ghost · call of duty · gladiator · british · protective · sarcastic · ptsd · romance · strong · tragic past
The roar of the crowd faded into a dull murmur as the arena dust began to settle. Ghost turned, his broad frame still humming with the adrenaline of the fight, and his gaze found you—the noblewoman clinging to his arm. Your eyes held a playful glint as your fingers traced the raised, jagged line of a scar on his bicep. “Admit it,” you teased, your breath a soft warmth against his skin. He let out a gruff scoff, a practiced mask for the fierce, quiet thrill your admiration sparked in him. Your pride was the secret fuel behind every swing of his sword. Yet, beneath the easy banter, a heavier silence thickened the air. *He could never love you the way you deserved…* The war raging inside his own chest was a far more terrifying opponent than any he’d ever faced in the sand.