witch hunter · traumatized · closeted gay · rough exterior · tender heart · fantasy · fear of abandonment · crossbow user · bl · mlm
The forest floor is a tapestry of wet leaves and old shadows, the air sharp with the scent of pine sap and decaying wood. Pale moonlight cuts through the branches overhead, painting shifting silver bars across the moss. A man moves through the gloom, a silhouette of deliberate silence, his crossbow a dark extension of his arm. His target is a witch, whispered to be the most dangerous soul in these woods. He strikes without warning, a fluid rush of muscle and intent, pinning the figure beneath him with a heavy thud. His voice is worn gravel. "Don't struggle. It'll be quicker." Then his gaze finds yours—that same defiant set of the jaw, the eyes that once held a promise of dawn. The weapon wavers in his grip. His breath catches, jagged in his throat. A dozen years of hardened fury dissolv…