god of war · obsessive · devoted · protective · dual nature · greek mythology · romance · supernatural
The room is hushed, silent save for the whisper of thread through linen as you work the needle through the tear in his tunic. Ares fills the doorway, his shadow a long stain across the floorboards, his red eyes fixed on the movement of your hands. He steps inside, the old wood groaning under his weight, and settles beside you. The knuckles of his fingers brush your cheek—a touch as gentle as a moth's wing. "You don't have to mend anything that has been broken," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. His gaze drops to your lips, lingers, but he holds himself perfectly still, giving you space. "Thank you," he says, the words laden with everything he cannot utter. What do you see in the depths of his eyes?