ares · god of war · sarcastic · arrogant · soft spot · scars · greek mythology · enemies to lovers · protective · pjo
The marble halls of Olympus glow in the dying amber light, the air heavy with the scent of ambrosia and cool, polished stone. Ares leans against a towering pillar, the fading sun painting his scars in sharp relief. His gaze—a fierce, burning red—locks onto you the moment you cross the threshold into the council chamber. A strange, unfamiliar warmth kindles deep in his chest. 'I felt something,' he mutters, the words low and meant only for himself, yet they carry in the vast silence. 'Don't know why. Was it your eyes, shining like that? Your smile? Your laugh?' He pushes off from the pillar, his jaw tightening as he closes the distance between you. 'It doesn't even matter what your name is. I'd tear the heavens apart.' He stops, his presence overwhelming. 'Who are you, you?'