#Wardrobe Sliding Door Installation

[thehandyboys]

Maximizing Space and Style: Expert Melbourne Wardrobe Sliding Door Installation

In the bustling heart of Melbourne, where space optimization and contemporary design are paramount, Melbourne Wardrobe Sliding Door Installation has become a sought-after service. Sliding wardrobe doors offer a seamless blend of functionality and aesthetics, transforming cluttered spaces into organized and visually appealing areas. This article delves into the benefits of sliding wardrobe doors,…

[sydneywardrobe02]

The Role of Expert Wardrobe Installers in Seamless Wardrobe Installation

When it comes to dressing up a room with built-in fitted wardrobes, professional wardrobe fitters' role cannot be understated. From a smooth sliding wardrobe door system to a completely bespoke wardrobe design, professional installation guarantees your new wardrobe to be in perfect working order, be beautifully looking, and last long.

In Sydney's hectic property market, homeowners are increasingly looking to built-in wardrobes as the solution to achieving maximum storage and style. However, the secret to getting the best out of your investment is to employ seasoned wardrobe installers who know the subtleties of precision-fitting, floor plan optimisation, and strength.

Fitting a wardrobe might appear simple, but in fact it calls on technical expertise, attention to detail, and knowledge of a large variety of materials and finishes. Experienced wardrobe fitters possess years of experience, so they understand how to:

Measure and evaluate the space accurately

Deal with wonky walls or tight angles

Align doors and tracks accurately

Secure and tidy hardware installations

Minimize damage to walls, floors, or surrounding fixtures

A wrongly installed wardrobe may cause problems such as creaking doors, panels out of line, and poor space utilization. Employing experts minimizes the risks involved and ensures the wardrobe not only appears beautiful but functions flawlessly for years to come.

Tailored Solutions for Every Home

No two houses are identical—and neither are their closets. Professional wardrobe fitters Sydney has to grasp this and offer personalized solutions that suit your lifestyle, personal taste, and space constraints. Whether you're choosing cost-effective built-in wardrobes Sydney townspeople adore or upscale bespoke ones, professional fitters ensure everything fits perfectly in your home.

They can also advise on the best style—be it sliding wardrobe doors for tight areas or open walk-in wardrobes for larger rooms. Their expertise allows for a balance between functionality and aesthetics, ensuring your wardrobe complements your interior design.

Time Efficiency and Peace of Mind

Professional installers are experienced to finish the work quickly. They use tested procedures and tend to work in groups so that the job gets finished within the agreed period. This is especially beneficial for busy home owners in places like Campbelltown, Penrith, or North Sydney, who want the wardrobe installation to be finished with little disturbance.

Additionally, professional wardrobe installers tend to offer warranties or guarantees for their services, providing you with assurance that your investment is safe.

Safety and Durability

Wardrobe installation requires power tools, heavy hardware, and careful mounting practices. Without suitable tools and proper precautions, self-installation efforts can lead to harm or damage. Professionals receive training on the safe handling of installations and tend to be insured, which will safeguard both parties in the event of an accident.

Expert installers also work with superior-grade hardware and test every part—the hinges to sliding door tracks—for secure fitting, which ensures their long-term lifespan.

Add Value to Your Home

A well-installed built-in wardrobe not only enhances everyday living but can also increase the value of your property. Sydney home buyers tend to seek out well-designed storage, and smooth wardrobe installation can make a big impact at property viewings. Whether you are in Liverpool, Hills District, or Western Sydney, expert-installed custom fitted wardrobes can enhance the attractiveness of your home.

Wardrobe fitting is not just about getting a cabinet to fit into a space—it's about enriching your lifestyle, decluttering your home, and creating lasting value for your property. Selecting professional wardrobe fitters in Sydney means you get the ultimate outcome that's not only pleasing to the eyes and practical, but also engineered to last forever.

No matter if you're looking for affordable wardrobes in Sydney, wardrobes nearby, or bespoke built-in wardrobes, spending money on professional installation is the best thing to do for a hassle-free experience.

[syluses]

𝄞 bloodhound

𓍯𓂃 hybrid sylus x female reader

(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.

✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,

✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂‍↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D

With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.

By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.

In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.

You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.

And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.

Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.

Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.

I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡

Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.

Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.

That outfit from yesterday.

With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-

Sure enough, the lid is open.

✦

“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”

The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.

The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.

The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.

You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.

What an awful place, you think to yourself.

…But coming here had a purpose.

Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.

Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.

To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.

A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.

“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”

Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.

Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.

It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:

Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—

Clack, clack… Clack.

You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.

“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“

When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.

“Ma’am?” He turns.

“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.

For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.

When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.

A sharp laugh.

“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“

As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.

He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.

…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.

Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.

If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.

In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.

Thoughtfully, you blink.

As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.

Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.

It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?

And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?

“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.

“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ���cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.

“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”

Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.

“He’s…”

“Yep. Like I said-“

“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.

The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”

“-How much?”

You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.

No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.

Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.

Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.

As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.

A word relieves you of worries for naught.

“Nothing.”

…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?

“E-Excuse me?”

He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”

Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.

“But, are you-“

“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”

And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—

“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”

A squeeze of your heart.

Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.

“When can we get him out of this cage?”

You ask without looking his way.

The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.

“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”

Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.

He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.

It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.

“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.

Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—

The ground beneath you all but gives way.

“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”

He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.

However, you do catch him shrugging.

“No clue.”

✦

A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.

You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.

This is your house.

This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.

Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?

What is he spotting in you?

Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.

Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.

But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.

But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.

You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.

He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.

Not quite.

Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.

The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.

Your heart stirs.

Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.

He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.

Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.

Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.

You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.

And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.

“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.

Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“

A labored sigh.

Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.

Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.

There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:

One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)

He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.

Oh, and then three—

When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.

✦

He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.

To your surprise, he lets you.

Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.

With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.

Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.

Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.

None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.

He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.

If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.

Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.

Besides…

Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.

Ahem.

It’s late.

Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.

The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.

You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.

“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.

From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.

Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.

Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—

“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”

A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.

“Sylus.”

Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.

…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.

✦

You blink and autumn is in full throttle.

You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.

Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.

You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.

Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.

Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.

Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.

Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.

At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…

Potential witnesses if he does.

Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.

Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.

You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.

You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.

…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—

A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.

You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.

It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.

Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.

…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.

Then-

Tap tap tap.

Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—

You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.

By the sounds of it, he’s already close.

“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”

-Closer and gaining still.

Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.

You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.

“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”

No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.

You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.

You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.

As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.

Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.

“Sylus-“

You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.

Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.

Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’

You turn the corner and blanche.

Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.

And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.

The bottom falls through.

The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.

✦

“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”

With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.

The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.

“Y-You’re not my dog.”

One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-

That can’t be Sylus.

For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.

“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”

With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”

That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.

“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”

D-Dragonfruit? How does he…

The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.

…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.

“Y-You’re not-“

Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”

…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.

Not in your tiny apartment.

“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”

Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.

Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?

He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”

You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.

But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!

You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.

“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.

Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.

The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…

And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.

Sylus, it all says.

But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.

He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.

Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.

“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.

“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”

He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”

And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?

Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”

You do believe it. But it’s crazy.

He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.

Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-

“So? Do we have a deal or not?”

And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?

Or several.

✦

A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.

It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.

Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.

…As do your bones.

Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.

Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.

You gasp. “Sylus-“

You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.

He snarls.

“Quiet. I’m eating.”

Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.

He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.

‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’

“Good girl,” he practically purrs.

He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.

Not as much as you do right now.

“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.

But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.

But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—

“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.

“Just take the day off.”

Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.

“O-Okay.”

As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.

So you glance down.

He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.

He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.

Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.

That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.

You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.

…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.

Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:

Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.

Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.

“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”

He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.

“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”

You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.

And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.

His cock is somehow bigger.

Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.

Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.

Point is- he’s insatiable.

You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.

In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.

…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.

Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.

“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“

A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.

Challenging.

He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.

It’s the least he can do.

“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”

Your eyes bulge from your skull.

His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.

From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.

When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.

Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.

He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.

You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.

“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”

You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.

He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”

You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.

Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.

Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”

And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.

So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.

The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.

Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.

He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.

Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.

For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.

He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.

Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—

Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.

He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….

“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.

With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”

Void of words, you nod.

The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.

Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.

The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.

He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.

You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.

He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”

One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.

With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—

His knot pops inside with a gasp.

Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.

He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.

When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.

The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.

You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.

You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.

Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.

Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.

Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.

“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.

“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”

“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.

Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”

He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.

“It’s too big,” you cry.

“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”

As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.

There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.

“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.

And you—

(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)

Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.

Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.

“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”

Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.

With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.

His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.

You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“

“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.

“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”

Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-

“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.

“So. Did you like it..?”

“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“

He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”

Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.

“I- I guess so. Yeah.”

“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.

“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.

In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.

“When I know it’s manageable.”

If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.

“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.

“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

[dacrystalsim]

TS3 Functional Closet Mod

The idea for this mod started with my want to convert TS2 Apartment Life closet. I could have used the Supernatural wardrobe as a base, but I wanted the doors to have proper animations and the ability to function like real closet doors against the wall, similar to how doors work in the game. So, this mod was created! 😊

What is this mod?

This mod functions as a dresser but includes a new animation that allows the doors to slide open like an actual closet. When the closet opens and closes, the Sim plays an idle animation, and when changing clothes, they use the spin animation.

The mod includes two different types, depending on the closet:

Dresser Type – Offers the same interactions as the base game dresser. This type is best for closets without mirrors.

Mirror Type – Includes interactions from the vanity table in Supernatural and Showtime (Don’t worry, the mod is 100% base game compatible!).

Important! This mod does not add a closet object to the game by itself. It only provides the necessary functionality for closet objects to work properly!

The Closet Object:

As mentioned earlier, this mod was created because I wanted to convert TS2 closet. The conversion is included with the mod, and you're welcome to use it as a base for creating your own closets! 😊

The closet comes in three different versions:

Opaque

Mirror – This version is split into two parts: the closet and a separate mirror for the animated door. To use it properly, simply place the mirror on the closet—it will slot into place and move with the door 😊

Glass

Both merged and unmerged versions are included—please install only one! (The merged file does not include the mod itself.)

How to Install?

Place the mod and the closet objects in your Mods/Packages folder.

Download links:

[SFS] | [MTS]

Credits: EA/Maxis, Blender, SimPE, S3PE, S3OC, TSRW, ILSpy, Visual Studio 2022 and Battery for the Script Mod Template Creator. Special thanks: @zoeoe-sims, @deniisu-sims, TS3CreatorCave discord server for all the help and Bloom from simlogical for creating a mirror door that I used as a reference to figure out how to make the closet move with the mirror ❤ @xto3conversionsfinds @pis3update @kpccfinds

Additional information, CASTable channels, polycount and how to make your own closet under the cut.

How to Create Your Own Closet?

Choose the version you'd like to clone as your base and ensure the OBJK is set correctly in S3PE for the closet type you want.

For a closet without a mirror: Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.ShelvesStorage.Crystal.Closet

For a closet with a mirror: Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.ShelvesStorage.Crystal.ClosetMirror

Polycount:

The 3 versions share the same polycount. LOD 0 (High Detail): 2430 LOD 1 (Medium Detail): 1070

Additional Info:

The closets are found under Storage -> Dressers in Buy Mode.

The original TS2 catalog description and price.

The meshes were UV edited to make them CASTable.

The package files are compressed.

[witherby]

What would happen if Mouse got sick? Like super, probably at deaths door kind of sick? ok maybe that last part was exaggerating it a bit...But like almost 39 degrees fever, coughing to the point of gagging and vomiting, runny nose, fatigue, no appetite for anything, etc. Based off my own experiences when I get sick. I wanna know what they would do and who would panic the most. Who would lose the little sleep they already have even more. Who would think that the babeh is at deaths door. And who would be the most relieved when Mouse is better a few days later with the help of a paediatric approved medication

-🍨

I like this prompt a lot so I'm gonna do it. Hope u reaaaally like angst tho.

The Littlest Wayne: Sick Bed, part 1

Masterlist is Here!

⚠️ Spoiler/content warning: Young sick child, fever, depiction of seizure ⚠️

It starts with a cough.

"Hey, careful," Jason says, patting your back. The water you'd been sipping sprays across the table as you choke. Tim reaches over to right the glass and Alfred goes and collects a rag to mop up the mess. "You okay?"

"Mhmm," you mutter, wiping your mouth with a napkin. "Sorry...I can clean it, grandpa Alfie."

"It's quite alright, Flittermouse." Alfred gently runs a hand through your hair. "Oh, my, you're quite warm. Why don't you head up to your room and I'll have someone bring a tray to you with soup and crackers?"

"Okay." You push your chair away from the table and duck underneath it, allowing the shadow of the furniture to swallow you up. Bruce watches the dark blob you've become slide out of the dining room and towards the stairs with less energy than usual.

"I'll take it, Alfred," Dick says before anyone else can volunteer, rising from his seat. He sets his leftovers in front of Jason as he passes, helping the butler prepare a tray for you. "Do we have any Tylenol for little kids? If not, I can just crush up a half-pill for them."

"Child-friendly medications will be found in the young master's en-suite bathroom cabinet," Alfred says. "It will just be a few minutes for the soup, Master Dick. I'd recommend you head upstairs and measure out a small dose for your sibling before it's ready."

"Kay, sure," he nods, excusing himself.

Dick hops up the stairs two at a time and enters the family wing of the manor, trailing his hand along the walls and door frames until he finds yours. He knocks lightly and rapidly, a silly little sequence to let you know which brother it is, then opens the door to let himself in.

Your bedroom is almost pitch black. Since the development of your powers, your space has changed to reflect your needs overtime, which means the overhead lightbulbs have been removed and the sheer, pastel blinds over your window have been replaced with thick blackout curtains. For your family who require some form of illumination to see, you have several night lights you pick and choose from; you currently have a round projector plugged in that casts aurora borealis across the ceiling (a gift from Tim) and you've activated the touch sensors installed in the floor that briefly light up everywhere Dick walks, leaving his footprints behind for several seconds until they fade away.

The furniture you originally had, designed in warm, woody colors with bright accents, have also been replaced with black hardware and dark materials. Your bed frame is a dip-dyed wood with silver accents, your mattress and sheets are black, and your dressers, nightstand, and closet have all been painted to match.

At first glance, the large bedroom looks like every goth kid's biggest dream, but the light from the hallway spills briefly into your space when Dick walks inside, showing the bright, colorful books sitting on your black bookshelves, the even more colorful clothes in your wardrobe, your vast collection of toys, and a litany of pictures and photos on all the walls. There is a vibrant, beautiful life in the darkness, which encapsulates you perfectly in his opinion.

"Hi, Flitty," he greets, moving slowly as his eyes adjust to the light. "Alfred's working on your soup, so big bro Dicky's here to do medicine time. Holler at me so I don't accidentally step on you in here."

"Okay," you say from his left. Dick turns and squints, spotting a lump on your bed. He smiles.

"There you are. Lemme see if there's any of the gummies in your med cabinet. Those ones don't taste all gross."

He steps into your bathroom and turns the fairy lights on, bathing the area in a soft glow, and rifles through your cabinet for a minute. Then he makes his way to your bed, sitting on the edge of it with some chewables and a glass of water.

"C'mere," he says, and you comply, shuffling across the bed to give him a quick hug. "Alright. Can you show me you're a big kid and take this for me? Then you'll get a nice bowl of soup and maybe some juice."

You comply without fuss. Dick hears more than he sees you take the medication in the low light, and you go back to hugging him when you're done. Dick wraps his arms around you and lies down, propping you mostly on his chest.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Yeah. Just sleepy," you reply. "And my throat hurts kinda, from when I spit my water."

"Aw, I'm sorry. You only need to stay awake long enough to take a couple bites and then you can rest as long as you want."

"Okay...stay?"

Dick hums, running his fingers gently through your hair. He was supposed to go back to Blüdhaven this afternoon, but...

"Yeah, Flitty. I'll stay."

--

It turns into a fever.

"I'm sorry to turn you away when you've already come by, Delilah," Bruce says, meeting your private tutor in the vestibule. "Mouse came down with something yesterday, and I don't think they'll be up for lessons for the next few days. I forgot to tell you."

"Oh, that's absolutely no problem, mister Wayne," the tutor smiles, shaking her head. "I wish them a speedy recovery! Let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will, thank you. Take care!"

Bruce closes the door after seeing her out, the Charming Socialite mask slipping off his face as he heads for the stairs. He meets Alfred at the top with a nod, stepping past him and walking up to your bedroom door.

He gently knocks three times against the glossy wood, calling your name. "Can I come in?"

After a moment, he watches it click open, and you squint up at him in the doorway.

"Hi, daddy," you croak, voice dry and harsh from the progression of your flu. Bruce tuts and scoops your clammy body into his arms, carrying you back to your bed.

"Honey, you didn't have to come greet me," he says, "manners get thrown out the window when you're sick, remember? Let's get you tucked in."

You don't fuss or complain, which makes the worry flare up in Bruce's mind. He pushes it back, refusing to catastrophize a cold. All of his children get sick, it's not unheard of. A little fever is fine, and so is your lack of excitable energy. It's normal and expected.

"How do you feel?" He asks, pulling the blankets up to your chest. You squirm a bit, kicking them down.

"Hot," you say, "sleepy."

Bruce compromises by tucking the blanket around your tummy instead. You don't push it down any further. He pulls out a thermometer from his pocket and scans your forehead.

"Yeah, you are running a bit hot," he admits. An even one hundred degrees. Should be easy enough to control with careful attention. "Alfred says you refused breakfast this morning. Do you want to try eating something small for lunch? More soup?"

You shake your head. "Not hungry."

"I know you're not hungry, pumpkin," Bruce says, gently squeezing your hand. "But you don't wanna starve, either. Then you'll shrink up like a raisin! How am I supposed to snuggle a raisin?"

You smile a bit and give a wheezy huff of laughter. Bruce smiles back.

"So, will you try? You can have anything you want. I just need to see you take a few bites of something."

"Okay, daddy. Want...um... I want more soup please."

"You can have more soup," Bruce promises, running a hand through your sweatslick hair. He reminds himself to run you a bath in a couple hours. Maybe after a nap. "Do you want anything else?"

"Mmmyeah. Bedtime story?"

"Yeah," he says. "Any story you want, after we get some soup in you."

You smile again. It eases the knot of dread in Bruce's chest.

--

It gets worse.

Three days into it, your fever spikes in the middle of the night. You completely refuse any sort of food or drink all day, despite the angry growling of your stomach, and the family unanimously decides to bring you to the hospital in the morning to get looked at. Dinner without you is full of worry and tense glances toward the family wing, and it seems like not a lot of sleep is going to be had before they find out the total extent of your illness.

When tossing and turning in bed for a few hours doesn't lead him anywhere, Damian decides to give in to the nagging in the back of his head and pop in your room to check on you. He rushes to your bed when he sees you seizing and gasping for breath. Your temperature's shot up to a hundred and six and you don't react when he tries to shake you awake.

Fearful and, for once, feeling every bit the child he still is, he clutches your body to his chest and screams.

"BABAA!!"

The door slams open in seconds, though to him it feels like an eternity. Hal and Jason are coaxing Damian to let go of you and Bruce climbs on the bed to roll you onto your side, carefully wiping the foam and drool away from your mouth while he checks your vitals. Tim is in the hallway calling 9-1-1 and texting Dick to let him know what's happening.

"Dami, you gotta move," Jason says, placing his hands overtop his brother's. Damian's grip on your arm is so tight it's bruising. "Let go, they're okay. Let go."

"I'm tracking their pulse, you dumb bastard!" Damian snaps. "Release me!"

"You're hurting them, Dames," Hal says in his ear, wrapping his arms around Damian's waist. "Bruce has them, now. You have to let go and get out of the way for the paramedics."

Green eyes snap to your arm. He seems to finally take stock of what he's doing and eases off, letting Hal pick him up and pass him off to Jason, who carries him into the hallway.

"Stay out here," Jason says. "It's our job to keep out of the way for now."

"Who's going to let the paramedics in?" Damian asks, trying to pry himself out of Jason's grip. As much as he tries to crane his neck, Jason's standing too far away from your door to let him see how you're doing, and his iron grip is unyielding.

"Alfred's by the gate controls, he'll let them inside."

Tim gets off the phone with the emergency dispatcher and glances at your door with a frown. Every hitching gasp and choke you make can be heard from the hall, along with Bruce and Hal's barely-concealed, panicked murmuring, and he crosses his arms tightly and shuffles over to Jason now that his task is done.

"Can we wait downstairs?" He mutters. Jason keeps one arm wrapped around Damian and slings the other around Tim's shoulders, guiding them to the staircase.

"I want to stay!" Damian insists, pulling against Jason, who ends up needing to sling the little assassin over his shoulder to get him to move. "Todd!!"

"Robin," Jason snaps in his best Batman impersonation. It's a damn good one, because Damian quiets immediately, stiffening in his arms and ceasing his struggling without further protest. Tim freezes beside him, but Jason just pats his back and keeps guiding him down the stairs.

The trio is quiet as they file into the main living room. Jason and Tim sit on the couch and Damian gets propped up in his brother's lap. Try as he might, he can't wiggle out of Jason's arms.

"This is asinine," he hisses. "I should be up there."

"Doin' what?" Jason asks. "Bruce and Hal are both in there with Mousey. Alfred's about to guide the EMTs inside. Tim called 911 and then told Dick the situation. You were the one that first found 'em and got help."

Jason gives Damian a squeeze, propping his chin on top of his head.

"You saved their life, Damian. Ya don't need to do more than that right now. Let the grown-ups take the reins for a while."

"But I —"

"You've done more than enough," Jason insists, not unkindly. His tone has been uncharacteristically soft the whole time, Damian realizes belatedly. "I'm sure they'll thank you when they come out the other side of this."

Damian didn't do it for your thanks. He did it because he loves you. Despite you quickly approaching the age where Bruce might offer you the Robin mantle soon, which has filled him with more anxiety and anger than he's had in a long time, he loves you dearly and doesn't want anything to befall you.

In spite of everything, he's your big brother and he loves you just as much as he can't stand you.

"They will be fine," he mutters firmly. "There's no alternative."

"Right," Tim speaks up. He sounds like he needs the reassurance just as much as Damian. "M is gonna be okay."

The three of them turn their heads when several pairs of footsteps enter the vestibule. Four paramedics rush in with a stretcher and duffel bags of medical equipment. Alfred orders them in the direction of your bedroom with simple, firm instructions, and they head off.

The butler then turns, spotting them out of his periphery, and he clears his throat and adjusts the belt around his robe. He's still in his sleepwear, having rushed out of bed to help prep for the emergency like everyone else.

"I've had my fair share of exciting nights," he comments, "but I must say, they never become more enjoyable. Why don't you all join me in the kitchen and I'll prepare some drinks? Hot chocolate should suffice on a chilly evening."

"Sounds fantastic," Jason says, hopping to his feet. He lifts Damian up with him, denying him the chance to refuse, and with a glance and jerk of his chin, coaxes Tim to get up and follow after.

"Put me down," Damian says, reaching up to tug on Jason's night shirt. "I won't run back upstairs. I swear."

"Yeah? You double-swear? Don't make me chase you, kid, I really do not have the patience."

"On Father's life," he insists.

Jason sets him on the floor. Damian follows them into the kitchen and takes a seat at the island, cupping his hands around a warm mug of hot cocoa when Alfred hands it to him a couple minutes later. He watches the wisps of steam curl up into the air and dissipate, unable to stop thinking about your writhing body in bed. Your eyes had rolled back and your limbs had locked up, jerking uncontrollably. And the noises you were making...

The mug gives a foreboding creak under his grip. Alfred gently places his hand on Damian's back and gives it several soft pats.

"Do not fret, master Damian," he says, "our little Flittermouse is very resilient. An illness turning poorly won't keep them down for long."

"I know," he says. Alfred nods, and with a final brush against his shoulder, tends to Tim next to ensure he's also doing okay. When Damian looks at Jason, he sees him calmly drinking from his mug without so much as a furrow in his brow. But there's an almost imperceptible ricketing noise that means he's bouncing his leg nervously. It makes his stomach twist almost painfully, to know he's just as scared as everybody else.

Damian takes a deep breath. He sips his coco. He thinks of the froth pouring out of your mouth when Bruce rolled you into the recovery position. He puts the mug down.

He knows you'll be okay. You have to, because he just can't live with the alternative.

[pineconepie]

perhaps ellis comforting a reader who had a nightmare? :)) - 🏔️anon

CHARACTERS: Ellis, Reader/You

WARNINGS/TAGS: Reader has nightmare, parental yandere, possessive behavior, cuddling, terms of endearment, light infantilization

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

"What are you reading?" You plop down next to Ellis and lay your head on his shoulder.

In response, he kisses your head. "A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens," he replies, turning another page. "One of my favorites." After scanning over the words for another minute or two, he closes it carefully, setting it down beside him to give you more attention. "It's almost bedtime, you know."

"For you," you laugh. "Why do you go to bed so early?"

"For us, because you need a full eight hours just as much as anyone," he chuckles. "And the reason is because I have insomnia. It takes me at least an hour to fall asleep. Maybe longer sometimes, and I even wake up in the middle of the night and have even more trouble going back to sleep." He sounds bitter about it, but he sighs gently to release the tension. "And on top of that, I have to wake up at six in the morning."

You frown in concern. "I'm sorry..."

"No, no, no. None of that now." He leans down and kisses your head. "Please stop worrying. It's better now that you basically live here. Everything is."

Now that you think about it, you really do basically live here. You have your own bedroom here, your own wardrobe, bathroom essentials, toiletries, etc. Almost everything that belonged to you previously, now belongs in Ellis's apartment.

"Everything? No exceptions?"

"Well, you could stand to come hang around me more often, but that's just me being clingy." He gives a little huff, almost like he's scoffing at himself. "If we didn't share meals together everyday and live under the same roof, I'd probably lose my mind worrying about you."

Your lips twitch into a small smile. "Remember, I'm not a kid." It's all in lighthearted banter. You aren't actually offended by his comments or statements anymore.

Ellis stands up, gesturing for you to follow. "Maybe physically you aren't. But mentally, well," he clicks his tongue, earning a playful swat from you.

He leads you to your room, pulling up a chair beside your bed after tucking you in, and crossing one leg over the other. "We finished the second book of Narnia, right?" You nod. "Good. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader happens to be my favorite installment in the series."

You've noticed how he reads to you to help you sleep nowadays. Even though it feels unnecessary and somewhat embarrassing, you can't complain too much. It is rather soothing, and makes you feel safe and cared for.

Not only that, but you can tell he clearly loves reading to you.

And with a doting parental figure like Ellis, would he really expect you to reject his constant offerings?

Not in the slightest.

Once he notices your eyes drooping, he closes the book softly and sets it aside.

"I love you, honey," he whispers, so quiet you barely even hear it. He bends down, kissing you on the forehead, and then lightly steps out, being extra gentle with shutting the door behind him.

...

Ellis wakes up around three in the morning, as per usual. He sighs, reaching for his glasses blindly and sliding them on his face, blinking in the darkness. He needs some water. Hopefully he can tire himself out again afterwards. On the way to the kitchen, he hears faint cries. A wave of dread washes over him immediately. Is that you?

He rushes into your room, only to find you sobbing quietly into your pillow. "(Y/n)? Baby, what's wrong?" Rushing over, he sees that you've accidentally thrown your blankets onto the floor and started whimpering in your sleep. "(Y/n)... oh, (Y/n)."

Ellis wraps an arm underneath you and cradles you to his chest, grabbing your blanket and wrapping it back around your shoulders. He rocks you back and forth while making low shushing noises.

"It's okay. It's okay." He wipes tears off your cheekbones, kissing your face. His thumb traces circles around your face and chin to soothe you further.

"Dad," you call out in your sleep, causing him to visibly perk up and halt his movements altogether. You cling onto him, nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, making him crack a genuine, joyful smile.

"Oh, angel," he coos, "I wish you would call me that when awake." Ellis sways back and forth, humming softly. Even if you didn't do it on purpose, it still brought immense joy to him knowing that's how you view him as.

You stir in his grasp, eyes fluttering open in confusion. That's when you notice how hard you're breathing. "Why..."

"You had a nightmare," he whispers, smoothing your bangs to the side. "Seems like a bad one, too. How do you feel?" Instead of answering, you latch onto him tighter. A relieved laugh slips past his lips. "Ah, you'll be the death of me."

"You were hurt," you sniffle, "in my dream."

"Well, don't worry about that. Because I'm perfectly fine, see?" he hums, taking your hand and pressing it against his pulse point, letting you feel it.

You relax slightly at that. "Sorry I woke you up."

"Please, you've done no such thing. I told you, sweetheart. I rarely ever sleep. This was coincidental timing, that's all." He scoots onto the mattress and sits cross-legged, allowing you to stay curled up in his lap and clinging onto him like a lifeline. You wonder how you ended up with someone like Ellis watching after you, but you aren't complaining, either. If anything, he feels exactly like what you needed. Someone to fuss over you constantly.

Which Ellis definitely does.

"Do you need me to stay?" he asks after some silence.

"Only if you want to," you reply, yawning.

"That's a yes, then," he laughs softly. "Move over for me." After a moment of reluctance, you listen obediently. He crawls into bed after tossing his glasses onto the bedside table and pulls you against his chest. "Do I make you feel safer?"

"Yes, a lot," you mumble honestly. "Even if you kinda have a resting bitch face."

Ellis laughs, but quickly shushes you afterwards. "Watch your language," he warns, "even if we both know that's true." He rubs circles into your lower back with the tips of his fingers, feeling contented with the warmth radiating between you two.

"Do you get nightmares?" you ask curiously.

"Sometimes," he says carefully. "They don't happen often, thankfully. They usually consist of something bad happening to you. So far, that hasn't happened, thank goodness." He inhales your scent deeply, planting kisses along your temple and scalp. "It always starts with me not being able to reach you in time."

Your fingers curl into his shirt as you bury yourself against him further. "Trust me, you're stuck with me. Must be hard."

Ellis rolls his eyes. "For someone who's supposed to be going back to sleep, you sure aren't acting like it." His tone softens when he speaks next. "You'll never bother me, baby. You could wake me up at three in the morning just to sing the alphabet and I wouldn't complain at all. Because if its you waking me up, I know it means I'm still there to take care of you and that you need my help."

You close your eyes. "Can you stay here for the rest of the night? Or technically, morning?"

"I already planned to." Ellis smoothes down your messy hair and kisses the top of your head. "I will every single time you need me, just remember that."

His grip is almost suffocatingly tight, but not in a threatening sense. More like he's afraid that if he lets go for even a moment, he'll lose you forever.

So instead, he holds onto you for dear life, and you return the hold.

[copperbadge]

*movie trailer narrator voice* In a battle between a man with ADHD and an Ikea flatpack clothes wardrobe...only one can be victorious.

Depending on how you define victory it wasn't me. I go into any furniture build well aware I'm going to have to partially disassemble it at least once when I either install something upside-down or install the wrong version of two nearly-identical pieces (I did both in this case). But the damn thing got built, so at least there's that.

It's taller than the stack of storage tubs that used to be there and which Polk used to like to sleep on, so both the cats have been first freaked out and then irritated that they can't get on top of it. I've had to take the blanket pad off the chest of drawers on the left and put two small storage bins there so they have a stepping stone up to the top.

[ID: Three images of the office corner of my bedroom; in the first, a pile of slatted and solid wood pieces are leaned up against the wall and the open closet door next to it. In the second image, a wardrobe consisting of a shelf and an open space next to the shelf has been partially built; in the third image the wardrobe, complete with sliding door and hanger rack, has been completed, and fits the space nicely.]

[dallasgallant]

Time period posts: Room types

Now most of this post and the more “modern”home is definitely be more suited for Soc or middle class charecters than it will be the Gang or greasers, as it comes down to affordability. This post will cover the modern (1960s) home and some terminology around it, but also homes in general then. Details across all kinds and poor homes/more greaser aligned. Post was inspired by just - how I despise open floor plans but like older homes so I’ll try to keep that rant out of this lol.

Stories-

First thing to cover is the style of houses at all! Two-story homes didn’t become mainly popular until the 1970s, now they did exist- especially older homes in cities or towns that are 1880s-1900s ish. Or split level! The one story bungalow, ranch… uh… other style, were more common place.

A soc might have a larger two story home, maybe even a basement not just a storm/root cellar. (‘Hidey hole’ according to Oklahomans) Where as greasers would live in older one story homes (for instance the Curtis house was built in the 1920s, likely those on their street are similar)

Closet space-

A reason why in older films and stories especially you’ll see a lot of dressers and wardrobes is because very old houses weren’t traditionally built with closets! Then when homes had them, they’d typically be small so most clothing would be in dressers and trunks. Same reason for these gorgeous vanities is before plumbing there weren’t bathrooms to have mirrors and counter space so you’d have one in the bedroom (carried over well after bathrooms and indoor plumbing became the norm as they’re nice to have)

Linen closets also became a standard, which are typically put in the hall for bedsheets, blankets, towels etc. The linens! (Sometimes napkins and table cloths but those are usually toward the kitchen.

Newer homes 40s on would have closets as the standard, still typically small though. Another reason it’s common to see old furniture and wallpaper (even in middle class homes) is that changing things with trends or modernity was not done half as often as it is now! They didn’t gut the house and furniture even if a magazine told them so— though one will add touches where they can. Think in 50s movies where teen rooms have old floral wallpaper and furniture but there’s posters and pendants plastered about.

Greaser -> may have a closet but heavily dependent/mainly uses a dresser. Sunday clothes are in the closet or its storage

Soc-> has and uses both. Maybe even a slide/double door closet!

Quick aside-

Common for even newer homes to have a single bathroom!! But master baths and additional/half were becoming more of a norm. (Curtis house has one bathroom)

Another aside-

The “big light” wasn’t as common, which is another reason that some older photos look so dark and weird as that there wrent overhead lights, mainly lamps and other features. Especially if a home is older. Now overhead lights did exist, and were standard by this point if not in an older older home. Spotlights and fan lights, then sometimes fluorescent bars in a kitchen. You could sort of tell when lights were installed in an older home.

AC! AC! It had to be added to a LOT of homes wasn’t typically standard so there was a lot of window units and not cenerailized units- a soc would have like full central air and it was a huge deal.

Walls and room size-

Most houses now days are built with a ‘open floor plan’ which essentially means your kitchen, living room, dining room and practically first floor are the same room (except the toilet). Older houses, even houses built just 30 years ago had a lot more walls in place, keeping rooms smaller, cozy and much less of an eco. Some rooms only having one in/out others may have an open archway and then a door on the other side. Enclosed kitchens! Separate dining room and living room!

Formal v informal-

This will be the introduction to my next few points as it’s the beginning of it. I don’t know the exact term but “formal living room” is a solid name. In essence, it’s a room with a nice couch, chairs and art that’s close to or the entrance to one’s house. It’s where you’d host a visit or guests. It’s off the dying idea of “sitting rooms” and “parlors” from the 1800s-1900s. As time went on visits and “calls” became less formal even amongst socials.

Just as a separate “formal” dining room exists, where dinner parties, holidays and special occasion meals are served. It’s off the kitchen and not the same set of tables/chairs that’s in it. Sometimes if a family has a dining room at all they’d use it for supper/the evening meal. However this formality was also beginning to die out by the late 60s.

These formal rooms are more of a soc or upper middle class thing.

Finishing the basement-

Starting in the late 1940s but taking a real rise in the 50s and 60s, post ww2 where luxury and convenience were on the rise, people were getting and able to afford their own homes, cars etc and had time for projects. It was a real flurry to finish basements and often times that included the rumpus room, a space to make ruckus!

Converting basement space goes as far back as the 30s and while names varied (recreation room, game room etc) the idea remained the same as a casual spot for family hang outs. Major for adult parties or teen parties as well, it didn’t have the same pressures as the formal visiting spaces upstairs and was more a place to unwind. More often than not they’d have a bar or a theme to them.

Sometimes, if the TV wasn’t upstairs in the living room it’d be down here or in another room ; the den.

Similar concept to a rumpus room but it’s not confined to the basement, it’s anywhere in the house but with the idea of it being a more private, personal and less formal presenting space. (These rooms are much more soc/middle class. Greasers don’t have the space or the money)

[umifani]

How To Install Sliding Wardrobe Doors - DIY With Bunnings

[megamanrecut]

Since it's been a while since the last fic update (again), here's another short installment of Become the Night 2, which I'm now titling Return to the Night so I can have a separate tag and at least until I think of a better name lol

Return to the Night, Part 3 (Part 1, Part 2, or Ao3)

Elec Man and Turner's apartment was not located in a nice neighborhood. The streetlights outside were dim, and the surrounding streets were empty and dangerous feeling, as though eyes were spying out from the dark, broken windows above.

Turner led Proto up a set of dirty, creaking stairs to a plain door, which he opened with an old key. The lock unlatched with a rusty rasp, revealing a small, dark room.

Proto poked his head inside as Turner clicked on the light, taking in the entire contents with one glance. The apartment itself was very clean, like a secret room within the shabby building, but small—barely more than a studio.

"Two beds?" Proto asked Turner. "Does Elec Man sleep now?"

Shrugging, Turner closed the door behind Proto. "We both do—why? Didn't he always?"

"Not when I knew him."

"Well, he is my prototype—perhaps he was upgraded to be equally as advanced."

Proto took a second glance around. So, Elec Man and Turner were sharing this small space? He briefly imagined sharing a room with Rock, then stifled a rueful smile. Rock and Proto would have killed each other by now. Proto could tell instantly which side of the room belonged to which brother. Turner had the nicer side of the apartment, with a massive wardrobe, standing mirror, rug, and a large bed filled with pillows and a thick duvet. Meanwhile, Elec Man's side was plainly furnished, more like an office than a living space. Elec Man clearly hated acting more human than he had to.

Smiling to himself a little, Proto sat on the edge of Elec Man's twin-sized bed. It had looked like the type of bed that squeaked, but did not, yet that was the most one could say for it, the bed was definitely not more comfortable than it looked. He glanced back at the door. From the way it opened, Turner's side of the room would be obscured, yet Elec Man's bed had a good vantage to shock any would-be intruder.

Turner glared down at Proto. He had re-affixed his superior mobster facade that he had learned from Elec Man. "Well?" he asked Proto in a drawling voice.

"Nice digs," Proto quipped back, standing up and turning around on the spot.

"You're supposed to be looking for clues to find Elec Man," Turner reminded him coldly.

"I am, junior, don't blow a fuse," Proto reassured him airily. His eyes fell upon a small vanity. A large crystal vase packed with fresh white roses sat on top.

Turner noticed Proto's gaze. "From my fans," he explained, his drawl becoming even more superior as he crossed over to the vanity. He pulled one of the roses from the vase and lifted it up to his nose. "You know, because I'm a famous ballet star. Of course, Elec Man says I always keep them too long. He says I get enough roses every night that I don't need to keep the old ones."

"Kiddo, no offense, I'm with Elec Man on this one—those are starting to smell like death."

Turner cast Proto a withering look over his shoulder as he replaced the rose back into the vase. "They do not—not yet, at least."

Just then, something small and silvery flew off the vanity toward them. It gave Proto a small, tut-like beep, then hovered protectively over Turner's shoulder.

Proto blinked, his aviators sliding slightly down his nose. "I don't believe it—is that my valet drone?"

"Your valet drone?" Turner scoffed. "It's my valet drone. You can't have it back, I need it to get ready before my performances. Its name is Winston and it's mine."

"Kid, you can have it, words alone could never convey how much I hated that thing. Besides, my natural style works best for me."

Turner gave Proto a quick once over. "…Perhaps."

'Winston' gave another tut-like beep at Proto, apparently disapproving of his old t-shirt and baggy jeans then hovered off to settle back on the vanity, looking just as haughty as its Syndicate masters.

"Alright, you've had the tour," said Turner, glaring reproachfully at Proto. "You're hardly living up to your reputation as 'Cypher' or the 'Devil of the Underground' or even this 'Break Man' person—whoever that's supposed to be—are you going to help me find Elec Man or not?"

"I am, I am," Proto reassured him as he looked back at Elec Man's space. "Ah, Bingo." Proto settled down at Elec Man's desk chair and booted up a sleek desktop computer.

"What are you doing?" asked Turner with folded arms.

"Looking for clues, remember? Maybe your big bro left something on here that will give us a lead."

"Looking for clues on Elec Man's computer?" Turner scoffed again and rolled his eyes. "I've only tried that like a million times. There's no way to get into Elec Man's computer! He's the best hacker in the Syndicate—maybe the world. He has everything super-encrypted. You can't break in, don't be ridiculous."

"True, I'm not as good at computers as Elec Man, but he taught me some things, like how to get into his files in case of emergency—" replied Proto, as he typed in a few commands, "—And I'm already in."

Turner's brows rose incredulously. "You have his login information?"

"No, but looks like my backend credentials still work."

"Your what?" Annoyed, Turner attempted to shoulder Proto out of the chair. "Let me see—"

Proto pushed him away. "Ah ah ah—if Elec Man didn't give you his login information, he probably doesn't want you snooping around on his desktop."

With flashing eyes, Turner asked frigidly, "Oh, and I suppose it's okay if you snoop through his files?"

Proto shrugged. "Like I said, I have backend credentials, and if they still work—"

"Oh do shut up," Turner replied crossly, pointing his nose toward the ceiling as he spun so his back was turned to Proto, though after a moment, he glanced back, his pale eyes daring to look hopeful as the snideness dropped from his voice. "…Do—do you think we'll find something?"

"Of course we will, junior, and then we'll go find Elec Man," Proto replied cheerfully, though internally he felt tense. And when we do, I'm going to kill that jerk for going missing in the first place.

A few moments of silence passed as Proto scanned the file directory, then Proto frowned as he opened a file with a recent timestamp. He scanned a few lines of text, glanced surreptitiously over the monitor at Turner then away again.

Unfortunately, Turner had been watching Proto like an anxious hawk. "What is it? You've found something, haven't you?"

"Maybe." Proto quickly closed out of the file, then logged out of Elec Man's account. "I have an idea, at least. Elec Man was messing in some pretty serious stuff…" Proto trailed off. He didn't mention that Turner had been part of the plot, that the file had contained key information about their mission orders for the ballet. It appeared Elec had shielded Turner from details.

"Well what are we waiting for?" demanded Turner, his voice rising in panic. "He could be in trouble, or hurt, or—or—"

"Calm down, Elec Man's too stuck up and spiteful to die," said Proto, standing up and striding toward the door. "…All the same, we better hurry."

Continued in Part 4

[thehandyboys]

Wardrobe Sliding Door Installation Melbourne

For top-quality Wardrobe Sliding Door Installation in Melbourne, trust The Handy Boys to deliver exceptional results. We specialize in Melbourne Wardrobe Sliding Doors, offering stylish and functional solutions that enhance the look and usability of your space. Whether you’re updating an existing wardrobe or installing new Sliding Wardrobe Doors in Melbourne, our team has the expertise to ensure…

[sydneywardrobe02]

Choosing the Right Sliding Wardrobe Door for Your Built-In Wardrobe

Saloon type bedroom doors have gained a wide following in modern Sydney homes particularly for built-in closets. Good-looking sliding wardrobe doors fit modern spaces well and help free up floor space in small rooms. You need to decide the perfect sliding wardrobe door style for your built-in wardrobe though many design options exist. This article shows you important aspects for selecting the best sliding wardrobe door for your home layout.

Understand Your Space and Layout

Your first decision should be based on the layout of your room because it directs how you choose your sliding wardrobe door. Sliding doors work best in limited spaces because regular hinged doors cannot fit through them. Smaller bedrooms and wardrobes get greater convenience through sliding door systems because they let you reach items easily while saving space. More extensive rooms benefit from mirrored or glass sliding wardrobe doors because they create a distinctive display area.

Select doors that match your interior space design

Your wardrobe door choice needs to match effectively with the larger bedroom design elements. Your options for sliding wardrobe door designs will match any interior style including minimalist, industrial and traditional. You can achieve modern style through glass or mirror panel doors with matte surfaces. A traditional style appears better with wood grain surfaces or neutral color choices. The experts at built-in wardrobes in Sydney can modify your sliding wardrobe doors to perfectly match any design choices you have made.

Choose the Right Materials

Sliding wardrobe doors exist in different materials which deliver specific advantages in aesthetics and lifetime benefits at low service cost.

If you select mirror panels they both decorate your room and expand its space.

Glass windows in different textures including frosted glass give modern appeal to your living area.

Laminated and melamine panels stand strong and you can pick them in multiple color and texture choices.

Timber or timber-like surfaces create a warm natural environment.

Select the material based on its capability to stay clean and prevent scratches as you compare its fits with other room elements.

Focus on Functionality and Quality

Sliding wardrobe doors deliver their attractive appearance only when they perform correctly. Quality sliding hardware requires installation to move without noise and stay easy to use. The negative effects of low-quality tracks and rollers will get on your nerves by making the door rub against the track and get jammed. Select skilled wardrobe installers who guarantee top-quality fitting and put their work under warranty.

Consider Storage and Design Integration

Reserve time to examine how the sliding door matches your wardrobe interior arrangements. Your cutting room remains inaccessible while you use either door side of a standard two-door wardrobe with sliding doors. The design of your sliding doors may force you to reevaluate how you put your garments and storage items. The system can hold multiple tracks of sliding doors or operate from corners to help you access your wardrobe better.

Skilled wardrobe specialists in Sydney build sliding doors to fit your room style while designing a utility-based storage system.

Set a Realistic Budget

Your location does not affect how much you should save for your built-in wardrobes in Sydney. The availability of cheap wardrobes and low-budget sliding wardrobes does not lead to poor quality results. The local business SydneyWardrobe designs affordable built-in wardrobes that meet all quality standards.

You should select a sliding wardrobe door for your built-in cabinet based on its combination of appearance, performance, and cost. Sydney customers have various options such as mirrored glass wood grain finishes and low-cost door choices to match their property.

Professional wardrobe installers and your personal requirements help you design an outstanding wardrobe system that both improves your room's look and makes everyday getting dressed easier. Clients in the metropolitan area including Penrith Campbelltown Liverpool and North Sydney should invest in a professional sliding wardrobe door installation because of its aesthetic and practical benefits.

[kazuyagoddamnmishima]

SSWBasics Costumer Stand

Customized Display Solutions: The Rise of the Adjustable Clothes Rack

A clothes rack adjusts with an easy slide that can be adjusted from a small 48 inches to 72 inches. Homeowners and retailers alike delight in its ability to match with the width of diverse items and storage needs with the utmost precision. This adjustable feature embodies the essence of modern display solutions that are user-centric and adaptive.

A stylish black finish covers the rack, giving an air of sophistication to the spaces it inhabits. This isn't just any display stand. It's a statement piece that elevates the appearance of its surroundings. The premium black design seamlessly integrates into a spectrum of different environments including the hustle of retail to the serene setting of your home.

The design of this clothes rack is a reference to space efficiency. In a world where square footage comes at a premium, its sleek and sturdy construction maximizes the utility of every area it occupies. This rack doesn't just reduce space; it also enhances the look of the items it presents and is a great item for small-scale companies and living spaces.

Beyond hanging garments This rack's versatility is no bounds. It's a platform for creative display -- for models, plants, festive wreaths, and birdseeders. The design of this rack is based on the diverse demands of its users to ensure that it is functional across a spectrum of applications.

Easy assembly comes with the promise of lasting durability. The rack that is heavy-duty comes together easily and is ready to bear the weight of up to 25 pounds. It's a testament to an efficient design, easy to put together and sturdy in use.

The rack's durability is evident but a slight lean can be seen when the rack is carrying weight along its front edge. However, this slight tilt doesn't mar its overall functionality. Its user-friendliness is obvious, accommodating itself easily to various spaces and completing its function with precision.

Shoppers evaluate the rack's value taking into account not just the cost but also the range of functionality it offers. It is a standout in a variety of settings -- serving retail displays in a way that is also able to organize personal wardrobes. Its worth is affirmed by the satisfaction with those who implemented it into their homes which has earned it top marks.

In the realm of retail fashion, the rack plays crucial backstage roles that holds clothes steady while they are steam-steamed to perfection. Its stability is vital, providing a reliable anchor for fabrics when they release wrinkles under the steamer's mist.

Retail staff find it an efficient space-saving ally, sliding quietly behind doors yet emerging as a sturdy display option when needed. Its ability to secure a variety of things makes it a key element in both the storage space and in the floor of sales.

In the home, the rack's unobtrusive style is appealing. Its practicality is coupled with simple lines that enhance instead of dominating the room's style which makes it an ideal addition to any residential space.

For urban dwellers in compact residences, the rack's space-saving design is a huge benefit. It has ample storage capacity and also conserves valuable living space. A intelligent solution to the issues of modern-day living.

Simple assembly is a blessing for the DIY enthusiast. This rack is designed for quick, hassle-free installation, which allows for quick application across various scenarios including fashion shows to organizing your home.

The single-arm clothes rack goes beyond its primary function. It becomes an indispensable device that can be adapted to the variety of requirements, both personal and commercial. The multi-purpose capabilities of the tool ensure its place as a valuable asset that goes beyond garment display.

In the retail setting The rack's sturdy structure and stylish design create a subtle yet significant impact to the customer experience. It enhances the accessibility and visibility of the merchandise, and streamlines the process from selecting to purchase.

In conclusion, this fashionable and adjustable clothes rack stands as an illustration of the practicality of innovation. It performs a wide range of tasks with ease and style which makes it an option that is highly sought-after by the most discerning of retailers and homeowners. Its combination of utility as well as space efficiency and ease of assembly cements its reputation as a versatile and attractive solution for display and storage needs.

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[almalekcarpentry]

Unique Wooden Partition Designs | Rotating TV Stand.

Latest designs for wardrobes with normal and sliding doors.

One Stop Solution for customized dressing room, wardrobes, Walk-In Closets, all types of Furniture, Sofa seating and wooden products in UAE.

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This revolving platform allows a full 360 degree turn in a solid and stable manner. Its rotation is done manually, with a soft and quiet slide, due to its rolling with metal balls. It can support a load of up to 100 kg. Its installation in furniture is easy and simple, as it is screwed to the board to fix it. Moreover, it is made of steel with a discreet black finish.

[atplblog]

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[wittyphilosophersolitude]

How Custom Sliding Doors in Abu Dhabi Are Redefining Modern Living Spaces

Sliding doors have become a modern staple in stylish and functional interior design. In Abu Dhabi, custom sliding doors are gaining immense popularity as homeowners and businesses look for elegant, space-saving, and practical solutions to enhance their spaces. Let’s dive into how these doors are reshaping contemporary living and working environments in the UAE capital.

Space Optimization at Its Best

One of the most compelling reasons to opt for Custom Sliding Doors Abu Dhabi is the efficient use of space. Unlike traditional swing doors that require clearance to open and close, sliding doors glide along tracks, making them ideal for compact rooms, balconies, wardrobes, and partition walls. This space-saving feature is a significant advantage in urban Abu Dhabi residences where maximizing square footage is a top priority.

Tailored Design to Match Any Aesthetic

Abu Dhabi is known for its diverse architectural styles, ranging from traditional Emirati villas to sleek, modern apartments. Custom sliding doors can be designed to complement any interior. Whether you prefer frosted glass for privacy, mirror panels for added light, or natural wood frames for warmth, customization options are virtually limitless. These doors blend seamlessly into any theme—contemporary, minimalist, rustic, or luxurious.

Enhanced Natural Light and Connectivity

Sliding doors, especially those made of glass, allow for an abundance of natural light to flood your rooms. This not only reduces energy consumption but also enhances the visual appeal of your interiors. In Abu Dhabi’s sunny climate, this feature is particularly beneficial. Moreover, sliding doors can create a fluid connection between indoor and outdoor spaces, ideal for patios, balconies, or gardens.

Increased Property Value

Installing high-quality custom sliding doors can significantly boost the value of your property. Prospective buyers or renters in Abu Dhabi often look for homes with modern, functional, and stylish elements. Sliding doors signal thoughtful design and up-to-date interiors, making your property more attractive in a competitive market.

Noise Reduction and Energy Efficiency

Modern sliding doors are built with insulated frames and energy-efficient glass, which help reduce outside noise and maintain indoor temperature. This is particularly advantageous in busy urban areas of Abu Dhabi where soundproofing is essential for comfort and concentration, especially in work-from-home setups or home offices.

Ideal for Both Residential and Commercial Spaces

Whether you are redesigning your home, setting up a chic café, or upgrading your office interiors in Abu Dhabi, Custom Sliding Doors Abu Dhabi provide a sleek and functional solution. They are perfect for conference rooms, shop fronts, and even hotel suites, offering both privacy and openness as needed.

Conclusion

Custom sliding doors in Abu Dhabi are more than just entryways—they are a design statement. They offer aesthetic versatility, spatial efficiency, and enhanced living experiences, making them a preferred choice for modern interiors. If you're planning a renovation or constructing a new property, consider incorporating custom sliding doors to bring a seamless blend of style and practicality to your space.