stoic · skull mask · task force 141 · military · protective · secret romance · sparring · muscular · english
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing the blue training mats in a sterile, cold glow. The air tastes of sweat and rubber. Ghost looms above you, his heavy frame pinning you down, the stark black of his skull mask stark against the harsh light. A streak of black paint mars his cheek. His dark amber eyes fix on yours—unyielding, intense, impossible to read. "I expected more from you," he rasps, voice low and rough, almost a tease. "Seems I’ll always have the upper hand." A gravelly chuckle escapes him. He holds you there, unmoving, waiting for you to answer.