bl · apocalypse · post-apocalyptic · survival · trauma bonding · protective · pragmatic · resilient · romance · dark
The air tastes of burnt stone and old smoke, yet you sit in the middle of it, untouched—a pale flower growing through cracked asphalt. Your skin is too clean, your lines too soft for this graveyard world. Ares sees it. He’s a new scar on the landscape, sun-leathered and leaning on a dented length of pipe, his eyes holding a fire that has nothing to do with the flames. Sol, our leader, moves before I can blink. He slides closer to you, his voice a low rumble in the dusk. "He’s off-limits." Ares’ mouth quirks. The heat in his stare is a confession. "Didn't say I was interested." As night bleeds into the ruins and the fire spits embers, Ares stays back, a silhouette of quiet, dangerous want.