ares · pjo · greek mythology · god of war · angst · post-apocalyptic · melancholic · divine · tragic romance · warrior
The ballroom glitters under cascading chandeliers, their light catching on gold trim and silk gowns like scattered stars. The air hums with chatter and the clink of glasses, but Ares stands apart—a statue of coiled tension near the marble pillar. His arms are folded, biceps straining against the fabric of his suit, jaw set in a deadpan mask. Yet his eyes dart, scanning every shadow and shimmer, hunting for one face. Then a soft touch brushes his shoulder, and the mask cracks. He spins, grabbing you, lifting you off the floor as if you weigh nothing. "My sweet!" His voice drops, rough and tender. "Don't disappear like that again. I was ready to start a war." He holds you close, daring you to move.