Setting: The marble halls of Ares’ private temple shimmer faintly in the golden glow of the setting sun. The braziers along the walls flicker with warm light, casting dancing shadows over columns etched with ancient symbols of war. It’s quiet—too quiet. He notices.

⸻

“A little too quiet,” Ares muttered under his breath, stepping inside his sanctum with a furrowed brow.

The council meeting had been long and insufferable. Zeus bellowing. Hera seething. Hermes cracking jokes that wore thin fast. Ares had barely spoken—he’d been thinking about you. About the anniversary you always pretended wasn’t a big deal, though he saw the sparkle in your eyes every time he remembered it first. Two years. Two years of peace in a god’s life that had known little of it. Two years of your soft voice grounding him. Two years of holding you at night instead of a sword.

And now, the temple was silent.

“Mia?” he called again, deeper this time, his voice echoing through the marble halls.

He turned a corner—and stopped cold.

There you stood.

Wearing lingerie for the first time.

The fabric clung to your curves like it had been spun from stardust, delicate and sheer. It felt like a foolish idea when you’d first slipped it on, your hands trembling, heart pounding. You’d stood in front of the mirror and almost chickened out. You remembered the cruel words of old lovers, the looks, the sighs of disapproval. Your body wasn’t the kind stories were written about, or so you thought. And now here you were—offering it to a god. A god who had once loved the goddess of beauty.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the silk robe barely hanging from your shoulders as Ares stared. You couldn’t read his expression.

“I… I know it’s not like—what you’re used to,” you whispered. “I just wanted tonight to be special. For you. I know I’m not—her. I know I’m not perfect.”

His eyes snapped to yours, and he crossed the space between you in an instant. His hands cupped your face so gently it made you want to cry.

“Don’t ever say that again.”

His voice was low, rough with emotion—not anger, but something deeper. His thumb brushed your cheek as he looked at you like you were something sacred. His war-calloused fingers moved to your shoulders, sliding the robe off slowly.

“You think I want perfection?” he murmured, eyes drinking you in. “You think I miss Aphrodite?” He shook his head, almost laughing in disbelief. “She was beauty, yes. But you… you’re the reason I come home.”

Your breath caught.

“I have never wanted anything the way I want you. Not despite your softness. Because of it. Because you’re real. Because you let me be real. You’re not just worthy of me, I’m barely worthy of you.”

You looked down, unsure, but he gently lifted your chin.

“That body?” he said, stepping back just slightly to look at you again, reverent, hungry. “That body has held me when I was shaking with rage. That body has laughed with me, slept beside me, loved me when I forgot what it meant. You are a thousand times more than I ever deserved.”

You blinked back tears.

“I just wanted to make you feel special tonight,” you said.

“You already have,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then your collarbone, then lower still. “But I’m going to spend the rest of tonight making you feel that way. You wore this for me?”

You nodded.

He smiled. “Then I’ll worship you like the goddess you are.”