grips are an impressive one piece relief carved ivory in the form of 19 lotus flowers. In the center of each blooming flower is a ruby set by a gold ring. The pistol is complete with an impressive mahogany case with a folding brass handle. Within the case is the most impressive compliment of accessories this writer has ever seen. Included are two boxes one larger than the other and lined with gold, a powder flask, nipple wrench, two screw drivers, oiler and cleaning rod. All of the accessories are outstanding carved ivory in the same likeness and pattern as the lotus flowers on the grip of the revolver. Accompanying this pistol is a copy of the Man at Arms Volume 26, number 4, 2004 which features this very pistol on the cover and described on page 54.
BBL: 7-¾ inch octagon
Gauge: 50
Finish: damascened
Grips: ivory
Serial Number: 1506

Unplanned Confessions//Dylan O'Brien

(A/N): Reader is Dylan O'Brien’s personal make-up artist and crush. What will happen when reader gets a bit too close for comfort?

Warnings: None :o)


**Dylan’s POV**

I stood against the dressing room door, debating whether to entire the room or not. As far as I know (Y/N), my crush and personal makeup artist, was waiting just on the other side of the door. Just the thought of her name made my heart race.

Finally it was decided, I would swagger in there–wait scratch that– just calmly walking in there would probably make me look like less of an idiot. I ran a hand through my hair before gently knocking on the wooden door. A muffled voice yelled something along the lines of “come in”. My sweaty hand reached out to reach the brass handle and slowly turned it.

“You don’t have to knock,” (Y/N)’s angelic voice announced as I entered the stuffy room. “It is your dressing room after all.” I looked over towards her, gazing upon her indescribable beauty. She was sat in the studio facing towards the door, the bright bulbs behind her gave the illusion of a halo. She really is an angel…

“It’s more polite…” I trailed off. My tongue felt heavy as the words left my lips. I mentally scolded myself and looked down at my feet.

“I suppose.” (Y/N) responded, rising from her seat. “We better get started,” she smiled, patting the seat. “Don’t want to keep everyone waiting.”

I approached the seat and sat down, the chair creaked loudly as I relaxed into it.

“We’re doing the ‘Void Stiles’ look today, right?” she questioned. I still couldn’t find my words, so I simply nodded. (Y/N)’s back was towards me as she was sorting through her supplies, mumbling softly. Her behavior made me want to reach out and take her into my arms, but I had to restrain myself. If only this girl knew what she was doing to me…

She turned back to me with a large fluffy brush in one hand and a small case of powder in the other. After twirling the brush in the powder for a moment, she pressed the soft brush to my face. Her face was in such close proximity that I could clearly see every perfectly imperfect inch of her face. I didn’t even notice my laboured breathing until she pulled away from me.

“Are you okay?” she asked, a worried look graced her face. I looked down at my hands to see that my knuckles had turned white from gripping the chair’s armrests so hard.

“Y-yeah,” I stammered, ”I’m fine. Just a little nervous to film today.” I lies scratching the back of my neck. Pull yourself together dumb*ss

“Don’t worry, Dyl. You are an amazing actor. There’s nothing to be worried about.” she assured. She closed the container and moved onto what I assumed was eyeshadow, but I’m no makeup expert. She began applying a red-pink colour around my eyes, extenuating the bags under my eyes.  I glanced in the mirror being slightly shocked at how crazy hungover I looked. At least it was just from the makeup, for the most part at least.

“I gotta say, you are looking fine,” (Y/N) joked, she giggled loudly. I looked at myself in the mirror once more.

I smirked as a line popped into my head.  “Are you looking at me or into a mirror?” I flirted, hoping to not come off to strong. The blush on her cheeks made me mentally applaud at my smoothness.

“Uh..uh,” she stammered, her cheeks were still quite pink. “You should probably get to the set.” Her response made me frown slightly.

“Yeah, I should probably go,” I agreed, standing up from my seat. I walked towards the door. As my hand reached out towards the handle, I felt the urge to tell her how I feel. I mean why not- randomly needing to tell your crush that you like them shouldn’t be too hard, right? “But (Y/N), one more thing,” I said, removing my hand from the door handle.  “There’s something I want to tell you.” I turned around to face her.

“Sure, anything.” she replied, running a hand through her hair. I could see a nervous look in her eye.

I swallowed deeply before continuing. Nope, nope, nope, I was wrong. This was a terrible idea, but now I had to do it. “Y-you probably don’t feel the same way, but I really like you,” The look in her eye heart dropped. I looked everywhere around the small room, trying to avoid eye contact with her. “Sorry, I just really had to get this off my chest. I’ll go now,” I apologized, running out of the room before she could say anything. I felt lifeless as I ran down the thin corridor.

“Wait, Dylan,” she shouted after me. I turned around to be met with her smiling face. “You didn’t let me answer dummy. I like you too.” I grinned widely before wrapping my arms around her. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I pulled her in closer and closer until our lips suddenly met. Her lips tasted faintly of (favourite flavour), making me smile into the kiss. I was running out of breath and sadly had to pull away.

Traces of white powder stick to her lips as we pulled away. I couldn’t help the smile that was creeping on my lips.

“Dyl,” she fretted, looking at my mouth. ”Now I have to redo your lips.” She grabbed my wrist and started pulling me back into the dress room, but I pulled her back into my chest. A smirk played at my lips.

“We have plenty of time,” I whispered lowly. She smiled as we both leaned back in.


Oops, I posted this on the wrong account, so if you wanna check out some more imagines/one shots by me go to @imagination–nation

Thanks for reading!



Heirloom Khuk .

Collecting fire wood for the evening camp fire from a storm damaged oak using my Dads old service Khukuri.

Forged Army land -rover leaf spring with water buffalo horn handle and brass fittings made in Nepal for Gurkha Rifles regiments .

 Personally I find the handle a little short but love the overall weight / curve and speed of this cutting tool , and yes I still need to get around to making a kydex sheath for it and to making my own full tang version .