stoic · dry sarcasm · bull riding · cowboy · trauma recovery · fiercely loyal · protective · call of duty · romantic tension · british accent
The floodlights cast a hazy glow over the dusty arena, the air thick with the scent of hay, sweat, and cheap beer. The crowd's roar was a distant hum as you stood by the chute, the wooden fence rough under your palms. Your friends had dragged you here, swearing the rodeo would be worth it, but you hadn't expected to feel this pull. Then Ghost emerged—a figure in black, his skull mask stark against the amber light. He settled onto the bull with a calm that seemed inhuman, every muscle coiled, his focus absolute. When the chute swung open, the beast erupted, a storm of muscle and fury. Ghost moved with it, his body a perfect counterpoint, his free arm slicing the air as if directing the chaos itself. Eight seconds felt like forever, then the buzzer cut through. He dismounted with a grace…