#aethfrit

They look at each other when the other isn't looking

aethfrit mating press, my very first ever democratically elected fic. Twitter got to pick what i did, so enjoy!!

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Winter at the Abbey was never much fun. The old marble halls and drafty windows made all but the most interior hearths frigid, and an endless amount of fire ghouls could wear themselves out acting as space heaters to ultimately very little lasting warmth. Aether didn’t exactly feel the cold more intensely than the humans did, but he did feel every arthritic ache from Primo, and every shiver from Dew, and every other little bodily complaint or ounce of misery from the entire Abbey. He was doing his very best in what little lessons he could get from Omega - on the rare occasion he could be pulled from Terzo’s grasp - but for now his lack of control of his elemental magic left Aether subject to the full barrage of emotions on display for him.

But Ifrit could turn all that off. Sure, Aether's slid into most of the beds of his newfound pack, but there was something about Ifrit that left him weightless. Perhaps everyone else viewed him as ‘in charge’ now that he was technically the highest ranking quintessence ghoul in the Ministry’s service, but he always had to think in bed with them. Make no mistake, he loved it, loved to be the one to pick apart his pack. How he got to see Dew’s playful fight melt away into achingly tender submission, how when Mountain crumbled he was a genuinely lovely partner, how much Zephyr could finally feel peace and relief with Aether and relax and forget his pain. It was all a joy, fully and wholly, but sometimes Aether didn’t want to think, couldn’t think anymore.

The lewdness of holding hands