she's on a mission to kill your father — until you came in the picture.
cw # eighteen+ minors don't interact as it contains smut, bodyguard!mizu, modern au yet my girl still kills shitty man, there's a lot of words from japan (ya girl did homework for this) there's a cute dictionary at the end of the story / never let them tell you smut isn't educational, fingering, pussyspanks, dirty talk, sparring is hot. full-contact combat is fucking hot. sue me — wc: 5.5k
if we're being fair, mizu has no friends.
she uses people to get what she wants, a situation that usually goes pretty well when people use her back too — at least until she got herself hired by your father after being involved in enough shady business to have people looking out for you as a way of get him.
he might be a bad man, but her daughter on the other hand, seems to be all the contrary. a fucking brat, yes. the rightful heir of one of the worst ¹ninkyō dantai settled in japan, surrounded by violence and the hard edges of a life full of pain and loneliness, you're different from your sisters, kinder. your father's favorite who learned to keep her heart in a secured crystal box.
it only makes mizu's mission harder to accomplish. her own fault when she's the one that keeps putting herself in situations where she's constantly tempted to cross lines: lately, she's not a demon, nor a ronin in their path for revenge, she's just mizu. your bodyguard.
follows you around to your parties late at night calm and collected, she barely moves a muscle when you're being poorly flirted with. under tinted spectacles she keeps on most of the time, she judges in silence, stays close to your room until sure there's no menace like a loyal pet who's hired to grant your safety, distorting her path to success with a distraction she cannot avoid.
and the thing is, she should feel guilty for letting you get this close. finally get to know this vulnerability that settles in her throat, a familiar yet unwanted ache in her chest that prevents her from doing her initial work: she's there to kill your father, not be distracted by the princess who's trapped in the highest tower.
"you're not hitting with your knuckles," emotionless. mizu's voice does a nice job in making you think she's not nearly affected by the sudden lack of space between you and her — "you hit with your knuckles. not your fingers."
when did she allow an idea as such? it all started on the attack of friday to have it all circling down the drain, 'cause mizu didn't expect when five men surrounded the both of you with the idea of asking for ransom money until it ended in bloodshed.
she saved you. avoided a really bad ending, but she can barely walk out of the club when you have to help her to get into the car, taking care of her wounds until you're back home stitching her up in your bed like it wasn't against all the rules she set before, all boundaries. you're good at blowing up her defenses, as your hands work steadily over the wounds to stitch her skin back together, you're good at making her a mess.
drinking an insane amount of sake to keep the pain in line, you let her sleep in your bed, still and without moving a muscle mizu remembers. even through the agony she went through the night, she sticks to your steady breathing seated on an uncomfortable chair right next to your own bed, etched in her memories along all the torments she endured during her existence; your distinct smell like gardenias blossoming in spring grounds her, keeps her on earth.
it pulls her closer to you since she trusts you now, and the next morning when she's called in front of your father, she's only greeted with a satisfied smile like it was his success: he's the one who hired mizu in the first place, wasn't his win after all?
it's good. what she wanted anyway. it's all part of a complex plan your bodyguard started to follow from before, gain your father's confidence and somehow get close enough to know his plans, his web of connections crafted by decades of blood and innocence. that's what mizu tells herself to keep the show going — get close to you means get closer to your old man. that's why she allows it in the first place.
that's the whole explanation of why she agreed to give you some lessons in self-defense too, nothing wild or complex, but enough to be of help if things turned out wrong and she's not there to help. yes, she needs to get closer to your dad, but as much as she'd like to deny it, it's different when the doors are closed and its you and her, when in dead silence, mizu wishes upon your well being and your safety now that she gets to know you better, understand that there's no evil in your action or desires; now that you stitched her back together, now that she bleed out in your bed.
subtle, against her will. she wants to be there for you.
kindness and affection might be foreign to her, rusted tools mizu long ago forgotten since they seem not to work for her, yet you wield them as freely as the violence in her desire for vengeance, so much she needs to remember the excuse every once in a while: kill. she's there to kill, not save the princess who already survived years on her own.
"i will not hit you with my knuckles," you reply, shaking your head at the idea —"you're recovering still, it would only add to the pain."
makes her wonder sometimes, a genuine question that settles in her head cause your family can be ruthless, cold-hearted and cruel; however you look away at the violence you're forced to watch, an empire you don't want by the look on your face she can read every time you're mentioned the topic. built differently.
"i can take a punch." maybe teaching you some self-defense moves was a way of helping you, give you some sort of weapon to stand by yourself: she takes it seriously when you're barefoot on the blue mat of the gym. "you need to learn."
she's always so serious around you. this time more than ever when mizu's too occupied on doing a good job: you've spent most of her lesson falling until you got a few scratches on your knees you don't dare to whine about. not when she's the best on the field, some kind of ²onna-musha you've read about in stories, legends from the past — that's the thing. you want to learn all she could offer.
"the art of the ³jūjutsu is a complex one," there's an underlying tension to the touch when mizu dares to speak. the proximity at which you can see the beads of sweat that goes down to the curve of her neck until its absorbed by her white shirt as you begin to have second thoughts. "if you do it correctly, you'll be using my own weight against myself."
it's hot to be like this. isn't it?
heavy breathing, her knee presses slightly against your lower back like she's also afraid to hurt you. mizu's breathing hot against your skin in just a second, enough to be a subtle brush that disappears again into a new movement, one that catches you off guard when you're hitting the floor again and you sigh, divided into really wanting to learn more from her and getting irrevocably turned on.
"you're going easy on me," you point out as you stand up: she needs to give you some points at least, cause you get up no matter how big the scratch is— "there's no one here to police me, miz. no one will find out. if i'm in a situation like this, i doubt they will give me the advantage."
miz.
why does it sound like that? like there's more than just a simple sparring or a lesson. your chest goes up and down in a constant fight for oxygen and the onna-musha curses herself cause she asked for this: she doesn't know how to combat with a person she feels too much with, how could she even forget about it? strands of black hair falling from her forehead, it surprises her to know how much she enjoys having you like that, trying to put up a fight when you're perfectly locked under her weight.
her ass pushes you against the blue mat, right against your pelvis mizu allows for a moment the terrible mistake of playing the same game you do, this banter, an amazing back and forth as her hand grips both of your wrists over your head to keep you still.
"your father will have my hands for display if you ever get one bruise on my behalf" she's too close. and out from her orange shades, her eyes stare at you curiously almost, trying to understand the reaction you're having under her when you squirm trying to free yourself, expecting to suddenly become a warrior who knows all movements. "i think the intensity is quite fine to start."
what she doesn't expect is when your knee hits right over the wound you stitched against her stomach, the pain enough to knock her to the side and see instead the panic in your face as you realize that's a blind spot, one that's sensitive enough to start bleeding out and stain the fabric of her shirt.
"shit," you mutter under your breath as she leans against the white walls of the gym for support — "shit, i forgot about your injuries and got carried away--"
right. it spreads like the foam of the ocean when you're getting on your knees right next to her, already guilty enough to stare at the blood that now sticks to the white cotton of her shirt and got mizu wondering for a moment: why didn't she wore fucking black today?
"the wound. it opened," you point out worried, hesitating for a full minute before talking again — "can i have a look?"
no. she should've said no from the very start, should have denied any further help so she could stick to the plan, but for all the existent deities she prayed upon, how could mizu ever reject your help? when your eyes shine with worry and she wishes to say something about how none of it is your fault: how could she deny your wishes when you've never been told no?
so instead, her lips move on their own to reply — "yes."
traitor brain. you're warm to the touch and she's been experiencing the torture from before, the reverent friction, sweaty skin that sticks with her own; however when you slide her shirt right beneath the bandages of her chest? mizu's breathing hitches on the back of her throat 'cause there's no way of denying it, no way of saying no.
it's different, way too different from before and there's no sake near to numb the feeling on her chest, the beating of her heart when she notices the lines of your face as your brows furrow together when inspecting the wound.
"it was my fault, i'm so-so sorry" mizu doesn't care, but she likes the way your mouth moves when you say it. even when her face doesn't really show it like she’d want to. "the stitches are fine, it was just the sudden movement that opened them."
it's a damn shame you didn't hit her harder. kinda wish you'd knock your own stitches so she can have your hands on her flesh longer, working in her skin like the sun's contained in your palms, hot to the touch, tender. her own thoughts double-cross her when mizu's fast enough to catch the exact moment your hand finally stops touching her, a practiced ease when in a swift motion — elegant and simple, she grabs you by the arm to pull you in the opposite direction you’re going, avoiding you from getting any further away.
don’t. please don’t stop touching me.
so mizu can hear the gasp of surprise as her mouth plants a soft kiss against your wrist, over your veins, in the thin skin that separates you from meat and muscle. they close against your pulse point and it's composed, in control as her eyes meet yours to realize the lack of rejection.
it's a quick kiss, only one before she's pushing your hand again, making you move forward instinctively as mizu places your palm on the other side of her body, forcing you to lean closer until your chest barely touches her own and she’s awfully aware of your breathing now; no turning back. not when she just lays her desire as clear as a sunny day: she wants you, is it too much to ask?
mizu’s blue eyes seem to trespass you, go right through your flesh to peel you up slowly, layer by layer. she’s like that. there’s no need to say anything at all, not with such wandering eyes, such needful organ that’s asking to deep-down study the details on your skin, the bridge of your nose right to the tip, the arch of your parted lips — the onna’s sure for a moment, that she can physically see the air leaving your lungs to join the atmosphere in every exhale. drives her crazy.
"can you check my wound again?" what is she even doing? silently begging for a kiss, asking for care when she’s not like this. the idea that crosses her mind when she experiences the pleasure of having you close, when your face lowers to her wound and mizu can feel your unsteady breathing crashing against her skin.
desperate, she’s so needy to feel your hands again, too deprived of the affectionate contact she suddenly blessed with. she's tired of looking from afar, always wanting but never doing something that drags her to danger. seduction is a game mizu's late to learn, and after all those years of living as a ⁴onryō who's sure that deserves this stripping of kindness, this satisfaction is distant from her usual relief.
"does it hurt much?" you ask, and she wonders if you feel the tension too, the need mizu cannot hide under her usual glasses, not when you're looking up to her with your big eyes and she's never felt more weak than in that exact moment: is it because of the blood loss? "i can bring the safety kit and make sure-"
"no, don't move" low voice, it's intimate now. the atmosphere shapes and changes to a new temperature and you can feel it in your skin as the sweat from all the physical effort drips sticking to your clothes, enough to make her doubt briefly, staring at your hand with an unreadable expression until mizu places her own right on top of it, gently stroking it in a manner that's far from her usual stoic way of acting — "please, stay here-- are you uh, are you okay with me touching you like this?"
the question lingers in the air, charged and ready to shoot like a loaded gun.
"yes."
the words repeat themselves over and over again in her brain as proof, proof of your desires maybe, your need to feel her close in not just sparring. yes. yes. yes.
so mizu doesn’t move for a second, relishing just the physical contact of your hand wrapped in her own before her fingers trace your knuckles, trying to understand the fact that you accepted, how you’re not pulling away. she studies them like the art of war, delicate, your hands go against her own, calloused with all the hard work, the punches and the violence opposing yours who's soft, nice.
too nice. nice enough to get her in trouble as mizu's fingers lace with yours, when she's using the most subtle force to squeeze your hand, spiraling at the velvety smoothness of the flesh, the way you stop breathing for a second until your eyes meet her own again and you have the decency to ask — "is this okay too?"
she doesn't understand it at first: what could possibly be okay? yet when you kiss her stomach that’s where it all implodes. your lips come in contact with her naked skin, damp, it glistens under the lights of the gymnasium when you kiss her down on your hands and knees and mizu experiences a new kind of hunger, a thirst she begs to satisfy.
it makes her heart beat in a wild pace, when you kiss her right against the stitches and it borders on the pain of an open wound and the infection of an overwhelming pleasure. you're delicate and it has to be on the fact that there's dry blood on her tummy, the same blood you don't care about as you place another kiss right above the navel, one that tingles down her nervous system and paralyzes her for a minute.
"more than okay" it's barely audible when she remembers how to speak, a gasp when mizu's resting her weight on the wall and you're placing the most balmy kisses she'd ever experienced in her life — "it feels good."
you're careful with her now, never forgetting her bruised body, treating her with a sweetness that's totally new, entirely yours. makes mizu shiver when you're going up to her chest, scraping over the bandages that wrap around her breasts to get to her neck: you're not afraid of taking your time, pretending there's only you and her in a different time.
"don't do that to yourself," mizu whispers into your mouth, so close she can feel her own breathing turning back at her as it kisses your skin in seconds, "to be with me-- deal with the burden of my sins, my loneliness... it's too much for a kind soul like yours."
despite any inner fight she might be having, mizu's hand seems to find your cheek as she traces the curve of your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone as if contact is a way of keeping you close, as if she cannot live with the idea of staying away. the immensity of her confession lingered in the air.
"then please, tell me what to do about it," it's a shared secret now. one where there's no need to talk about it at loud to confirm, the electricity that makes mizu's heart beat in adrenaline: you feel it too, that devastating rush, the sheer mesmerism, you're a victim of it just like she is. — "what should i do about this constant emptiness? this longing that settles in my chest and yearns for you?"
the declaration only makes her heart flutter, hammers on chest like a weapon she cannot hide from, a sword that cuts just as well as the ones her swordsfather made. mizu's curious now as she becomes aware of your lust, of the way your eyes darken, shining with a want she understands. your bodyguard seems tempted to know more, demand more information cause when did this begin? when did you blur the lines of work to turn them into chaos?
"you should be getting away from all my darkness, not allow me to lure you anymore into the shadows of mine."
"i don't care about it, drag me whenever you want."
and to be honest, you don't make an effort to resist her, help mizu fight any forbidden wanting. despite all she surrenders to the temptation that has been building for months in the most reverent way, closing the remaining space as she presses her lips against yours in the lightest of kisses: once, twice, even a third time until she finally gives in, like waiting to come up for fresh air after an entire life underwater, marinating in her insides for too long as she gets lost in it, parting her lips in a nice welcome, savoring it: she does have all the time in the world to make you her own.
it builds up slowly, starts gently like a proper first kiss until it's messy, sloppy and demanding. your hands are on her neck, dragging her closer while she teases every edge of your figure — not with an expert touch but one that screams necessity, how much she's been dreaming, affected by a connection she never experienced until that very day.
it settles in your lower back, fingers gripping on your sides before she's sliding her hands beneath the fabric of your shirt. her hand travels across your waist, over your navel to your ribs, to the ribs to just below your breast: is it the air conditioner that gives you the chills? must be, it makes mizu feel heady when your reactions are so eager for her.
even when you pull apart for air you stay close, drunk on her kisses and this gentleman's way of touching you. she's deprived, yes, starving, but with enough control to care, savor.
"tell me what you're thinking about," you ask, a whispered demand as you press your forehead against her own. "you've been silent with me for too long and i want to know what's on your mind."
so mizu doesn't care about the pain when she's pushing your weight against her, comfortably seated on her lap as your chest pushes against her own in a battle for a deep breath: telling you her thoughts would be like taking an english bullet to the heart.
"i'm thinking about how much i want to touch you," she's holding back with amazing discipline even when it all falls apart — "how i want to run my hands through your skin until i know every part by heart, taste you on my tongue so you become a constant flavor in my life. i don’t think you understand how tempted i am to keep you, let you stay and share my burdens with you, my pain…"
mizu's voice is a soothing sound that gets lost in her throat when she's going down to your neck in new, chaotic kisses full of saliva and teeth that pull on your skin. suddenly she doesn't care if there's any physical proof of her wanting, any hickey on your neck you'll have to hide from unwanted eyes.
"you're ticklish there?" she chuckles with you when hearing your giggles, biting on the same spot she did to make you flinch when encountering the jackpot of a sensitive place — "if i kiss you somewhere else you'll jump in my arms too?"
a low hum makes your chest vibrate against her lips as she's finally brave enough to get you out of that shirt you're wearing to train, the same that stinks like sweat and makes her gasp for a moment when mizu notices the lack of underwear beneath, how everything seems to fit somehow, your polar opposite, her weakness.
"not wearing a bra," the words hang in the air for a moment, too curious to let it pass without pointing it out "is it a life choice or you knew what was going to happen?"
you make it so clear when you struggle to answer, when mizu's spreading you against her thighs with a sudden force that's enough to position you how she wants you to be, face down, ass up, the smell hits her under the nose and she has no shame in looking between your legs, drink up the sight of your ass when she’s already hearing a whine and some mumbling about the scratches in your knees hurting as she keeps you there.
so it is intentional, you somehow knew. it's a new treasure mizu just discovered when your bodyguard's able notice how soaked it is right in the sweet expanses of your pussy, darker than the rest of the spandex, the fabric of your training clothing seems to stick against to your folds now, soaked and already aching for her touch as she discovers all of your dirty secrets without much effort.
"you get turned on by sparring?" her voice's lower, careful now that she doesn't want to be found by any of your father's insects— "is that it? you like to be on the floor, fighting and at my wishes?"
it's so easy, easy to just slide in and take. slender fingers that squeeze your thigh in a way of letting you know she's there to take care of your aches, that she has lost already the fear of falling as her palm rubs deliberately between your legs, that sweet and moisted spot that allows the spandex to glue even further against your pussy, infused with your arousal already bleeding to her hand, enough even when you keep drenching them under her touch.
her knee presses against your clit in the perfect pressure, keeping your legs further apart as your cheekbone touches the gym mat. gross. fucking gross, yet it's the perfect position to assault your cunt with full freedom, finally have you.
"stay still" mizu manages to say, and to be fair, she has no problem in using her force to prevent any sudden movement: she can handle things without the needy back and forth of your hips, that wiggle trying to find more pleasure — "i got you. i'll take care of you."
her free hand grips your wrists behind your back with enough force to make you stop squirming around while the other's busy when you're soaking her up with clear arousal, glistening all over the palm that massages against your folds only to allow her to see you from against the fabric now transparent, the poor excuse of training clothes. she hasn't properly touched you yet, and you're already making a damn mess in your pants.
"please" breathless, your voice drops various tones when speaking, begging — "please stop teasing me, i can't take it today-- please."
she knows what she's doing. patient, mizu's movements are precise and aiming to kill, much like her fighting style when she doesn't give up on her movements until you're writhing — her knee rubs on your g-spot and each motion is enough to make you moan in appreciation, keep begging between erratic words of praising.
who is she to ever torture you? not feed into this chain of being a spoiled brat you've been since birth? you got your bodyguard fighting against the spandex now, desperation in her grip as she's tearing up the fabric when lowering it down, aware as ever when it works in her favor and the elastic lays right over your tights, squeezing the fat enough to give her a better view, one that makes mizu's mouth go dry at the realization.
she's under starvation when your pussy's on full display. this tangy smell that she never knew how to define, but intoxicating enough to make her wish she could bury her face deep enough so she could taste the tight ring of your hole against her tongue, push so she can fuck you in languid, wide strokes and commit the same job her knee does against your clit.
"i can feel your heart beating so loud..." she's drunk on you anyway, when she catches you spreading your ass-cheeks to invite her fingers in, give a better view of your intimacy — the tight pucker hole of your ass. "you're going to let me play with your sweet cunt like this? like it belongs to me?"
"mhm," you reply, looking from over your shoulder at the devastating sight of mizu acting on her own desires, take without any fear of the consequences: how can someone look so utterly attractive? as a single thread of black hair drapes over her forehead, there's sweat on her skin and man, she's really making an effort to please you "yeah i think i'm gonna let you do that."
mizu doesn't say much when she uses one finger to taunt how soaked you are, see what she's working with as you shiver under her touch, a low moan at the direct contact when her digits glide against your slit, an sporadic touch that goes from your entrance to your swollen, neglected clit.
you make a delicious sound when her palm slaps your cunt unexpectedly, a pleasant surprise when a wet noise fills the air as you shake against her thighs, and she has to resist the need to do it again, harder this time. lately, needing you is the only thing that makes sense. lately you've been driving her crazy as your eyes shine with unbridled passion, consuming lust.
"one more," you ask, dilated pupils you're pliant to the touch, melting against her fingers, "harder."
it makes mizu shiver when she do it again, her palm hits your sensitive cunt and your arousal sticks to it with invisible threads that connected her to you — cannot resist the temptation to do it again, harder this time to make you arch into her hand, the same one that stimulates you through the stingy pain and makes your muscles replace it with fire.
"you're drenched," she whispers, almost breathless. mizu doesn't care about her wounds and never will as you shake in her lap, resting your entire weight on her as you try to move beneath her hand — "shit, you smell amazing."
fucked out expression, it's nice to see the debauched look on your face. parted lips, furrowed brows, your moans muddle in a lethal mix as mizu's slowly sinking a couple of fingers in your needy hole to end up with your madness, warm and inviting, it welcomes the onna-musha when she fills you to the brim, knuckles-deep she allows you some time to adjust so she can move them properly, deeper.
"there you go, good girl" rough voice, it seems to travel around the room when mizu praises you, run around the corners until it reaches your ears and it makes you squeeze her fingers at the shiver that goes down her spine: you want to do good, want to please her beyond imagination — "taking me so well- you're such a good girl f'me, you gonna cum on my fingers?"
she's gentle for a moment until the force of her thrusts drags you forward, scratches your cheek slightly at the constant friction of the mat, makes you feel like a rabid dog as your hips move desperately for her to reach deeper, harder. your naked back arches perfectly every time mizu sinks her fingers, sliding a third digit when your moans become louder, curling them so she can rub on your walls, find out where's the exact place where you begin to see outer space.
"mmf--miz..."
she loves it when you call her that, the lewd sound your cunt makes that's as loud as your moans when she keeps finger-fucking you to oblivion, the spasms your body makes involuntarily since you're unaware of the space you take on earth, an out-of-the-body experience that got you drooling, fluttering and in the verge of tears.
her grip in your wrist tightens cause she doesn't have to be a genius to know you're close to cum, the communication with body transpire without you being aware of it, a connection that goes out of control when mizu's your only cord back to reality, your reign of restraint when she's holding you still as your body goes stiff.
it's so hot when you shake, when your body follows a different kind of nature, a more primal instinct that makes you lose your balance, any rest of rationality who evaporates when you dissolve into pleasure, become one with the lust at the shattering orgasm that pours in your body like boiling water and leaves you stupid for a moment.
makes mizu dizzy at the sight— time slows down and she becomes aware of your pulse whilst inside you, fingers curled, you gush against her hand covering it in this transparent-like discharge she wishes to taste on her mouth, clean up so you can wear your messed spandex pants again.
so when your eyes meet her own, they burn in pure intensity, she's leaving a soft kiss before her fingers withdraw from your most sensitive spot, and you're witnessing a sizzling moment when she pushes the digits against your lips and stares at you through half-lidded eyes.
"you try out first," you take a sharp intake of air before parting your lips, allowing your bodyguard to push them against your tongue to fill your taste buds with a new flavor — "clean them good, can you?"
need. when mizu allows you to rest on top of the blue mat and she places herself in between your parted legs in a much more comfortable position, she needs to take her time in kissing the red skin of your knees tenderly as they're already hurt from before.
mizu's body suffers from a sudden fever at the sizzling desire, the everlasting flames that stroked her insides, the trails of fire that keep the onryō going as she leaves more kisses on your inner thighs, dangerously close to your parted legs, your already sensitive sex.
it's overwhelming — realize she's not going to be able to kill your father for a while when it seems like you brought the sun to her.
mizu doesn't doubt when diving in, mind loaded when her tongue licks a path from over your dripping hole to your hooded clit already puffy by her previous ministrations: can someone protect her from what she wants? or is she going to be constantly punished by love?
¹ ninkyō dantai ☆ it's a term used by yakuza members to refer themselves (任侠団体) it translates to ´chivalrous groups' — they are a transnational crime organization who originates in japan.
² onna-musha ☆ it means ´female warrior´ (女武者) in the pre-modern japan [neé 1868 or around], they fought along samurais and were members of the working class, also, they are very important in the japanese literature.
³ jūjutsu ☆ japanese martial art technique of close combat, it can be used in both defensive and offensive manner, helps a lot when you're weaponless.
⁴ onryō ☆ translates to ´vengeful spirit´ (怨霊), a type of ghost who comes out from traditional japanese beliefs and literature, it's believed it can cause harm in the world of the living, killing or injuring their enemies. onryō are often shown as women at the masochism of the time.
note: re-uploading this this cuz i put this on private post thinking i corrected some typos and it disappeared from air, sorry for being dumb,, in my defense, it was 4AM so i was half-asleep, enjoy x.
single-handedly kept gen z girls gay in 2021, my ultimate canon gay awakening and the reason i started to write wlw fics jung hoyeon the woman that you are
synopsis ⧽ with final exams looming around the corner, ellie notices her grades plummeting and decided that there was no better way to address the issue than consulting the internet. so one night, she stumbles across a youtube video with only 46 views. despite the enormous lack of an audience, the video’s title was the exact unit she was currently studying. thus she clicked on it; needless to say, she was very pleased.
you had a camera propped up on an old wooden desk, your head kept precariously out of the frame. fatigued and slightly drunk, ellie found herself insatiably hooked on you. she subscribed right away and left five comments—minimum—on each of your videos. she stayed up well past midnight watching each one, trying to catch a glimpse of your features. alas, she found nothing. you were annoyingly careful with your identity, though she was unsure why. your voice was melodic, soothing to the point she found herself thinking of it when she awoke the next morning. and the morning after that.
a/n. creating was a decision i made literally less than an hour ago, sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors !! i've been wanting to post something on here (aside from SLT) for a long time but couldn't think of anything. so here are my scraps <33
having a puppy is what id imagine its like to raise a newborn baby, exept the baby has the ability to run around shit everywhere LMAO. hes been doing really good with potty training tho so far. hes such a sweetheart
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