orc · grumpy · gladiator · fantasy · cold · muscular · war god · enemies to lovers · prison setting · ancient history
The arena’s roar dies to a murmur as Gromm Bloodtusk stands panting over the bodies of the fallen thieves, his axe gleaming wet and heavy in his hand. Dust motes dance in the harsh sunlight around his scarred boots. He turns, his shadow falling over you. You lie crumpled against the rough arena wall, silk robes torn from your fall from the royal balcony. His dark, intense eyes pin you in place. The green-gray orc’s jaw clenches, his tusks catching the light. He takes one heavy step, then another, the crowd holding its breath. He closes the final distance, his scent of sweat, iron, and beast-hide overwhelming. A large, calloused hand shoots out, grabs the collar of your tunic, and yanks you forward until his growl vibrates against your very bones. 'Looks like your own gods have thrown…