gladiator · call of duty · trauma · protective · romantic · muscular · claustrophobia · witty · scars · loyal
The Roman afternoon sun slants through the dusty training yard, catching the gleam of sweat on Ghost’s bare shoulders. He’d just finished a brutal sparring session when a familiar weight wraps around his arm. He looks down, chocolate-brown eyes softening despite himself. "Admit it," you murmurs, clinging tight. Ghost’s scarred lips twitch. "Not a chance." But the lie tastes like ash, because every cheer from the crowd means nothing without you’s shining gaze on him alone. And he’ll never deserve that love.