#Security Lighting Installation

[paxtonvaldovinos]

Smart Home Solutions at Palm Beach Audio Visions

At Palm Beach Audio Visions (PBAV), we are passionate about delivering exceptional audio visual, home automation, lighting, and technology integration solutions for residential and commercial projects. From the initial concept to the final system deployment, we are dedicated to ensuring that projects are completed on time and within budget while exceeding industry standards for quality. Our team of experienced professionals brings a wealth of expertise in the high-end market and a strong focus on building lasting relationships with our clients. Feel free to visit us!

[elkian]

I had a much longer post but the short version is that it's extremely frustrating to work a night job in a society that wants to benefit from people working night jobs without actually accommodating that whatsoever.

It's not just that my only option to do things is on the weekend, it's that my only option to do almost everything is On The Weekend. I'm still on my nocturnal sleep cycle and tons of places close earlier on the Weekend, which means I still have to get up earlier than I'd like just to get things done. There is a limited amount of Weekend to work with, and I'm well aware that this is a common problem with daytime work - been there, done that - but it feels so much more exacerbated when hitting the grocery store after work isn't an option because it isn't even open.

[buzzdailyx]

Wyze just made installing outdoor security cameras as easy as changing a light bulb

Homeowners who have been wanting to add one of the best home security cameras to their property, but have been hesitant to tackle the world of wires and screws and mounts, have just gotten the product they’ve been waiting for. Wyze announced today the Bulb Cam, an outdoor smart camera that is powered by any light fixture and that can work as a smart light bulb, provide custom lighting control,…

[psyworks]

The Blood Moon Lunar Eclipse March 13th and 14th 2025

The Blood Moon lunar eclipse on March 13th and 14th are a rare moment to rewire your subconscious mind and unlock a new reality that you want to create.Just like the Moon pulls the tides, it also pulls on your subconscious mind… bringing hidden beliefs to the surface. And when the Moon turns red, it activates deep transformation, tied to the root chakra and your sense of power and…

[hookedupelectric]

Why Should You Invest in Generator Installation Services in San Angelo?

Power outages can happen anytime, and having a backup generator can save you from the hassle of unexpected blackouts. If you're considering a generator for your home or business, here’s what to keep in mind when looking for generator installation services in San Angelo:

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At Hooked Up Electric, we provide expert generator installation, ensuring your system is set up correctly and ready when you need it. Don’t wait for the next power outage—invest in a reliable generator today.

[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 ♡

[uselectriccontractors]

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[kenlocksmith-blog1]

Preventing Break-Ins: Essential Security Measures for Homeowners

Home security is a top priority for homeowners, and with good reason. Break-ins can be traumatic experiences, resulting in loss of valuables, damage to property, and a sense of violation. However, with the right security measures in place, homeowners can significantly reduce the risk of break-ins. In this article, we will explore essential security measures that homeowners can implement to protect their property and loved ones from burglaries.

Assess Vulnerabilities:

The first step in preventing break-ins is to assess the vulnerabilities of your home. Walk around your property and identify potential entry points such as doors, windows, and garage doors. Pay attention to areas that are hidden from view, poorly lit, or easily accessible. By understanding your home’s weak points, you can take targeted action to reinforce security where it’s needed most.

Install High-Quality Locks:

Strong, durable locks are a homeowner’s first line of defense against break-ins. Invest in high-quality deadbolt locks for exterior doors, as they provide superior resistance to forced entry. Consider upgrading to smart locks, which offer advanced security features such as keyless entry, remote access, and activity logs. Don’t forget to secure windows with locks or secondary locking devices to prevent intruders from gaining access through them.

Illuminate Your Property:

A well-lit home is less attractive to burglars, as they prefer to operate under the cover of darkness. Install motion-sensor lights around the perimeter of your property to deter intruders and illuminate dark areas. Consider adding timer-controlled lights indoors to give the impression that someone is home, even when you’re away. Lighting not only enhances security but also increases visibility, making it easier to spot suspicious activity. Read more at: Preventing Break-Ins: Essential Security Measures for Homeowners

[paxtonvaldovinos]

Enhance Your Home with Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades

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Benefits of Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades

Convenience and Control: With Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, you can easily control the amount of natural light entering your home. Using the Lutron app, you can raise, lower, or adjust your shades with a simple tap on your smartphone or tablet. Additionally, these shades can be integrated with voice assistants like Amazon Alexa, Google Assistant, and Apple HomeKit, allowing you to control them using voice commands.

Energy Efficiency: Lutron shades can significantly enhance your home’s energy efficiency. They automatically adjust based on the time of day and help regulate indoor temperatures. During the summer, the shades can be lowered to block out heat, reducing the need for air conditioning. In the winter, they can let in natural sunlight, helping warm your home and reduce heating costs.

Enhanced Privacy and Security: Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades offer increased privacy and security. You can schedule the shades to close at specific times, ensuring your home remains private, especially during the evening. Additionally, while you’re away, you can program your shades to open and close at different times to give the appearance that someone is home, deterring potential intruders.

Aesthetic Appeal: With many different materials, colors, and patterns, you may personalize these shades to complement your interior decor perfectly. Lutron offers solutions that can improve the visual appeal of any room, whether you prefer the sleek appearance of roller shades or the elegance of draperies.

Smart Integration: Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades integrate seamlessly with other smart home systems. This means you can create custom scenes that involve multiple smart devices. For example, you can create a “Movie Night” scene where the shades are lower, the lights dim, and your home theater system is turned on, all with a single command.

How Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades Work

Lutron shades operate using advanced motorized technology that ensures smooth and quiet operation. Here’s a brief overview of how they work:

Installation: Professional installation is recommended for Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades to ensure they are correctly fitted and integrated with your home’s electrical system. A certified installer will measure your windows, help you choose the right shades, and set up the system.

Control: Once installed, you can control the shades using the Lutron app, a wall-mounted keypad, or voice commands. The app allows you to set schedules, create scenes, and easily adjust individual shades or groups of shades.

Automation: Lutron shades can be programmed to operate automatically based on your preferences. You can set them to open in the morning to let in natural light and close in the evening for privacy. To maximize energy efficiency, sensors can also change the shades according to how much sunshine enters the space.

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Lutron has pioneered smart home technology for decades and is known for its high-quality products and innovative solutions. Choosing Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades means investing in a reliable, durable, and stylish solution for your home. These shades enhance your comfort and convenience and add value to your property.

Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades are a fantastic addition to any home, offering a blend of modern technology and elegant design. With benefits ranging from improved energy efficiency to enhanced privacy and seamless integration with other smart devices, these shades provide a comprehensive solution for today’s smart home needs. Transform your home with Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades from Palm Beach Audio Visions! Experience unmatched convenience, energy efficiency, and elegant design. Control your shades with ease using your smartphone or voice commands. Schedule your consultation today and elevate your living space with cutting-edge bright window solutions!

[rrs1188]

[bi-writes]

deranged ex husband!ghost thoughts:

he lives up to his nickname. he's not ex husband price who simply Does Not Stop and shows up all the time to demonstrate to your new partners that he is fundamental anatomy to your life.

he haunts you. tampered amazon packages, a room slightly altered when you return from work, he's in your phone, he's in your inbox, he fixes things while you're away just as often as he breaks them.

is there someone in the other room? you bought a travel door lock and replaced every piece of home security tech with something new but you can swear you can hear a window shimmied open, a door lock whirring. you think you're losing your mind. who do you call when you think you're being stalked? when security is your greatest fear? your ex? his friends?

a wriggling and primal part of your mind warns you this is a bad idea. but you unblock his number, you text simon to see if he's still in the area. how are you doing? i know it's been a while, but i need a favor.

oh my goodness............................. (18+)

he says nothing as he does a walkthrough of your new divorcee flat. one bedroom in a nice-enough neighborhood, but you saw the twitch of his eye when he noticed the front lobby doors could be jimmyed open with the edge of a credit card.

the cat greets him like she always does. slender, grey thing that slithers between his thick legs as he moves through your space. you notice his gloved hands ghosting over divots in entryways that he made, flicking the useless lock of your window that he's already broken himself twice. you follow him like a puppy into every room he studies, rocking back and forth, wet eyes and trembling lips realizing as he moves just how unsafe you are.

he says nothing when he stands in your foyer again after doing his thorough once-over, turning to face you silently, where you're already crying. he just stands, not touching you, tilting his head to the side as he watches those glassy, salty tears fall down your puffed cheeks as you sputter through soft breaths that you don't know what to do.

ghost just kisses his teeth and stands there. he's an asshole—he's not going to do anything unless you ask him to. he's mean like that, likes to be wanted. he wants you to open your pretty, wet mouth and ask for it like a good girl. he's not going to assume you want his help; he wants you to put your hands on his thick chest and ask him all pathetic that you need him to do something about the thing that's been breaking into your house.

ghost is not your husband anymore though. when he was, he would've gladly fixed all your things for you. he would've gladly spent the entire day installing cameras, fixing your locks, getting you proper deadbolts, but he's just some man to you now, and his labor isn't for free.

he wants to feel nasty about it, but he can't. you don't even have to ask what he wants—you know what it is. you sniffle, blubbery and whiny, as you put your thumbs into the gusset of your sleep shorts and pull them to the side as you bend over the kitchen counter.

he keeps a big hand tangled in your hair as he fucks you. he yanks your neck back, bending you at the hip, an angle so sharp that your back arches uncomfortably as the edge of the counter digs into your tummy sharply. he barely makes a sound himself, but the slick between your bodies makes up for it.

slap, slap, slap—you're soaked between the thighs, all wound up and hot and breathless after watching ghost be so capable and confident and smart. he's so intelligent. he's so big and brawny and brave. you'd trade anything to feel safe again after living on your own after so long, and honestly, paying for fixed locks for a wet shag with your ex-husband isn't the worst price at all.

the problem between you two was never the sex, that's for sure. in fact, you think the connection alone kept you around longer than you meant to be. ghost would light a cigarette and stick a thick hand down his trousers, and you'd all but fall onto his dick just to placate the heat of attraction that always wound you like crazy.

your eyes roll back in your head when he cups your pussy with a big, hot hand. you grip the counter and grind against his palm, sticking your tongue out as he pounds into you deeper, more forcefully. he's close, you know it by the falter in his breaths, and you can't help yourself.

you just can't.

"inside—" you whine. "don't pull out—"

ghost laughs—why the fuck would he ever pull out?

maybe if he breaks a window next, you'll let him try for a baby.

[jungwnies]

not that kind of pole | partial grid

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, carlos sainz, lewis hamilton, charles leclerc, lando norris, and oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : you put a stripper pole in your bedroom, what's their reaction?

୨ৎ : tws : slightly suggestive (obviously) ୨ৎ : word count : 2076

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : i don't think i have the core strength to use a stripper pole icl...

ʚ・max verstappen

max had barely dropped his bag at the door when he noticed it.

the room was dimly lit, soft music playing, everything normal… except for the gleaming silver pole now bolted to the floor and ceiling right in front of the bed.

he stood there, completely still, helmet still in hand.

you looked up from your spot by the dresser and grinned. “hi, baby.”

he raised a brow, eyes not leaving the pole. “what is that?”

“a surprise.”

he blinked slowly. “is this a joke?”

“nope.”

he walked over like he was inspecting a piece of equipment on the car — hands on his hips, eyes narrowed, head tilted just slightly. “you got a stripper pole installed. in our bedroom.”

“correct.”

“you planned this.”

“also correct.”

he stared for another beat, then muttered, “you’re dangerous.”

you leaned against the pole with a smirk. “only a little.”

max ran a hand down his face. “you know what this is going to do to me.”

“that’s the idea.”

he dropped his helmet onto the nightstand and exhaled hard. “no warning? no ‘hey babe, i’m turning our bedroom into a club’?”

you walked toward him, slow and deliberate, stopping just close enough to rest a finger on the center of his chest. “didn’t want to give you time to mentally prepare.”

“mission accomplished.”

you kissed his cheek, then pulled away. “want a demo?”

he didn’t even answer, just sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, jaw tight, eyes already fixed on you like he was gearing up for lights out.

the moment you started moving, just one smooth spin, one arch of your back, he exhaled something low and deeply unholy.

you landed with a little grin and looked over at him. “you okay?”

max was quiet, hand over his mouth, leg bouncing slightly. then:

“do it again.”

you tilted your head. “just once more?”

he looked at you like you were the last glass of champagne on the podium. “keep doing it until i say stop.”

you laughed, grabbing the pole again. “so bossy.”

he leaned forward, elbows on knees. “i’ll show you bossy when you’re done.”

and the look in his eyes said he meant it.

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos had been suspicious the second you told him to “go for a walk or something” with a very specific time limit and a “don’t come back until i text you” tacked on. he even sent you a photo from a café just to prove he was obeying the rules.

but when he came home and walked into your shared bedroom… all of that patience instantly crumbled.

he stopped in the doorway, eyebrows raised, eyes trailing up the very real, very securely installed stripper pole now planted in the middle of the room.

“…¿perdona?”

you turned around with a grin, towel in hand, having just finished tightening the base. “hey babe.”

he stepped closer, slowly, like the pole might vanish if he moved too fast. “you put this… in here.”

“mhm.”

“you installed this,” he said again, pointing like he needed confirmation from the universe.

you nodded.

carlos rubbed the back of his neck, staring. “and… what exactly is the plan with it?”

you walked over to him, fingers grazing his chest. “well, i was going to surprise you with a full routine, but you’re early.”

he blinked. “mi amor, you think that’s the part i’m stuck on?”

you laughed, tugging him closer. “so, you hate it?”

he let out a breathy laugh, still in mild disbelief. “i think i’m about to have a religious experience.”

you kissed his jaw, slow and teasing. “i’ve been practicing.”

he swallowed. “okay. yes. okay. show me.”

“now?”

“now,” he said firmly, already backing up toward the bed like he was preparing for a performance of a lifetime.

the second you started, his whole demeanor changed. arms crossed. head tilted. a little smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes? locked in.

by the time you reached the final spin, carlos was on the edge of the bed, both hands gripping the sheets, pupils blown wide.

you didn’t even get a chance to ask for feedback before he was already walking toward you.

“you’re never getting rid of that,” he muttered against your neck.

you laughed. “didn’t plan to.”

his lips brushed your ear. “one more show and i’m marrying you on the spot.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you didn’t hear the door open at first—too focused on testing your grip strength and wiping the pole down with a towel. you were mid-spin when lewis walked in, gym bag slung over his shoulder, sunglasses still on despite the sun already setting.

he stopped in his tracks like he’d just walked into a dream.

you glanced at him in the mirror and smiled. “hey baby.”

he took the sunglasses off slowly. “is that what i think it is?”

you slid down the pole smoothly, grinning as you turned to face him. “depends. what do you think it is?”

he let out a soft laugh, low and amazed. “you installed a stripper pole in our bedroom.”

“correct.”

lewis walked toward you, dropping his bag by the dresser and looking the pole up and down like it was a prized car he was about to test drive. “is it safe?”

“installed it myself.”

he raised an eyebrow. “that’s hot.”

you twirled around once more, nothing too flashy — just enough to make his jaw go slack. “i figured it’d be a fun surprise.”

lewis reached for his phone in his back pocket, already scrolling. “you already know what playlist i’m putting on.”

you laughed. “you have a playlist for this?” your cheeks flushed, and before you could say anything, he turned the speaker on as sultry r&b immediately began filling the room.

“oh we’re really doing this,” you said, walking past him with a teasing smile.

he caught your wrist gently. “no no. you’re doing this. i’m just here to witness greatness.”

you climbed the pole again, this time slower, more deliberate. lewis sat at the edge of the bed, arms spread, legs slightly apart, watching with such intense focus you might’ve thought you were performing in front of an entire crowd.

when you landed, he leaned forward, voice like velvet. “you’re not getting any sleep tonight, you know that, right?”

you walked toward him, placing a hand on his chest. “didn’t plan to.”

he smiled, kissing your wrist. and with the look he gave you after that? the pole wasn’t the only thing getting tested that night.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles had just gotten out of the shower, towel low on his hips, hair dripping, humming some french song under his breath when he stepped into the bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks.

the steam still clung to his skin, but the moment he saw it, the sleek silver pole planted in the middle of your bedroom—his body went ice cold and burning hot all at once.

“qu’est-ce que… what is that?” he asked, eyes wide.

you looked over your shoulder, wearing the tiniest little shorts and a tank top that was barely clinging to one shoulder. “you like it?”

he blinked. “is that… a stripper pole?”

you smiled sweetly. “mhm.”

he took two steps forward, towel shifting slightly. “why is there a stripper pole in our room?”

“for fun. for fitness,” you said innocently, gripping it and spinning once — slow, graceful, intentional.

charles let out a breath like you’d knocked the air out of his lungs. “you’re joking.”

you weren’t. and by the time you climbed up, hooked your knee around, and slid down in a slow, practiced spin, he looked ready to combust.

“you’re trying to kill me,” he said, voice low, almost strangled.

“not kill,” you murmured, walking toward him, “just… ruin a little.”

he grabbed your waist the second you were close enough, pulling you flush against him. the towel was hanging on by a thread. his eyes were dark, heavy, drinking you in like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“you do that again,” he whispered, “and i’m taking you right here.”

you smirked, looping your arms around his neck. “what if that’s what i want?”

his jaw clenched, fingers tightening around your hips. “don’t say things like that when i’m already—”

you kissed him, slow and heated, and he groaned into your mouth like he was losing the last shred of control he had left.

when you pulled back, slightly breathless, he leaned his forehead against yours. “you’ve officially made the bedroom a danger zone.”

you grinned. “then maybe we need to break it in.”

and yeah—you did. forget the pole, that pole will never look at charles the same again.

ʚ・lando norris

you didn’t mean for him to find it right away.

the plan was to install it, test it out, and then surprise him with the full show. music, outfit, dim lighting, the whole thing. but fate (and lando’s awful sense of patience) had other plans.

he walked into the bedroom with a mouthful of trail mix and stopped mid-chew.

“…is that a pole?”

you blinked, caught mid-spin, hands gripping the cool metal. “hey babe.”

he blinked again. “you got a stripper pole in our room.”

you grinned. “surprise?”

lando dropped his snack on the dresser like it was suddenly irrelevant. “no. no no no. you don’t just casually put a stripper pole in the room and say ‘surprise.’ this is like… life-altering information.”

you slid down slowly, then struck a pose. legs crossed, one hand trailing down the pole with exaggerated flair. “thought it might be fun.”

he stared at you for a solid ten seconds, completely speechless.

then: “okay but like… are you just trying to end me?”

you laughed, stepping off to grab a towel and wipe your hands. “you’re being dramatic.”

“i’m being logical!” he shot back. “you’re up here spinning like it’s cirque du soleil and i’m just supposed to cope?”

you walked over and tugged at his shirt. “you’ll survive.”

he wrapped his arms around you, lips brushing your ear. “doubt it.”

the rest of the night passed in a blur of “do that move again,” and “okay but slower this time,” and lando sitting cross-legged on the bed like a dedicated audience member, watching with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

at one point he whispered, “i need to install like five more mirrors in this room.”

you smirked. “is that so?”

“absolutely,” he muttered, practically starstruck. “and maybe a fan. for aesthetic reasons.”

by the time you finally curled into bed, his voice was still slightly hoarse. “i don’t think i’ll ever recover.”

you kissed his cheek. “glad you liked it.”

lando just groaned into his pillow. “liked it? you ruined me.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

oscar was halfway through brushing his teeth when he spotted it in the mirror, just barely in the reflection behind him, the very distinct outline of a… pole?

he turned around slowly, toothbrush still in his mouth.

walked back out into the bedroom.

paused.

then, with a foamy mouthful of minty disbelief: “did you just install a stripper pole in our room?”

you looked up from where you were stretching beside it, casual as ever. “i did.”

oscar stared. “when?”

“earlier today.”

he wiped his mouth with a towel, eyes narrowing like he was trying to solve a crime scene. “why?”

you tilted your head. “for fitness. for fun. for chaos.”

he stepped into the room slowly, eyes flicking from the pole to you and back again. “is it… sturdy?”

“i’ve tested it.”

“i’m scared to ask what that means.”

you stood, walking to the pole with the kind of deliberate grace that made his brain short-circuit just a little. “i could show you.”

oscar blinked, hands falling to his sides like all rational thought had left the chat. “i mean—yeah. i think that would be helpful. for, uh, scientific reasons.”

you started to move. nothing fancy. just a slow climb, a gentle spin, but you didn’t need tricks. the way his jaw dropped halfway through said enough.

by the time you dismounted, oscar was sitting on the bed with his hands in his lap like he’d just witnessed something sacred.

“…you’ve been practicing?” he asked, voice a bit too soft to be casual.

“okay,” he nodded, “okay. cool. normal.”

you kissed his cheek. “wanna see the heels i got to go with it?”

he just groaned. “you’re evil, of course i do.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[hookedupelectric]

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Investing in professional electrical services is an investment in your property’s safety and functionality. For reliable and efficient solutions, trust the experts in San Angelo to handle your electrical projects with care and expertise.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Landlord x Reader

You move to New York because you have no reason to stay anywhere else.

After the breakup—after him—there was no home left. The apartment in Chicago had grown cold, not just in winter, but in the way it echoed with silence even when you were still living there. So, when the hospital called with a residency offer, you packed fast and drove faster, your old car chugging like it resented the weight of your regret.

You arrive in Brooklyn with three suitcases, a secondhand coffee maker, and too many scars to count. Internally. Externally, you’ve always passed for composed, professional. Polished even, when you put in the effort. People don’t see what you don’t let them.

The apartment is perfect. Too perfect. That’s the first red flag, but you don’t want to see it. The rent is suspiciously affordable. Hardwood floors. High ceilings. An antique clawfoot tub. When you visit the unit, sunlight pours in like a promise. You pause at the window, tracing the skyline in your mind like you’re sketching a new future.

The landlord is handsome in that quiet, overlooked kind of way. He introduces himself as Andy, says he inherited the building from his grandfather. Says he’s doing some renovations—you’ll hear some noise now and then, hope that’s not a dealbreaker. He smiles like he’s nervous. Like he isn’t used to people looking directly at him.

You don’t ask too many questions. The building feels safe. Andy feels harmless. You’re tired of running.

So you sign the lease.

You don’t notice the way he watches you. Not at first.

The first few weeks are a blur of hospital rotations and late-night subway rides. You’re barely home long enough to unpack. When you do sleep, it’s dreamless, like your mind’s been rinsed clean by exhaustion. You only vaguely remember Andy helping you carry your boxes upstairs, his fingers brushing yours when he handed over the keys. You’d thanked him. Smiled.

Sometimes you hear footsteps in the hallway at odd hours. A whisper of movement. But you tell yourself it’s just another tenant. You haven’t met your neighbors yet. You don’t plan to.

The first time something feels off is when you find your toothbrush slightly damp at 7 p.m. You haven’t used it since morning. You think maybe you’re being paranoid. Then your shampoo is in a different spot. Your towels are folded differently. The window in the bathroom is open when you never open it.

You change the locks.

Andy drops by with a bottle of wine a few days later. Says it’s a welcome gift. You accept it awkwardly, standing half-behind your door. You never drink it.

That night, you hear a thud inside the walls. You tell yourself it’s the pipes. Old buildings do that.

You feel eyes on you when you sleep.

You can’t explain it. It’s like your body knows something before your mind can catch up. You start waking up in cold sweats. You start locking your bedroom door. You stop using the bathtub.

Then one night, you wake up to the sound of breathing.

Not your own.

You freeze, heart pounding. You listen. It’s faint, ragged. Almost desperate. You flick on the light.

Nothing.

You check every room. You look under the bed, in the closet, behind the shower curtain. You find nothing but shadows. Still, you feel it. Someone has been in here.

You go to Andy the next day. You try to be casual, but your voice trembles. You ask if there’s any chance someone has access to your apartment. He frowns, concerned. Says he’ll change the locks personally. Says he’ll install extra security. Says it with the same calm voice a doctor might use before slipping in a needle.

You almost believe him.

Then you find the camera.

It’s hidden behind the vent in your bedroom. You only see it because the grate is slightly ajar. Tiny. Barely noticeable. You wouldn’t have noticed it at all if the wind hadn’t shifted the angle of light on the wall.

You don’t scream. You sit there, your heart slowly collapsing in your chest. Your skin prickles with invisible hands. Every second you’ve ever spent in this apartment flashes through your mind—every moment alone, every private breath.

He’s been watching you.

You leave that night.

You get a hotel. You call the cops. You tell them everything.

But by the time they investigate, the camera’s gone. The vent is closed. The apartment is clean. No signs of forced entry. No fingerprints. Just you and your paranoia.

You try to stay at a friend’s, but you can’t stop looking over your shoulder. You can’t stop imagining him slipping into your room in the middle of the night. You start seeing Andy’s face in crowds. In reflections. In your sleep.

You change your phone number. You quit your residency.

But he still finds you.

He waits for you in your hotel room. You come back from a late dinner, fumbling with your keycard, and he’s just there, inside. Like he’s always belonged there. Like you’re the one intruding.

He doesn’t threaten. He just talks.

He tells you he didn’t mean to scare you. That he just wanted to be close to you. That he fell in love the moment he saw you. That he made your apartment perfect because you deserved it.

That he watched you cry after phone calls and wanted to hold you.

That he listened to your breathing because it was the only sound that ever made him feel calm.

You back away slowly. You have a knife in your purse. You never used to carry one.

You draw it as he steps closer.

He doesn’t stop.

You stab him in the side.

He gasps. Bleeds. Smiles.

And still, still, he tries to touch your face like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

AN: I stole the plot from The Resident.

Masterlist

[lyttlesmarth]

Lyttle Smart Homes LTD

Lyttle Smart Homes LTD was founded by Peter Lyttle, a qualified electrical and electronic engineer with many years of experience. His background is working with some of the largest engineering companies in Northern Ireland. Since setting up Lyttle Smart Homes LTD, he has put his expertise from his time in engineering to try and give customers the best smart homes possible. He enjoys solving problems and speaking to customers and finds the biggest reward he can get is seeing a happy customer in their completed house with more than they ever expected. Based in Glenarm, we cover Both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.

Hours : Monday to Saturday 8am-6pm

Address : 45 Dickeystown Road

Glenarm BT44 0BA

Phone : 07447 089033

Email : peter@lyttlesmarthomes.co.uk

Website : https://lyttlesmarthomes.co.uk/

[uselectriccontractors]

Those who operate in electric workshops and similar factories should always carry a pair of insulated rubber gloves. Electricians Kirtland who working with electrical lines or branch circuits, must always wear protective eyewear. Never handle any electrical works without wearing rubber gloves.