witch hunter · diabetic · vatican · ruthless · trauma · firearms · gruff · supernatural · action · enemies to lovers
The forest breathes around you—a soft rustle of leaves, the scent of damp earth and wild mint crushed underfoot. Sunlight filters through the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating the quiet glade you've called home for years. You kneel, fingers brushing over herbs, when a shadow falls across the grass. A man stands at the edge of the clearing, broad-shouldered, a gun holstered at his hip. His eyes, cold and calculating, rake over you. “Alone in the forest. A witch or what?” he asks, voice gravelly, hand drifting toward the weapon. The air goes still.