hello, it's lee again. | 04' | she/her | uni student | 🇹🇹
here's my masterlist. i write for everything except real life celebrities, and post when i remember. criticism of all kinds are welcome (even if you just wanna have at me) as they help me improve. i'm not pursuing writing or anything but i'd still like to do the best i can. thanks for all the kindness you treat me with, i hope you continue to afford the same to others in these trying times!
requests : OPEN.
read my other stuff: ao3 (nsfw, longfics) and wp (sfw, longfics).
disclaimer: i write both SFW and NSFW content. however, i use NSFW strictly for sexual content. this means that some of my SFW works may contain imagery that is otherwise violent or discussing themes that may not necessarily be suitable for all audiences. please view at your own discretion, and consume media that is safe, healthy and appropriate for your age and wellbeing. you can get an idea of what content is present via warnings to the top of each post.
It looks for those who run, and runs from those who are looking.
It'd be nice if it was something you could steal. Instead, you reached into the wrong bag and got a handful of manic obsession.
OR
Reincarnated, you are a suicidal anbu agent assigned to the observation of one Asuma Sarutobi. You intervene and save his life and in the process, earn the absolute ardour and obsession of one Shikamaru Nara.
Listened well but was often lost in thought. Like a spirit that found it hard to settle.
Even as a babe, you'd done nothing but sit and stare, and then stare some more.
In the projects, almost all the children were like you. Nevermind that they'd been used. Nevermind that they were suffering. Nevermind that they had been wronged in all the ways one could possibly be wronged.
Because the project kids were nameless, and things without a name were easy to forget.
Your problem was that you had a name.
You'd remembered the face of your mother, and your mother before then.
You'd known what was meant by the hushed whispers adults passed over your head. You understood what you had to do to survive, and so you didn't bother forgetting.
Your name before all this was Aki.
And Aki liked sweet peppers and going to the beach. She ate well but was picky about drinks. She liked looking after kids and going out dancing and maybe she'd like being alive too.
Aki died.
Something frightful, surely.
She'd died and was born again.
As a kid without a name that lived in some dark, lonely place where kids sold sex to live a little longer. A place where no one had names, and having one meant you'd end up dying soon.
This kid had never eaten sweet peppers and all she had to drink was water. This kid hated dancing with every fibre of her being.
Most importantly, this kid had spent every passing day channeling all her might into a single prayer.
Yes, This nameless kid really wanted to die.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
The grass has a crunch to it as you listlessly trudge over each blade. The upturn of the hill bites at your sore knees but you continue wandering, almost as if out of your mind.
You're chasing a cloud in the sky, counting it down into inexistence. And when it's too far for you to follow, you'll turn back.
You have to turn back.
"Who are you?" A voice drawls out from behind you.
You ignore it in favour of keeping that cloud at the centre of your gaze. But there's a foreboding on your back, legs and shoulders and it's heavy like everything you've ever known.
You stop walking when you reach the treeline, aware that you're finally reached the limits of your greed. "Are you still planning on ignoring me?" The voice continues and finally you turn.
Standing behind you is a boy. Some hazy concoction of sunshine and sleep melted all over him.
You stare at him, eyes growing misty.
"Were you chasing clouds too?" You ask him, a weak smile on your pudgy face. He nods back, and yet, unlike children you both turn quietly and walk back together.
The silence is uncomfortable but there is no move to break it. There are no questions or anything of the like, you simply walk together until you reach a house.
You don't remember passing it. You only remember the clouds but it doesn't help the defeat on your face when you see a crowd of adults standing on the porch. "You..." The boy starts as they get closer but a sigh leaves his lips and he doesn't finish his sentence.
"Shikamaru," A rasp greets as they get closer and your quiet companion nods nervously in response.
The gazes settle on you but you keep walking, past that home and every face you're hardly familiar with. Some call out to you confusedly but you continue your journey back to where you belong.
The clouds have abandoned you for today.
Perhaps for tomorrow too.
So you ought to stop chasing them.
You remained unaware of your actions until much later. Unaware until the weight of them settled into a groove in your already low hanging shoulders, sending you toppling to the ground.
Yet with your face buried in dirt, you did not come to regret chasing clouds.
And so you became known to everyone else as Chikumo, for the clouds you'd follow like a woman possessed by something other than yourself.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
"Shikamaru? Who was that?"
"I don't know."
"What? She's not a friend of yours?"
"No... I've never seen her before. She was just... I don't know, it's troublesome."
is anyone interested in this one? i don't usually post series but it's been sitting in my drafts. chop shop writing style because i just jot down whatever comes to mind.
Despite that fact, her son was a fool in love. She didn't understand how.
Every Nara knows a fool in love is the easiest piece to move.
Intelligence, Observation, Third-Person (Yoshino's Perspective), Childhood Friends to Lovers, Protective Parent, Shikamaru is Too Stupid for his Own Good.
Shikamaru Nara / You
Yoshino knew what it was like to date a Nara heir. Which is why she sometimes felt the need to hover around her teenage son and his girlfriend.
It wasn't that she didn't trust him, or that she noticed signs of anything untoward.
It was the fact that she didn't.
And Yoshino knew better.
That when Shikaku reassured her it was all fine with a kiss, that he was every bit as much of a Nara as his son. So she'd tried her best to be stern with Shikamaru. In his eyes, she was crabby. But love wasn't shogi and she wanted to engrave that message between his eyes until it stuck.
For all Shikamaru hid behind his intelligence, he could not hide the way it treated you. It was not soft. It was not gentle. It did not cradle you kindly. It sharpened you. It made you aware of everything, every shift in tone, every half-second hesitation, every look that lingered too long.
Shikamaru wanted to mould and shape you but had hardened you instead.
All the pieces that he'd laid out were on a moving and changing board. And the game was playing out in your favour.
She noticed the change long before Shikaku did.
Mothers always did.
One morning, she'd found you both draped on the engawa half asleep.
You were beside him, a little closer than she'd have preferred. He asks you about the Chunin Exams. You begin an answer and then suddenly gleefully sit up with a glance towards the trees.
The way your hand braces against his chest and your smile suddenly becomes so round in a way, Yoshino realises it's deliberate. It's as if Shikamaru is so enamored by you that he doesn't even notice such a simple and easy distraction.
He doesn't remember half of what he asked you earlier. And now his head is buried in your neck and his hands are roaming in a way that has Yoshino loudly slamming the door to announce her return home.
You sit up easily. Smile and greet her easily. And Shikamaru is none the wiser that he hadn't gotten the answer to the important question he'd asked.
Yoshino's son was as brilliant as they come.
But he was a fool for love.
And that made you a bigger problem than he ever could be.
There's something about having a crush on someone you can't reach.
Something so easy about it.
You just like them and that's enough.
It's never demanding of the person you like. You get that same fluttery, butterfly, oh no I'm floating away feeling. But never the, I think I might die from the sheer nervousness of confronting you, feeling.
Thank God he's miles and miles away.
Thank God he hasn't seen all your flaws and bad habits because he's hardly ever seen you.
Thank God.
At least, that's what you thought.
So why on Earth is he back now?
Why is he older, and taller, and buffer and stronger than you remember? His clothes fit him better. He uses mints now. And what do you mean he sometimes thinks before he speaks?
Why is he in your space, with that dumb smile, and dumb hair, and dumb, big, broad chest.
God, please, save you.
All of a sudden, you're melting. You have to think twice on what you wear. God forbid Naruto Uzumaki notices the way green sits on your skin tone.
Does this dress make your butt look big? Do these shoes make you too tall? Hair up, or hair down? Lip gloss or matte? Earrings or none? You’re in your bathroom mirror, swiping on lip balm like you’re prepping for a tea ceremony instead of a casual walk to the corner store.
Just because there’s a chance.
A chance he might be there.
And he might smile at you again, the way he did before, like you were more than just some girl from the old orphanage. Like he actually saw you.
But you’re not sure if that’s worse or better than being invisible.
It was so much simpler when he was just a memory. When you could love him in peace, in secret, in the quiet of your daydreams. Now he’s real again, and his voice has dropped a whole octave, and he smells like something expensive and dangerous and warm.
And the worst part?
He's nice.
Still Naruto. Still the loudest laugh in the room. Still eating like he’s in a competition. Still casually breaking into your personal space like there’s no such thing as boundaries. But now, he holds eye contact just a bit longer. Listens a little more closely.
And when he teases you, it’s softer somehow. Like maybe he’s testing the waters. Like maybe he’s wondering if you still see him the way you used to.
Like maybe… he knows.
Which is terrifying.
Because you don’t know what to do when the fantasy starts looking back.
are we noticing a trend here? i'm just a girl after all.
Nice guys always finish last. Especially if they're as stupid and mean as Asahi Azumane.
Except, he's not mean.
He's just hopelessly in love and disastrous when it comes to showing it.
Fluff, Mutual Pining, Awkward Romance, First Love.
Asahi Azumane / You
It goes without saying that Asahi is a nice guy.
It's this quiet way he exists that throws people off, you know. If you're paying attention, it's not hard to spot how he's always the first to help out.
He listens with his whole body, and somehow remembers the birthdays of everyone in class. Asahi is never late, he never lies, and is always mindful of personal boundaries.
So why was he always mean to you?
You don't really remember there ever being a falling out. A big, yes, this is the reason why he's mad at me, moment.
One day he'd just said your face looked weird. And then another, he had something to say about your bag. Comments on the things you like, the way you dressed. Monday, it was some backhanded whisper to his friend about you smelling bad. Thursday, he'd just stared at you with this furrow in his brows.
Sure, Asahi Azumane climbed trees to help kittens, and watered the school garden because no one else would.
But you're almost certain he hates you.
You ask your friends about it, they say, 'isn't that normal for a thug like him?' But... since when was Asahi Azumane a thug?
Really, you really don't think he is.
It's just that he's mean to you for no reason, and that makes you doubt yourself. So today when he paused, glanced at you, huffed out a hesitant, 'Good Morning' and continued staring, you lost your mind.
"Well?" You ask him, and he blinks, startled. He doesn't say anything in return. Fidgets, ducks his head real low, "Your hair..." he murmurs, then just lifts his hand and points at it. Doesn't say anything else, just twirls his finger in a circle.
You blink and walk off.
He's a nice guy, yeah.
So why does he always do that?
Again, it's lunch and he's standing next to you in line when he tries speaking to you again. His friends slaps him hard on the back, laughs, glances at you then back at him.
You know your tray is full, but there's a little gap there that you're almost certain could fit another serving. You don't get the chance to do it yourself when Asahi's hand comes into view.
He scoops a spoonful right into that corner, puffs out a little air from his nose in a little laugh, "You wanted that, right?" He says. He's right, yeah, but damn does the awkward smirk on his face throw you right off. All you respond with is an embarassed hum.
You almost cry later that evening when you're walking out of school going down the staircase and he's standing there chatting.
Him and his friends, they're almost blocking the way. It's expected with athletes like them, tall and clumped up in a group.
Except, he blinks at you, glances at them nodding in your direction. It's endearing in it's own way until he taps one of them and says, "Make room for her to pass."
Your scoff is loud.
Now, everyone knows you're a big girl, including you. You're damn near round, short and stocky with more chin than neck.
But make room?
Make room!?
That evening you skipped dinner, then breakfast the morning after.
Were you losing it? Hallucinating maybe? Why was the nicest guy the meanest to you? Were you less than human? Than stray cat? Than ambiguously planted shrubbery?
Monday, bright and early, Asahi greets you a, "Good Morning." And in the midst of him just blatantly staring, not even at your face, but rather some unnamed part of you that you know doesn't look all that nice, you burst into tears.
You sob loud and deep, shaking and trembling along with it. You bring your hands to hide your face. But the shame crushes and eats away at you before they even meet your eyes. "What'd I ever do to you, huh?" You manage to say.
Your voice cracks at the end. Your hands are shaking. The hallway falls dead silent, except for your hiccupped sobs and the ringing embarrassment in your ears.
Asahi doesn’t say anything right away. Of course he doesn’t. Just stands there, stunned, his mouth parting like he wants to say something but can’t find the words. His friends have gone quiet too, shifting awkwardly on their feet, pretending to check their phones or look out the window.
And with each teary blink, they somehow manage to put more and more distance between them and you.
You wipe your eyes quickly, already turning to leave, to run maybe, trip and die if you're lucky, when you hear him take one cautious step forward.
“I didn’t..." he says, then stops. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
You don’t look at him.
You can’t.
“God, please don't cry. I never wanted..."
There’s a pause. Then a frustrated groan. Not at you. At himself.
“I’m not trying to be...,” he says, "I'm so stupid," voice softer now, like he’s hoping the volume will make up for everything else. “I just… I like you. A lot. But every time I talk to you I say something stupid.”
You freeze. His words settle over you like snowfall, unexpected and too heavy.
He’s still talking, rambling now even. “I didn't mean to stare at you, I was just thinking you look pretty. And uh, the one time when I said you smelled weird, I... I meant it in like a good, soap, flower, sunshine way. And also, your hair that morning, it looked really soft but uh, you uh," he gestures vaguely, "you're so. I just wanted to talk to you."
For a second, you just stare at him. And then, against your better judgment, you laugh. Just once. A wet, confused sound that bubbles out before you can stop it.
Asahi sags as the tension seeps from his shoulders.
You shake your head, wiping your eyes again. “You’re an idiot.”
You give him a long look. The hallway's still quiet, and his friends are doing a terrible job of pretending they’re not listening.
“You can be my idiot from now on. But only if you stop laser inspecting me whenever you see me.”
“Deal,” he says quickly. Then, after a beat, “But you really do look pretty.”
You roll your eyes. “Asahi.”
“Right. Shutting up now.”
posted in honour of me having my first real crush who i'm never gonna confess to. happy late mother's day too.
Especially the ones with big brains and bigger destinies.
It might even look a little frightening.
Intelligence, Observation, Third-Person (Shikaku's Perspective), Childhood Friends to Lovers, Protective Parent, Shikamaru is Too Smart for his Own Good.
Nara Shikamaru / You
Nara's were smart.
It was pre-determimed.
Like red hair for Uzumaki's, or eyes without pupils in Hyuuga's.
They'd be born brilliant, and a little quieter, and a lot sleepier. Naturally, Shikaku Nara had these expectations for his own son.
His son wasn't a fussy baby. As soon as Yoshino placed his little behind to bed, he was out like a light. He ate whatever he was given, liked playing in the grass, chewed on his toys and then some. But sometimes, Shikaku thinks his baby pretends to sleep. He'd notice it the first time, when a toy had fallen out of the crib. Casually, Shikaku had bent over to pick it up, and met the wide beaming eyes of his son.
Shikamaru would stare. Breathe a certain way, lay a certain way. He was an actor, but even then it didn't alarm Shikaku.
Nara's were smart.
If his son turned out to be a cut above the rest, who could deny his genetic destiny?
So when his son got old enough to play outside with others, he'd allow it. Because his son's pretense was a way of being kind. 'Don't be frightened, I'm normal,' it was his way of saying that.
His son went out to play. He befriended a giddy Choji, and they did whatever kids that age do at the park. Yes, all was well. Until one evening, his son came to him holding the hand of a doe-eyed little girl.
Her face was round, cheeks soft enough to melt right off the bone. She laughed like thunder, said her name and then hugged his son goodbye. After she was gone, Shikamaru stared at him expectantly. Like he wanted his opinion.
At the time, he'd made some offhanded comment of approval.
He didn't really understand tiny Shikamaru's intentions until ten years later. When he'd made a habit of bringing her over regularly. He'd sleep clinging onto her, play shogi only with her most days. Smile only when she was around.
It was even more startling because at times, it felt like he was pretending around you too. Like if his passing touches were accidental. The way he spoke, the words he used. Like he was approaching loving you with a strategy.
And that became the moment of realisation for Shikaku Nara.
Where he'd pulled you aside awkwardly with a careful smile, a warning ready. 'Be careful,' he'd wanted to say. But you'd looked at him, big round eyes,
"It's okay. I know."
That was it.
That was all he needed to know about his little genius and the girl he'd chosen to fall in love with.
Angst, Bittersweet, Unspoken Feelings, Implied Character Death, Mourning.
Nanami Kento / You
Nanami Kento likes to hold your hand.
Fingers clasped, souls intertwined, whenever you went walking, as if it was natural. Your hand in his. His hand in yours.
He likes to brush stray hairs behind your ear. A ghastly wind responsible for displacing them in the first place. He's quick when he does it, and keeps his hand pressed to the side of your head long after he's finished.
He likes to bring you flowers, and to lay his head in your lap. If his day is hard, he finds solace in your embrace. He loves your company. Rather, he desires it with his very being.
So he seeks you out the very moment it becomes possible.
The need for closeness was never explicitly stated. There was no big question or midnight proposal over a fancy dinner. One day, he was just yours.
Would do anything for you.
Belonged to you.
It was ironic that day when he'd pulled you aside, eyes a little lost, "After all of this, can I take you somewhere?"
You said yes, didn't ask what he'd meant by all this.
Maybe you should've asked. Cus' now you're here, dressed in black, watching the setting sun, still waiting to find out.
Maybe you should've asked.
Maybe.
Because today, everything unspoken you have to leave behind.
It really is falling in love. And the fall is treacherous.
At least it's an adventure along the way.
Reader w/a Crush! Unrequited Love, Questionable Overuse of the Word Adventure. SFW! 10 Second Bad Guy.
Monkey D Luffy / You
What exactly is an adventure?
You hadn't really paid much mind to the concept.
It wasn't a very important or necessary thing at the time, so who could blame you? Sure, you'd understood the basic idea of it.
Going somewhere to find something interesting. But, wasn't the word adventure so ambiguous? It was a risk, and a journey and then also an experience. You knew very well that none of those words were synonymous, of course.
Actually, your real question all along was, what was so amazing about an adventure?
Amazing enough that Monkey D. Luffy felt that the mere mention of one would make you just drop everything. All that you'd built, and healed and survived from. None of it would matter in the face of an adventure. It was his assurance, his promise, his smile.
Adventure could make you leave it all behind and say, 'Ah, it was worth it.'
You doubted it.
Monkey D. Luffy didn't.
Then Monkey D. Luffy slayed a man who felt like a God, and waltzed his way to Barry's Inn. Ate what you were sure was a meal even a whale would leave leftovers of. Laughed, laughed, ate again, drank, was so merry as he chatted.
All these collective moments were a part of his adventure.
You weren't sure there was much to it.
You just wanted to watch it a little longer. Because if you watched him long enough, you'd definitely find the right answer.
So, you joined his crew and became some diluted, proxy form of a pirate.
Now to answer your question, what really is the adventure? The future you could say with your chest that it was the itch on your back legs. Luffy got flees from the last island and no one's quite sure exactly how they're still living.
The adventure was the Merry's dining table, bite mark shaped indent at the edge because sometimes Luffy just doesn't stop eating. It was your comb tangled with reddish sun-tanned strands. And the bathroom that smelled of Zoro's lost stinky boot. Just where the hell was it?
The adventure was an island made of spoons, and a dog with human ears. It was Luffy deciding he'd go for a swim knowing very well the water was his undoing. Chopper dropped something off the side of Merry by accident, you know?
Usopp lied about being the last person to take a shit.
Zoro just might need glasses.
Nami wears the same bra size as you.
Luffy loves you.
Well, not just you. He loves everyone. In this clumsy way where he's the protector, the merriment, the one's who's so overbearingly honest you wish he'd just shut up.
The adventure was that love, in that moment, that you wished you possessed in the same way. Why couldn't you look at every person, and every breeze and every breath as the adventure?
Why only him.
Why could you love only him.
Only his family. Only his moment.
The adventure consumed you, and here comes the risk, here comes the journey. May experience find you and drown you in that smile.
Oh, did experience find you. Maybe today was divine punishment. Today was the moment adventure got a little hungry and wandered off on his own. Nami needs new shoes. Usopp just might be off somewhere being the pirate king. Zoro's looking for liquor and Chopper is looking for Zoro.
You're alone.
And everything you reeled from and healed from had found you again.
He came like a wave and washed you away, battered you against the cliffside and made you wish you never left that god forsaken island for something as small and vague and meaningless as an adventure. You were fated to lay here, weep here, die here.
You swore adventure was nothing in the face of this man who'd held you captive since you were a babe. Who you barely escaped with torn flesh, blood dripping fingertips, ashen mouth agape. The man who stood so tall his shadow blocked the sun, the moon, and the stars.
He crushed you beneath his boot, would take your life if only adventure didn't appear with a snare.
"Are you okay?"
That's what Luffy asked you. Then he turned, smiled like if nothing was ever wrong or shameful or miserable. He told Zoro to come get you and that was the last you saw of that. Until half an hour later when the earth shook and the cliffside crumbled. Luffy came back dusted, with a scrape on his lip and elbow.
This was adventure too. You were adventure.
Curse it's name.
You never wanted adventure, you wanted a boy named Monkey D. Luffy. A fickle thing love is.
Careful, don't get confused.
It's an easy thing to do when adventure smiles at you like that.
sorry this took as long as it did. and sorry it feels as empty as it is. i think i just got tired of staring at it in my drafts🥲.
Guys and girls can be just friends. Guys and girls can even be just best friends.
They can.
They really can.
NSFW! Childhood Friends to Lovers! Dry Humping, Quiet Intimacy.
Shikamaru Nara / You
Your best friend had always been particularly touchy.
It was endearing in it's own way.
Holding hands when walking, legs brushing when sitting besides each other.
It came in the form of calloused fingertips raking through strands of your hair, or sometimes the exchange of breath as you laid a little too close together on the hillside. Your best friend was touchy, but it was affection. And you showed affection to those you cared for. So, it was natural. Par for the course.
You didn't understand why it was such a big deal that your best friend was a boy.
It really wasn't, you knew that and you paid it no mind. Nothing would change, even as you both grew a lot older.
Nothing would be different about the way his hand held onto yours. Fingers intertwined, wisping over your knuckles. They trail up your wrist, hovering at your pulse. Shikamaru doesn't say anything, just taps and taps and taps. He doesn't need to. You're best friends.
It's not odd when he guides you to sit with him on the hill either. Your thighs melting between the pressure of his. You're only facing each other as is natural. And it's a private conversation so it's easier to have if you're closer.
Yes, this close.
Close enough that when his words and breath, smoky as it is, travels along your ears, cheeks, lips, oh why, you ought to hear him a little better.
When his voice is a little quieter and raspier.
Then the conversation is over and you both decide to lay there. You don't shift away because best friends are just touchy. Like girls braiding each other's hair, or boys wrestling in the mud.
Guys and girls who are friends, well, best friends... Its the affection, they just show it a little differently.
Your legs tangled, and chests pressed together, his left hand finds your hair. The right, your back. Your waist, your hips. His hips, they're trapping yours into the grass. He looks you in the eyes like he's forgotten himself, lost himself.
You exchange breaths, foreheads knocking together.
He rubs into you carefully, and you twist and weave until your legs and his notch at just the right angle. Yes, touchy, touchy as the pair of you keen and rut and go back and forth and back and forth. Your leggings shaping and crinkling just right against his standard issue.
Shikamaru hisses into your ear, you cling to his back and shoulder. Closer, but its never as close as you both need it to be.
The moment isn't long enough. When its over, and you're shaking and trembling, Shikamaru looks down at you like he's reached a realisation. You fear you've arrived at the same one.
And it isn't all that natural for just best friends.
Yours was to wed the son of whatever Lord your father felt supported Winterfell best. Abandoning such a duty already posed a great sin. Abandoning it for a stable boy even greater.
It's no surprise when the boy is confronted and spared no mercy. But it is love lost. Whether its your father who killed him that you've lost the love for is up for debate.
He had entered your room without a noise. The name Quiet Wolf had fit him then. A knot was stable in his throat and words hesitant to leave from the tip of his tongue.
"Daughter," he had uttered, and with it came the thought.
Go away quiet wolf.
He had made his way over to your bedside, a father after his daughter's own health, but you felt nothing but bitterness towards him.
Begone quiet wolf.
"My daughter" he tried once more, and you knew he would try and try until you conceded. "Leave. I hate you." "Please." "Go. I hate you." You said it but did not mean it truly. Never truly.
"My daughter." truly, truly, truly.
Quiet wolf, I do not want you here.
You did not want him near you because he was a reminder that you would never bear hate for him. Many things did you resent but none your father. None his kindness, none his honour, nothing of that quiet, gentle wolf.
But whether or not your heart beat the truth, your mind was good at twisting lies and your mouth even better. Lord Stark, Warden of the North, the great Lord of Winterfell. Paramount of the North, wielder of Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark. Successor of Lord Rickard stark, worshipper of the old Gods of the forest. Fathered seven children but his wife would like to think it six.
Fought himself a war and won himself a war.
Battlehoned, steel tipped, sharp eyed, quiet wolf. You could call him so many other names, so many other titles, he was a man of many. A man who had killed your friend and lover out of the duty that won him those titles. Because as much as he was quiet, he was still a wolf, still a beast.
Still a man that would place his honour and duty far above his daughter's feelings and that was the truth you had settled for. Away with you quiet wolf. And so, when he was met with the back of his grieving daughter, he left her there.
