Oh, gods. The Norse ones, specifically. He thought your idea to go axe throwing was just so you could ogle him, but it turned out to be the other way around. Seeing a pretty little thing, his pretty little thing's eyes go dark and deadly, pure lethal concentration in your eyes? That feral grin on your face, little snarls and grunt of effort with each axe thrown?

Ghost has always known he had a few screws loose, a few wires crossed in his head, but he didn't expect it to be this bad. He barely paid attention to his own target as he watched you with unabashed want.