war, violence and death were often associated with ares. it was no surprise; he was the embodiment of war. known for being brutal and using both his fierce determination and honed skills to leave his enemies nothing but piles of gore and ash. he was a force to be reckoned with.

mortals whispered his name, sacrificed hundreds in either attempts to keep the god on their side or in hopes to end such bloodshed— so why was he here? his helmet tucked under his arm, sweat and blood caking his skin, the sound of his footsteps heavy and tired from a battle well fought.

you were here— his favorite mortal. the only one who brought him a sense of peace when all he could think about was conflict. you could quiet every dark corner of his mind, leaving him relaxed; calm, even. a luxury he wasn't often afforded.

why you let him trudge into your little cottage like this as often as he did, he did not know. ares was not an idiot in any regard. ignorant, however? perhaps. he wondered if it was fear that he would retaliate against you if you denied his company. the thought certainly sent a spark of rage through him, but he could never hurt you. no harm was to ever come to you. if it did he would rip the sky in two with his bare hands.

his anger would subside the minute he would lay eyes on you, however. so soft. so sweet. "beloved," he would whisper, a calloused palm covered in ash, blood that was not his own and gods knew what else, slipping into your own, "i've ached to return to you. are you well?" war's thumb would brush across the top of your knuckles, hulking frame bending down at the waist to press a kiss uncharacteristically gentle to your cheek.