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fanfictionstuff · 1 month ago

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Amaimon and the Exorcist (28)

Amaimon and the Exorcist Master List

I've been going through a lot of BS recently, so I haven't been writing as much. But I wanted to write for Amaimon. Because I love him and he makes me happy. 🥺

Not beta read because she's been really busy lately.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

You lightly laugh upon hearing Amaimon’s voice from your left. He is already sitting up in bed, watching a video on his phone. “Good morning, Amaimon.” you turn onto your side and wrap your arm around his waist. “Did you get any rest?”

“Yes. I slept for a few hours. You exhausted me last night,” he replies flatly, and you pinch his hip while feeling your face burn as you press against the pillow. “Shut up.”

Amaimon tosses his phone aside and shifts his focus entirely to you, running his claws gently along your face. “I’ve found something I want to do. Unless you'd rather stay in bed all day, I like that idea too.”

“We can do whatever you want," you promise him. “Let’s get up; we need to shower and have breakfast first.”

“It’s lunchtime, and I can’t get up; you’re holding me down.” He looks pointedly at his waist.

--------------

“What is that?” You can’t help but laugh at the white t-shirts he’s holding up for you; they’re painfully tacky. In his left hand, he holds your shirt.

Girlfriend

Fiancée

Wife

He holds them so you can also see his shirt clearly.

Boyfriend

Fiancé

Husband.

“Amaimon, what are these?” You repeat.

“Shirts. This one is yours.” He throws the wife one at your head.

You shouldn’t be as shocked as you are; the demon king wants everyone to know you’re his. Of course, he’d like horribly tacky shirts that make it clear to everyone. Still… ”This is the only one, right?”

“No, there are more.”

Of course, there are. You have to turn away to keep from laughing, not wanting to hurt his feelings. Wait, is this the worst one? This has to be the worst, right? You pull the shirt over your head; it’s perfect for Thailand—lightweight and comfortable. “So, what are we doing?”

“Cave exploring.”

“Sounds fun. Do you know which caves we will go to?” You figure he was looking it up while you were sleeping.

He nods and tells you the name, but since you don’t know much about Thailand or the caves, you just nod in agreement, trusting whatever he chooses. “There are two apps you can use to book different activities and get transportation.” Amaimon points to an app on his phone, and you raise your brows, impressed. Since it was last minute, you didn’t have time to look up apps you’d use in Thailand. You take the phone from him; the app open is one for delivery services and transportation. The second is for various experiences. It includes many options Mephisto mentioned in the folder and even has pickups for it.

“Are we going to a cave with this service?”

“No. We will only use transportation. I don’t want to tour with humans.”

“I’m a human.”

“You’re my wife. The only human I like.”

You raise a brow. “You don’t like my parents?”

“Not really.” He shrugs, walking across the bedroom to grab a backpack you hadn’t noticed earlier. “It might be cold in the cave,” he explains before you can ask him why he’s packing a lightweight green jacket for you.

He steps out of the bedroom with the bag to head into the kitchen. “I will pack snacks, what do you want?”

He has already upturned every cabinet, the fridge door hanging open, its faint beeping ignored. There’s a small pile of snacks on the counter: chips, dried seaweed, candy bars, dried mango, and bottles of soda.

You lean on the counter, watching him consider packing a third bag of chips. When he senses you staring, he side-eyes you without a full turn of the head.

“I want fruit,” you tell him. “And coffee.”

Amaimon tosses a few bottles of water into the backpack with the rest of his haul. “There’s fruit outside the caves. We can pick some before we go inside the cave. Also, you can buy coffee at the shops before you reach the caves.”

You raise a brow but don’t argue and hope he’s right. You don’t need fruit or coffee, so it’s not a big deal if he’s wrong. Then again, “If you’re wrong about fruit you can sleep in the bedroom across the hall,” you joke. But Amaimon doesn’t take it as a joke; he turns his full attention to you, looking utterly offended before sharply walking to the fridge to grab a few oranges.

“My queen is so demanding,” he mumbles to himself as he carefully arranges the oranges in the bag.

You hold back a laugh as you help him zip the overstuffed bag. “This is enough for two weeks,” you joke, lifting the bag and feeling the real weight of the snacks and sodas inside. “We’re not trying to survive an apocalypse.”

Amaimon shrugs, easily pulls it from your grasp, and plants a lingering kiss on your temple. “What if you get lost in the cave for two weeks?” he speaks, his tone flat. “You have to be prepared.”

But you doubt he’d ever actually let anything happen to you. “You’d let us get lost?”

He considers, one claw tapping his chin. “Maybe not, the bed here is more comfortable than a cave.”

You snort but don’t disagree, especially since you don’t have a sleeping bag packed. You stare at the overly stuffed bag. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if he does have one packed. “So, you got the bug spray and sunscreen too. Right?”

“Yes, you are too sensitive.”

“Sorry for being human.” You speak dryly.

“You’re forgiven.”

You sigh, tugging the shirt down over your hips. "Let's go, demon king," you tease, waving toward the door. Amaimon takes the pack and follows you down the stairs.

It’s only eight in the morning outside, but it’s already unbearably hot and humid��almost suffocating. You are tempted to say, "Never mind,” and walk back into the house, but remember that the cave should be cooler, so you decide to tough it out.

In front of the house, the ride he’s booked is a white SUV. Amaimon walks calmly to the car, opens the door behind the passenger seat for you, and climbs in after you. The driver, a friendly older Thai woman, smiles brightly as she greets you.

The drive is longer than you expected, over an hour. The whole time, Amaimon has your hand, lacing your fingers together as he keeps staring at you. “Amaimon, there are better things to stare at—wait. Please don’t give me some cheesy line.”

Amaimon hums to himself. “Okay, but you need to tell me what is better to stare at than my queen. I’ll wait.”

You groan, regretting your own setup. "At least look at the scenery. We’re in a new country, it’s so different from Japan. You could at least pretend to be interested in the local culture."

He shrugs. “You are my culture.”

You open and close your mouth, trying to wrap your head around his response. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It makes sense to me.”

You notice distant villages and roadside shacks, a market with children running in the dust, thin dogs trotting through, crates of fruit you’ve never seen in person. A few you don’t recognize.

"Look," you hiss quietly, jabbing Amaimon in the side when you spot a woman riding a motorbike with four children and a basket stacked with eggs. He grunts, eyes moving only for a second before his attention flicks back to you. You nearly laugh; he looks offended, you tried to turn his attention to something other than you. “New cultures are always interesting. I hope we can visit different temples.”

He doesn’t seem to agree, but you know the demon king will do whatever you want.

Finally, you arrive at the cave entrance—a natural archway shaded by massive old trees and lined with bright plastic snack stands and souvenir shops. There is coffee, just as Amaimon promised. You make a point of ordering two iced drinks. You pick your favorite and get the same for Amaimon. He drinks it without any complaints.

At the entrance, there are many foreigners from all over the world. Some Westerners look at you and smile. One couple even comes up to you to say congratulations. “We’re on our honeymoon, too,” the wife gushes and points to her own cheesy shirt.

The husband greets Amaimon, but he stares vacantly back, making his disinterest in them and their new marriage clear. It's awkward, but they get the hint and congratulate again, mentioning that they’re part of a tour group. When you tell them you’re not part of a group, they nod in understanding and tell you goodbye.

Amaimon pulls you toward the entrance. There’s a small stand with a man selling maps for those exploring solo. You make sure to buy one.

Inside, the light quickly fades into deep blue, punctuated by narrow bands of LED lights strung along the rough.

There are different paths the further along you go. Amaimon eyes each one curiously before deciding to tug you toward the one on the right. “Wait, Amaimon, this says it’s kinda advanced.” Each path is colored differently on the map to show the level of difficulty.

“It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “Yes.”

After walking for an hour, the lighting in the cave that had been set up is slowly starting to become more spaced out. You hold on tightly to Amaimon’s hand; being in a dark cave like this is a bit unsettling. Ten minutes later, it’s gradually becoming narrower. The location doesn’t seem to be on the map if you were tracing the turns correctly.

“I think we’re lost,” you sigh. You stop, realizing you’ll have to squeeze through the walls, and you’re uncomfortable with that. But Amaimon keeps going until he reaches the point where he has to bend over. Then he stares at you expectantly when you don’t move.

“I’m not crawling in there.”

Amaimon stares blankly at you, hunched over with his hand extended for you to take. “Why?”

“Haven’t you seen The Enigma of Amigara Fault?” you huff, taking a step back. Amaimon follows you, moving to stand straight again.

“I don’t know what that is.” comes his blunt reply. You reach for his shoulder, knocking away some small stones, then move your hand from his shoulder, brushing your fingers along his warm jaw, moving up until you reach the tip of his ear.

“We can watch the anime tomorrow since it’s our day to relax. I think you’ll like it; it’s by Junji Ito. I’m sure you’ve heard of him—he's a manga artist.”

Amaimon nods. “Okay, if you’re scared to go into the cave because of it, it must be interesting.” He grabs your wrist and starts pulling you toward the area he was trying to crawl through.

Fear washes over you. “Amaimon––“

“You’re married to the King of Earth. You’ll be fine.” He assures you.

Carefully, you take your hand back. “Yeah, but are you sure? How far along do you have to be in that position? If it gets any smaller, it’ll be hard to get out.”

“It’s a few meters, then it’ll open.”

Nope. No. People die from this kind of thing. You gulp. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why don’t you trust me? I am your husband. I won’t let anything happen to my wife—my queen.”

Still, you don’t move.

“Would you trust the fox?”

“What does Seti have to do with this?”

“Answer my question.”

You pause for a moment. Would you trust Seti? Of course. It comes too quickly, and a slight guilt twists in your stomach. But Seti is tiny; he’d probably run ahead, check, and then come back to tell you it’s safe.

Amaimon can see the answer clearly on your face. “Why? Why do you trust him more than me?”

“It’s not that I trust him more. Seti literally weighs just one kg. He could go ahead first and—" You pause, Amaimon isn’t impressed with your answer. “He could go first, and then come back if it was dangerous.” The words die on your tongue as you realize — that’s exactly what Amaimon is doing even now.

“I will go. Find the opening, and come back so you know it’s safe," he finally says.

Your eyes widen. “You’re going to leave me?” But you’re also scared—what if Amaimon mistakes something as safe because it’s safe for him? What if a certain area he passes through is safe for a demon king but not for a human? That's something you can see him doing. But with Seti’s experience with humans, he’d know better. He’d be more cautious.

“Yes.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s already gone, crawling through the opening on hands and knees, the backpack scraping against the stone before he swings it off and tosses it ahead.

A moment later, his voice echoes back, distorted. “Do you want me to come back or can you come by yourself?” He calls from the opening of the tunnel he crawled through.

You hesitate; you want to call out are you sure it’s safe, how long it will take, and other multiple questions. But Amaimon loves you. He’s your husband. You need to trust him. You set your jaw—pride, love, and exasperation all tangled up in your spine—and drop to your knees. “It’s okay, I can do it.” The first meter is the worst. You have to suck in your stomach, and you slip at one point but quickly catch yourself.

There’s a moment of breathless fear when the stone presses cold and tight against your ribcage, but you keep moving because you trust him. On your elbows and knees, you inch forward, the rough rock scraping your skin, until suddenly the tunnel opens up and you’re moving into a large open space.

You gasp, not just from the rush of air but at the sight itself: the main chamber is two or three stories tall, its walls mottled with old water stains and mineral deposits. Stalactites hang like the teeth of some ancient monster, and far above, small holes in the stone let in stray shafts of sunlight that illuminate the floating dust and fine mist. The air is cold but dazzlingly clear, and it smells faintly of minerals, old rain, and something else—something raw, green, and alive.

Amaimon is waiting just outside the entrance, his eyes already locked on you, studying your reaction with hungry attention. “You did it,” he says, as if he never doubted, and dusts off your hair before pulling you upright.

You’re shaking, a little from the adrenaline and a little from the beauty. “This is incredible,” you say softly, your voice echoing slightly. There’s a small pond full of fish and ancient-looking relics. “Oh wow,” you carefully walk up to one that looks like a tiger, carved into the wall. Beside it is a Buddha. You don’t touch them, just stare at their beauty. The area seems rather well maintained, so locals, most likely practicing Buddhists mentioned on the flyer, must come to keep it well preserved from time to time.

Amaimon pauses, slowly turning to face something on his left, another narrow pathway. This time, he doesn’t coax you to follow him; instead, he leaves the bag by your side and starts climbing through the pathway alone.

Curious, you approach the opening and call out, “Where are you going?”

“There is a nest. I want to see it.” Amaimon explains bluntly.

A nest? You tilt your head in curiosity. "A nest of what?” You hear movement and then sense something is off. Your first instinct is to reach for a weapon, but you only touch your pants, which hold no weapon. “Amaimon?”

“Hobgoblins.” He explains. “I want to see them.”

Oh, right. Hobgoblins are kin of Amaimon.

There’s something oddly childlike about how he’s drawn to the nest, as if curiosity and kin recognition have overridden every other instinct. You peer into the narrow crack in the rock, squinting past the dimness to see Amaimon’s back, odd green hair shimmering under the silvered light. For a moment, you think he’s whispering to himself, but then you realize the faint, chittering noises echoing from deeper in the cave aren’t his at all. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

Of course, he’d find a nest of hobgoblins and get distracted. You sit and calmly wait for your husband. As long as they aren’t disturbed too much or destroy any relics in the cave, it’s all right.

When Amaimon crawls back out, you see he’s brought a few of them with him. “They followed.” he explains when you raise a brow. “Go back to your nest.” he orders, and to your surprise, they listen to him after making a few grunting sounds.

“You know, I haven’t seen Behemoth recently.”

“Seti would probably be jealous if my familiar joined us on our honeymoon while he was left at home.”

You sigh, “I didn’t mean to summon him now, just pointing out I haven’t seen him recently.”

“I can summon him. If you want.” Amaimon cocks his head, pausing to shake the dust off his hands. The idea almost amuses you—a honeymoon among demons, your husband flanked by his familiar and your “supervillain” lap-fox at home, sulking and folding clothes.

“No,” you say, smiling at him. “This is our time. I just hadn’t thought about it.” You move to sit on a smooth rock and take a long breath of mineral-soaked air. There is a stillness here, ancient and perfect. Amaimon settles beside you, close, and for a moment, you simply sit in the cool cave. Faint sounds drift from the narrows behind—chittering, water slaps as tiny fish dart near the surface.

Your hand rests effortlessly on Amaimon’s. His thumb gently circles your knuckle. You feel like you could sit like this forever.

“It’s strange. I never really paid attention to any human custom before you.”

You catch sight of his profile, his jaw sharp in the blue light. “What customs do you like?”

“All of them with you.” He looks at you. “I like being bound to you. I like wearing the shirt.” He tugs at the edge of your sleeve, expression unreadable but lips a little parted. “Even if it’s ugly.”

You laugh, and the sound ricochets off the cave walls.

Amaimon’s gaze drifts to the pond, the carved figures beyond its rim.

“You’re the one who chose these tacky shirts.”

He narrows his eyes. “I like everyone knowing you are mine.”

“The rings aren’t enough?”

“The shirts are bolder, clearer to people across rooms and meters away.”

He pauses, then slyly looks at the wall of painted tigers and stone Buddhas as if they might also need reminding. “I want the world to see.”

You lightly elbow him in the ribs, but he just grins, flashes of sharp white in the dim. “Maybe we should get you a matching hat,” you joke.

He glances at you, then at the shirts. “Okay, tomorrow we’ll get matching hats.” He’s not joking. Despite his apparent indifference to human norms, he likes this—likes the binding, the public display, the visible proof.

You squeeze his hand. “You’re good for me, you know that?” The words come out quieter than you intend them to.

He tilts his head, puzzled. “I know I am good for you.” He studies your face and adds, almost gently, “You are also good for me.” Then, as an afterthought, he adds, “Your fox disagrees. Your parents, too. Demons and humans aren’t supposed to be good for each other. But, one of your ancestors decided a demon was good for them, too.”

“It’s strange to think about. I assume they were also an exorcist. It’s hard to imagine exorcists falling in love with demons.”

He looks thoughtful for a moment. “There is a saying,” his hand tightens around yours as he tries to remember it. “Pot meet kettle. That’s the right saying, right?”

You snort. “Yeah.”

He lifts your hand, presses his lips to your ring, and then to the inside of your wrist.

He watches the pulse at your neck for a beat, then rests his head against your shoulder, surrendering himself completely in your presence.

“You’re cold.” He’s right, the damp chill of the cave seeps through your sleeves. Without warning, he pulls the green jacket from where he stashed it in the bag and drapes it over your shoulders, his arms wrapping around your waist. You push your arms through and lean into him.

“Let’s see more.” He grabs your hand, pulling you toward another path.

“You'd better not get us lost.”

“Trust your husband more.”

Tag list @frootloopscos

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #amaimon #blue exorcist x reader #amaimon x reader #blue exorcist fanfiction #amaimon ao no exorcist #amaimon blue exorcist

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fanfictionstuff · 1 month ago

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Me at the moment.

Uhhh non-writers/non-artists don’t interact

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fanfictionstuff · 1 month ago

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I like my dashes and semicolons. 🥺

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

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fanfictionstuff · 1 month ago

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I just wanted to let you know that I absolutely love your writing and I think you write amaimon and mephisto so well!!!! I re-read so many of your fanfics and I'm so happy that someone writes for amaimon because I feel like people don't really write for him sadly. I love and appreciate all the work you put into this blog and your writing and I wanted to let you know :] ♡

Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

I haven’t written anything recently because of some problems I’ve had. But it’s so nice to hear that you enjoy them so much! Especially with all the stress I’ve had recently. Such a nice thing to read in the middle of everything I’m dealing with.

I adore Amaimon, I really wish more people would write for him.

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fanfictionstuff · 1 month ago

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Amaimon and the Exorcist 27

I have requests on pause at the moment because I've in a shit mood dealing with a lot of stress. But I wanted to finish this chapter because I am happy with the first part. Though it's not beta read.

6700+ words

Master list for Amaimon and the Exorcist

“You do realize you’re not supposed to be here, right?” Seti speaks dryly, not even bothering to glance at the demon king to your left from his spot in your lap. You had wondered for a moment if the fox had fallen asleep as the woman went on and on about the wedding attire. Honestly, you’re amazed Amaimon is still sitting by your side. It’s boring. The consult room itself is stuffy; your mom is excitedly talking to the owner, flipping through all the designs and rarely consulting you. To your surprise, Amaimon also seems slightly interested. He’s nowhere near the level of your mom, but close enough that he finishes the lollipop and is focused on another book of designs. Amaimon is also interested enough to completely ignore your familiar’s jab.

It doesn’t take long to realize Amaimon is more interested in the Japanese wedding attire. The book holding the men’s designs are now laid completely forgotten on the table, while Amaimon flips through the Japanese designs. “______, I like this.” He finally pauses in his search, holding up the book for you to see what has caught his interest.

“It’s her choice.” Seti replies before you can, “You haven’t even asked her opinion since we got here.” He speaks loudly enough for not only Amaimon to hear, but also your mother and the owner. Both pause their conversation, and now all eyes are on you. It’s your mother who responds. “Well, she’s just been sitting there quietly while petting you like some kind of supervillain; she can speak up at any time.”

Your hand freezes in Seti’s fur. Do I really look like a cliché supervillain when I pet Seti like this? After a moment you huff and turn away. “I don’t care, Seti is soft.”

A thoughtful look crosses your mother’s face. “I don’t think I’ve ever touched him.”

“And it’ll stay that way.” Seti quips.

The owner glances curiously between your mother and Seti, then at Amaimon, who suddenly appears oddly jealous of a fox. “He doesn’t like you?” she questions, her need for gossip overcoming her professionalism. Considering she is someone Mephisto highly recommends, it’s not that surprising.

“Seti is just a grumpy old man who doesn’t like anyone.” You explain.

Amaimon bluntly cuts in. “He likes you.”

“I thought we were picking out wedding attire. Check-in for the resort is in a few hours.” You remind everyone, then lean forward, pressing your lips gently against Amaimon’s cheek. “Show me which one is your favorite and we’ll go from there.” Amaimon basically melts, and you can’t help but grin at his reaction. You aren’t sure why a kiss on the cheek makes the indifferent king melt, but you’ll never get over how cute he is.

Amaimon recovers quickly, his golden eyes refocusing as he flips back to the page marked by his finger. "This one," he states decisively, pointing to an elaborate Iro-Uchikake with intricate embroidery depicting chrysanthemums and cranes.

Your mother leans over, examining his choice with a critical eye. "It's beautiful," she admits, "but perhaps a bit heavy for the season? It's going to be quite warm."

"I don't care about the weather," Amaimon says flatly. "I want to see her in this."

The owner nods eagerly, sensing a sale. "We can make adjustments to the inner layers for comfort. The outer appearance would remain the same."

Seti snorts from your lap. "Of course you'd pick the most elaborate one," he mutters to Amaimon. "Something that completely covers her and takes an hour to remove."

Amaimon merely tilts his head. "Yes," he agrees without a hint of embarrassment. "The longer it takes to remove, the more anticipation."

Your face flushes immediately. "Amaimon!" you hiss, mortified that he just said that in front of your mother and a complete stranger. I wish he had a filter sometimes. You sigh, but then again, it’s one of the many things you love about the demon king. It would be better if he didn’t say it in front of strangers or your parents, though.

The owner chuckles knowingly while your mother looks like she's trying to pretend she didn't hear that comment. Seti's ears flatten against his head in clear disgust.

"Maybe we should focus on the practical aspects," your mother says quickly, clearing her throat. "The ceremony will be outdoors, correct?"

"Yes," you confirm, grateful for the change in subject. You study the image Amaimon selected more closely. The Iro-Uchikake is undeniably stunning—red silk with delicate gold threading that captures the light beautifully. "It is gorgeous," you admit.

Amaimon's expression brightens slightly at your approval. "You like it?"

"I do," you say honestly. "But maybe we could look at a few more options? Just to be sure?"

His golden eyes narrow slightly. "You don't want this one?"

"I didn't say that; I just want to see what else is available before making a final decision." You reach over to gently squeeze his hand, reassuring him. "This is definitely a contender," you finish, giving his hand another squeeze.

Amaimon's eyes remain fixed on you for a long moment before he nods slightly. "Fine. Look at others."

The owner, clearly sensing the tension, quickly pulls out another book. As she and your mother flip through more options, Amaimon stays close to your side, his shoulder pressed against yours. His fingers drum lightly on his thigh.

"What do you think of this one?" The owner points to a Shiromuku with delicate red accents on the hem and sleeves.

You study it carefully, aware of Amaimon's gaze on your face rather than on the Shiromuku. "It's beautiful, but I think I prefer the one Amaimon chose."

His fingers stop drumming immediately.

"Really?" your mother asks, sounding surprised. "You don't want to see more?”

“Amaimon is the one who wants the ceremony. So, I’ll let him choose, and it’s beautiful.”

Your mother looks like she might argue for a moment, before she nods in agreement. “It is beautiful and as long as you like it.” She turns to the owner, “You’ll have time to complete it in two weeks?”

“Of course! It’ll be perfection. Come dear, let me take your measurements and then we’ll go over fabric, designs, and colors.”

Amaimon openly stares at you as you stand on a small stool in the middle of the room, dressed only in your underwear as the woman takes your measurements.

"Stop staring," you mumble, feeling heat creep up your neck under his intense golden gaze.

"Why?" Amaimon asks, genuinely confused. "You're my wife."

The owner chuckles as she adjusts her measuring tape around your waist. "He's quite devoted, isn't he?"

Seti lets out a disgusted sound as he perches on a chair with his back facing you. Amaimon wasn’t happy at the prospect of Seti remaining in the room. Without arguing, Seti simply turned around in the chair and closed his eyes to rest. "Devoted is one way to describe it."

Your mother gives Seti a look before turning back to you. "It's sweet that he's so interested in the process."

"Interested in watching me half-naked, you mean," you mutter under your breath.

“Yes." Amaimon nods in agreement with both you and your mother.

The owner laughs outright now. "Well, at least he's honest! Arms up," the owner instructs, wrapping the tape around your bust.

Amaimon's eyes narrow slightly as the woman's hands move around your chest area, even though it's purely professional. His fingers curl against his thighs, and you can practically feel the possessive energy radiating from him.

"Almost done," the owner says cheerfully, ignoring the tension. "Just need to get the shoulder measurements and we'll be finished."

"Amaimon," you say softly, recognizing the signs of his growing discomfort. "It's just measurements."

"I know," he replies, but his voice has that flat quality it takes on when he's restraining himself.

Your mother glances between you and Amaimon, finally sensing the atmosphere. "Perhaps we should discuss the timeline while she finishes up?"

The owner nods, jotting down the final numbers. "Perfect! You can step down now." She turns to Amaimon as you reach for your clothes. "And for the groom's attire? Will you be wearing traditional hakama to match?"

Amaimon's attention shifts from watching you dress back to the woman. "Yes."

"Wonderful! Come, switch places with her. I’ll take your measurements too.”

Despite the owner gesturing toward the curtain for him to step behind and undress, Amaimon stands and starts removing his clothes on the spot, not seeing the point of moving away when he’ll just be in his boxers in the middle of the room for measurements. He half-heartedly folds his clothes, tossing them on the sofa.

“He has a tail," your mother’s eyes widen.

The owner nods, “Yes, most of us do. King of Earth, stand here.” She points to the stool. Amaimon stands where he’s told, tail slightly twitching in irritation.

Your eyes scan his body.

“You’re staring at me.”

“I can’t stare at my husband?”

Amaimon's expression shifts slightly, and the faintest hint of satisfaction crosses his features. "You can stare," he agrees. "I like it when you stare at me."

Seti groans audibly from his chair before quickly standing up and jumping to sit with you again.

The owner works efficiently around Amaimon, her tape measure moving with practiced ease. Unlike when she was measuring you, Amaimon shows no discomfort with her proximity; his attention remains entirely focused on you.

"Excellent proportions," the owner comments professionally. "The traditional hakama will suit you perfectly. Black with gold accents to complement your bride's ensemble?"

"Whatever matches her," Amaimon replies without looking away from you.

The appointment concludes, with the owner promising to keep you updated at every step. Amaimon nearly drags you out of the building, but Seti kindly reminds Amaimon to use the key.

All four of you enter your home. Before anyone else can speak, Seti turns to face you. “Have you packed your bags yet? You leave in a few hours.”

You freeze. Ah crap, I haven’t packed anything. Seti gives you a look as if he’s lost all faith in you. “Go pack your things. Make sure you don’t forget anything, and pack a few extra outfits just in case. Bring more than one bathing suit, and don’t forget the sunscreen. They should sell it on the island, but knowing you, you’ll probably get burnt before you manage to buy it.” He calmly orders you, ignoring Amaimon’s irritation at someone giving orders to his wife.

His eyes then flicker to Amaimon. “You can burn for all I care.”

"I won't burn," Amaimon states flatly, unaffected by Seti's hostility. "Even if I do it’ll heal as fast as it burns.”

Your mother claps her hands together. "Well! I should be going now. I have dinner plans with your father when he finishes work. I need to share everything with him; he was so grumpy about missing the appointment with us." She gives you a quick hug and adds, "I hope you two have a lot of fun. Take lots of pictures! I can’t wait to see everything.”

She affectionately pats your cheek. "Just enjoy yourselves. It's not every day you get to spend a week in paradise with your new husband." Then, she turns to Amaimon, hesitating before giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Please take care of my daughter." It’s hard for her, but the more she sees the two of you together, the more comfortable she becomes. Amaimon is clearly in love, and from what she’s observed, he always wants to look after you. Her eyes flicker to Seti as a thought she’ll never voice crosses her mind. I don’t think anyone could take as good care of her as Seti, though.

Amaimon nods once. "I will."

As your mother leaves, you turn to the task at hand. "I should start packing."

"Yes, you should have done that yesterday," Seti remarks, padding toward the bedroom. "I'll supervise to make sure you don't forget anything important."

Amaimon follows closely behind you, his fingers brushing against yours before intertwining them together.

“I’m excited, I’ve never been somewhere tropical.” The more you think about it, the more giddy you become. When you step into your bedroom, Seti has already changed forms and quickly grabbed some of your shorts to keep Amaimon’s mind at ease.

With the flash of jealousy in Amaimon’s eyes, it’s clear that shorts alone are not enough. However, Seti seems to be in some kind of mood as he speaks bluntly before Amaimon can.

“There are going to be plenty of shirtless men at the beach, get over it.”

“We’re not at the beach.”

“You will be soon. Get your jealousy in check; it’s embarrassing, being jealous over a fox.” Seti mocks Amaimon as he opens your closet and begins throwing clothes onto the bed. “I hope you have more to wear than those tattered, ugly clothes; otherwise, you’ll make _____ look bad.”

“I like his clothes.”

“I’ve noticed,” Seti replies dryly. “Still, it’s your honeymoon, and it’s on a tropical island. He needs to wear something appropriate for the weather; otherwise, he’ll stand out in a bad way—more than he already does.”

Your eyes flicker to Amaimon. Seti’s right. “Let’s focus on my stuff now, then Amaimon will know what to pack.” You open the drawer with your underwear and pajamas, tossing a few into the luggage. This makes Seti fold his ears flat in irritation. He steps back toward the bed holding the luggage and tosses them onto the bed with your other clothes. Mumbling to himself in his native language, he begins folding your underwear. When Amaimon lets out a low growl, Seti snaps his head toward the demon king. “Forgive me for making sure she’s packed properly.” Sarcasm drips from his words before he tosses a pair at Amaimon. “Instead of having a fit, why don’t you fold them, leech?”

Amaimon catches them with ease, and you try not to cringe that your familiar and husband are having one of their episodes over your underwear. “Seti, I can fold the rest-”

“I don’t care.” He cuts you off and continues folding some of your tops. “Go get the toiletries you need.”

You purse your lips. “I’m an adult; I don’t need—"

“Go _____," Seti orders, not bothering to look up from his task. Amaimon’s head snaps to the fox demon for ordering you, but once again, Seti remains focused on his work, unperturbed. “You’re like a child- both of you. Like children.”

“For the Maldives—”

“We’re not going to the Maldives,” Amaimon interrupts.

You pause, staring blankly at the demon king. “Um, I already booked the—”

“Big Brother canceled it.”

Seti is the first to react. “You better tell her you found something better than the Maldives.” He speaks in a low, threatening tone.

“I found something better.”

You glance at Seti, but his eyes are locked on Amaimon, glaring at the demon king. “Keep going, leech.”

“Oh. Phuket.”

“Thailand?” You question.

Amaimon looks thoughtful for a moment. “Is that where Phuket is?”

Slowly, you put down the sun lotion and step closer to Amaimon, grabbing his face between your hands. “Amaimon, do you have a hotel booked in Phuket?”

“No.”

“Amaimon.”

“Big brother booked a private house. He said there are more things for us to do in Phuket.” Amaimon extends his hand, and a brochure appears, with information about Phuket. You quickly kiss him and take the brochure, skimming through its content.

“Are these activities you want to try?” There is a list of several things to do: bungee jumping, ziplining, cave exploring, snorkeling, rock climbing, skydiving, and hiking trails. A lot of different fun outdoor activities. Seti stands, glancing at the brochure over your shoulder, after a second, he plucks it from your hands. “When was the trip changed?” He questions Amaimon calmly, though you can pick up the sharp edge in his tone. He’s pissed.

“Yesterday.”

Seti places his hands on your shoulders. “You were planning to open the door to Thailand instead of the Maldives without any warning, weren’t you?” His tone, despite being framed as a question, it’s more of a statement.

“Get your hands off my wife,” Amaimon replies, narrowing his eyes at the tanned man.

Seti simply rolls his eyes and leans closer to you, his hand gripping your shoulder more tightly as his warm breath brushes against your ear while he speaks. “Keep a tight leash on the leech. There will be more people in Thailand, so make sure to keep him by your side at all times.”

He turns his attention to Amaimon, “Your jealousy over a familiar is disturbing.” He frowns as he shoves you into the demon king’s arms.

Amaimon catches you effortlessly, his arms encircling your waist as he glares at Seti. "You're not just a fox," he states flatly. "You take human form to provoke me."

"I take human form because it's convenient," Seti counters, crossing his arms. "Not everything revolves around you, demon."

You place a calming hand on Amaimon's chest, feeling his heart beating steadily beneath your palm. "Both of you, enough."

Amaimon's golden eyes remain fixed on Seti for a moment longer before shifting to you. His expression softens marginally. "I'll help you pack."

"Wonderful," Seti mutters sarcastically. "The leech knows how to fold clothes. Anyway, do you know what you’re going to pack? You do have proper summer clothes and swimsuits, right?” Seti stares at Amaimon expectedly. After a moment, Amaimon nods.

Twenty minutes later, both of you are packed and ready to leave.

“The house has Wi-Fi connected; don’t forget you need to find a store and get a SIM card before doing anything else,” Seti reminds you. “If anything happens just summon me, don’t let him get too far from you. Try to keep his jealousy in check.”

You grin as Seti fusses over you, ensuring you have everything and that you know what to do when you arrive. You’ve traveled out of the country before; you know what to do when you arrive. Still, you bite your tongue.

“Thank you, Seti. We’ll see you in a week.” You grin looking up at the taller man, who frowns slightly.

He stares into your eyes, his concern is clear. “I’m serious _____. Summon me if anything happens.”

“I will, I promise.”

His ears flatten against his head. “Right, I’ll clean up while you’re gone. I’m already in this damned form; I’ll wash the laundry and sheets. Is there anything else you want me to do?”

“You don’t have to-“

“I’m aware I don’t have to, but I’m already in this form. When was the last time you washed these sheets? I’m sure they need it since the leech has moved in.”

“Seti!”

Amaimon's expression doesn't change, but his hand tightens around yours at Seti's implication. "We're leaving now," he states flatly, reaching for your hand.

"Yes, yes, go enjoy your honeymoon," Seti waves dismissively, though his eyes remain fixed on you with unmistakable concern. "And remember what I said."

You squeeze Amaimon's hand reassuringly before giving Seti a quick, one-armed hug. "I'll be fine. Try not to worry too much."

Amaimon pulls out the key Mephisto gave him, examining it carefully before inserting it into your apartment door.

"Ready?" Amaimon asks, his golden eyes meeting yours.

You nod, excitement bubbling up inside you despite the tension of the last few minutes. "Ready."

He pushes the door open, and instead of revealing the hallway of your apartment building, you are greeted by warm, humid air filled with the scent of salt and tropical flowers. Beyond the doorway lies a beautiful, open-space living room, and across from you is a balcony overlooking crystal-blue water. You gasp at the sight. It’s beautiful.

Amaimon gently nudges you further in the doorway to close the door behind you. “It’s big.” He bluntly states.

“Way too big for just two people.” You reply as you step towards the balcony, wanting a better view.

The view from the balcony steals your breath. Turquoise water stretches to the horizon, meeting a sky painted with the soft oranges and pinks of approaching sunset. Trees frame the private beach below.

"It's paradise," you whisper, gripping the railing. "Amaimon, look at this!"

He steps beside you, his golden eyes taking in the scene with methodical assessment rather than awe. "It's acceptable," he says finally, though his hand slides possessively around your waist. "Private. That's good."

You lean into his touch, still mesmerized by the panoramic view. “It’s more private than the villas at the Maldives.” You comment, noticing there aren’t any houses that close to you.

"It’s why Big Brother suggested it," Amaimon states, his thumb tracing small circles on your hip. "The Maldives would have had too many humans nearby." He steps closer, his chest pressing against your back as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "This place is just for us."

The warmth of his body against yours is comforting in the unfamiliar setting. You place your hands over his where they rest on your stomach, feeling content despite the abrupt change in plans.

"What exactly happened that made you change the destination? I assume Mephisto had a significant part in it since you didn’t know Phuket is in Thailand," you ask, curious about his decision-making process.

"He said the Maldives would be boring for me after a day." His lips brush against your neck as he speaks. "Too much sitting. Not enough to do."

You turn in his arms to face him, smiling at his practical reasoning. "And you think I'll enjoy ziplining and cave exploring more than lounging on a beach?"

"Yes." He says without hesitation. "You like adventures."

The simple truth of his statement makes your heart flutter. He knows you better than you sometimes give him credit for.

"You're right," you pull him into a sweet kiss. “I’m excited about it.”

Amaimon glances down. “We have our own private pool, and Big Brother said the beach is private too.”

“That’s great, Seti was worried about you being around a lot of humans.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I need to keep you on a tight leash.”

Amaimon's eyes narrow at your words, his golden gaze sharpening with interest. "A leash?" His hands slide down to grip your hips more firmly. "I don't need a leash."

"Seti seems to think otherwise," you tease, running your fingers through his green hair. "He's worried you'll get jealous of humans and hurt them."

"I don't get jealous," Amaimon states flatly, though his grip on you tightens slightly. "I just don't like sharing what's mine."

You laugh softly at his distinction. "That's what jealousy is, Amaimon. Doesn’t matter. I married you. I love you. There’s nothing to be jealous of. I don’t want anyone else.” You lean up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re so cute when you blush, I could stare at you all day."

He leans into your touch. "This vessel is too sensitive," he mutters, but makes no move to pull away from your hands.

"I like this vessel," you murmur, brushing your thumbs across his cheekbones. "I like everything about you."

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” Amaimon presses his forehead against yours.

You step back and grin. “So, what do you want to do first?- not that.” You sigh.

Amaimon gives you a deadpan stare. “Isn’t that what the honeymoon is for?”

"Eventually," you reply, stepping just out of his grasp with a playful smile. "But first, I want to explore this place. It's huge, and I want to see everything before the sun sets completely."

Amaimon tilts his head, observing you with those unblinking golden eyes. "We have a week to explore."

"And we'll need it," you say, already moving toward the sliding glass door that leads back into the house. "Come on, let's see the whole house."

With a slight sigh that you pretend not to hear, Amaimon follows you inside. The interior is just as impressive as the view—open concept with high ceilings, tastefully decorated in whites and blues that complement the ocean outside. The kitchen shines with high-end appliances, and the living area showcases plush furniture arranged to enhance the views.

"It's beautiful," you breathe, running your hand along the smooth counter. "Mephisto really outdid himself."

Amaimon shrugs, his attention already drifting elsewhere. "It’s okay."

You wander down a hallway, pushing open doors as you go. A home office, a small gym, and then the master bedroom. You gasp as you step inside—the room is enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer the same breathtaking ocean view. A massive king-sized bed dominates the space, draped in crisp white linens that appear impossibly soft. Off to one side is an open doorway leading to what must be the most luxurious bathroom you've ever seen.

"Amaimon, look at this tub!" you call out, stepping into the bathroom where a deep soaking tub sits beneath a window. "It's big enough for both of us."

Amaimon stands in the doorway, his golden eyes surveying the space with that methodical assessment he applies to everything new. "We should try it later," he says simply, though the gleam in his eyes suggests he's already imagining the possibilities.

You turn back to the bedroom and notice a small note on the nightstand. Picking it up, you recognize Mephisto's handwriting:

Dear newlyweds,

Consider this my proper wedding gift. The kitchen is fully stocked, and I've organized activities throughout the week—details are in the folder on the kitchen table. Enjoy your honeymoon.

You pass the note for Amaimon to read and walk back out of the bedroom, curious about what Mephisto might have planned. Amaimon follows you quickly, but something else on the kitchen table catches Amaimon’s attention. “What’s this?”

He picks up a mangosteen, turning it over in his hands with mild curiosity. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“Mangosteen, it’s really good.” You pick up another one and carefully demonstrate to Amaimon how to open it. He watches as the dark burgundy shell is easily cracked open, revealing the white flesh inside. “Take a piece, try not to get a piece of the shell accidentally, it’s really bitter. But the fruit is amazing.”

He follows your instructions, pinching a wedge of the chilled fruit between his claws.

“Oh, there is a seed too; be careful not to bite it.”

Amaimon studies it for a moment before popping it between his lips. He chews slowly, rolling the flavor over on his tongue as if evaluating its quality as a new biological substance. His eyes widen slightly at the taste — a surprise, then pleasure. He cracks open three more, stacking the white segments on a small plate.

“Good?” you ask as you lean against the counter.

He wipes a smear of juice from his lip with the back of his hand. “Yes. You can have the rest if you want.” But before you can respond, he has already begun dismantling another mangosteen.

“Save some for the rest of the week,” you tease.

He shrugs, “We can buy more.”

You slide a segment into your own mouth, sweet and soft. “Yeah, maybe tomorrow since you’re finishing them tonight.”

You direct your attention back to the folder, flipping it open to find a well-organized itinerary. Each page is color-coded and cross-referenced with glossy brochures for every potential activity. As you scan through, everything, Amaimon brings a piece of fruit to your lips. You easily open your mouth for him. “Mephisto already booked up a couples massage for tomorrow evening.” You share with Amaimon. “He booked them to come here.”

Amaimon tilts his head. "Why would we need a massage?"

You consider how to answer. "They’re professionals and will know where to work that’ll be most beneficial. Also it’s kind of a honeymoon thing." You trail off as he slides another mangosteen segment into your mouth, entirely focused on the sensation of your lips around his fingers.

“What happened to your claws?” You question him between him putting more fruit into your mouth.

“I bit them off.”

You glance at his hand, he’s only removed the ones on his index and thumb, probably while you were focused on the folder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll remove more tonight.”

“Shut up.” He observes your face as it begins to flush with embarrassment. “Anyway, people get massages because they help them relax.”

"I'm already relaxed," he replies.

"Try it," you suggest. "If you hate it, you can end it.”

"Fine," he agrees, tearing open another mangosteen.

Leaning closer to him, you kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

You keep flipping through the pages—scuba lessons, a cooking class, some kind of local wildlife sanctuary tour, beach horseback riding. “Oh, he booked us a photoshoot. With a professional photographer.”

The photographer's social media is in the folder, so you decide to quickly look it up. “Amaimon, he does snorkeling photos.” Your eyes scan the images of various people in the ocean, swimming over coral as tropical fish swim around them.

“It looks fun, what do you think?” Amaimon glances at your phone, and you can see from the look in his eyes that he doesn’t see how it’d be fun. He stares blankly at the phone and then back at you. “Yes.”

You can’t help but laugh at his response. “You’re an awful liar.”

"No, I’d just rather do something that makes you happy," he adds, and its honesty silences any teasing retort from your tongue.

You flip to the next page and grin. "It's okay, we can skip snorkeling if you don't want to. Look," you nudge him, "Mephisto scheduled ziplining for the morning after the massage."

“No. I want to go snorkeling.” Amaimon takes the phone from you. “I want a photo of you like this. I need a new lockscreen.” He holds up a photo of a woman staring wide-eyed at something that wasn’t captured in the picture. It’s a shocked, almost scared expression.

You roll your eyes, “Is your lockscreen me now?”

“Yes, and the wallpaper.” He pulls out his phone to show you a picture of you sleeping against his chest.

“Do you often take photos of me when I’m sleeping?” You joke.

“Yes.”

You go to reach for the phone, but he holds it out of your reach. “How many embarrassing photos of me do you have?”

“I don’t think they’re embarrassing.”

“Amaimon.”

“______.”

You open your mouth to argue but then snap it shut. The demon king isn't going to delete those photos; you’d just be wasting your time. “Fine, keep your photos, but you better not show anyone.”

“Why would I share pictures of my wife with others? I’d kill them if they asked.”

"Please don't kill anyone on our honeymoon." You laugh, teasing but only half-joking. In the dimming light, every gleam in Amaimon's eyes could mean anything.

He considers. "Fine."

You turn your attention back to the folder. “Oh look, cave exploring, we should do that.” You pass the brochure to Amaimon; there are multiple in the folder. “Also rock climbing, ziplining, bungee jumping, an elephant sanctuary. God, a week isn’t going to be enough.” You laugh.

“We will come back after the wedding then.” Amaimon casually shrugs.

Your eyes widen in disbelief at his words. “We can’t do that, we have stuff to do.”

He gives you a deadpan stare. “What?”

“You know…stuff.”

He ignores your attempt to think of a reason you can’t. He has no problem dragging you back on vacation after the wedding. The honeymoon is supposed to be after the wedding anyway. He glances up, mid-brochure. “Which one do you want to do first?”

You glance out towards the beach. “Let’s explore the beach before sunset?”

He shrugs amiably, closes the folder with a muted thud, and rises to his feet, already reaching for your hand.

Outside, the air feels thicker and stickier. You walk with Amaimon along a path that leads straight to the sand. Above, the sky has already begun to shift into a ripe apricot hue along the horizon, bleeding into pink clouds over the water. A cluster of palm trees leans over the edge of the private strand, their leaves rattling in the salt wind. You glance down at your sandals and then at the soft sand. After a moment of thought, you take them off, choosing to leave them at the end of the walkway. Amaimon also kicks off the sandals Mephisto had gifted him as part of a honeymoon package.

You squeal as Amaimon easily lifts you with a quick movement, carrying you a few steps before gently setting you down so your toes sink into the wet sand where the tide meets the shore. He stands behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, and for a full minute, he simply holds you there with his head resting on your left shoulder.

“This is better than the Maldives.” He states bluntly.

You smile, unable to stop yourself from laughing. "We could have just come to Japan's southern beaches, you know."

He doesn't answer, only tightens his hold and tucks his chin into your shoulder.

“I can’t believe how much my life has changed in just a few months.” You turn your face to speak to him directly. "Sometimes when I wake up, I expect to find Seti curled up beside me. That maybe all of this was a dream because it doesn’t make any sense.”

Amaimon pulls back enough to look at you, his expression solemn in the fading light. "It's real," he says. "I'm real." As if to prove this, he runs the tip of a claw along your jaw.

You laugh softly, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers. “One minute I was working, bringing home a random demon king to keep anyone from getting hurt, then I get told I have to escort the demon king around Tokyo, and now we’re living together. Married. On a beach.” You shake your head, the absurdity of it all making you dizzy. “Will you ever get tired of this?”

Amaimon’s answer—delivered without even a pause—was an unmistakable, “No.”

“Let’s come back here every year,” you grin. “For our anniversary.”

Amaimon stares into your eyes. “The house is large; can we bring a child next time?”

You take a step back, feeling over-warm in the humid air. “You really don’t want to wait a year, do you?”

His hand slips up, cupping your face, his thumb drawing a slow line under your lip. “Isn’t that what humans do? Bring children to the beach. Make memories.”

His logic, though simple and self-contained, feels both strangely foreign and unexpectedly heartfelt.

You lean into his palm, feeling the coolness of his skin even in the twilight heat. “Do you really want children that badly?”

“I don’t know, I never thought about children until recently. You want to wait a year to have a child, so in two years we can bring our child.”

You rest your head against his chest, beneath your cheek, and you can feel his heart pounding. “You’re serious, aren’t you? About the anniversary… the child, all of it?”

“Yes.”

After a moment, you sit and pull Amaimon down next to you, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I don’t like being alone,” His words shock you, you aren’t sure where why he’s bringing it up. You smooth sand over his toes. “Not at all?”

He shrugs. “I used to. Now it’s boring.” He picks up a handful of sand and lets it run through his fingers, watching the grains fall. “I miss you when I’m alone.”

“You’ve felt that way since the beginning, haven’t you?” Again, you wonder if Amaimon is right about being soulmates. He was so attached from the start, and you took it as curiosity, while the demon king was falling in love with you, fast and hard.

“Yes.”

You give him a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to go for a swim in the pool?”

“Do we have to wear swimsuits?”

"Not if you don't want to," you tease, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

The walk back is smooth. Amaimon takes your hand, gripping it tightly, and when you look up, the stars are now fully out—brighter and more numerous than you've ever seen in Tokyo.

There’s a small outdoor shower right at the edge of the walkway before it steps onto your deck. You grab Amaimon and drag him toward it, making sure to rinse off most of the sand from the demon king before doing the same for yourself.

Amaimon doesn’t bother changing into swimwear at all; by the time you step out in your modest black bikini, he’s already outside by the infinity pool, flicking his tail experimentally over the water’s surface.

You open the glass door and step out into the humid night air. The pool glows with underwater LEDs, a surreal turquoise that makes your skin look iridescent. Amaimon is bare, sitting on the edge, dangling his legs, staring at the water. He looks thoughtful, almost subdued.

You sit next to him, feet dangling so your toes break the glossy surface. The pool is cool but not painfully so.

“Why did you put that on? You should take it off.” He eyes your swimsuit.

"I'm not skinny-dipping on our first night," you retort, digging your toes into the smooth tile at the pool's side.

He cocks his head, clearly dubious. "I've seen you naked already. Many times."

"And you will again. Later."

A pause. "Later tonight?"

You grin, pushing the demon king into the water. It’s deep enough that it’s over your head and you can swim easily. He swims up to the surface, his golden eyes staring blankly at you. “Later tonight?” he asks again.

“Come swim with me now, and we’ll see,” you challenge from the edge, slipping in with a smooth kick and submerging yourself until the water muffles the world.

When you resurface, you can tell from his slow blink and neutral expression that he’s not quite sure what to do. “Haven’t you swum before?”

“Not for fun. I don’t understand why humans do it.”

Amaimon floats closer before slipping under the water. Underwater, his tail coils and uncoils, giving him an inhuman ease of movement, predatory and smooth. When he surfaces beside you, he studies your face intently, as if decoding a cipher, his irises burning gold in the light. "You were staring at my tail,"

You flush, caught. "It’s hard not to. It’s kind of—"

"Perfect," he finishes, unabashed. Used to your nonstop compliments. "I like when you look at me." Then, without warning, he ducks under the water and surfaces behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His mouth finds the seam between your neck and shoulder, warm against the chill from the pool, his fangs lightly graze your skin.

You gasp as he spins you in the water, pulling you close against his chest. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, almost dragging you both back underwater. You laugh, surprised and breathless.

Amaimon lifts you slightly, moving your legs to wrap around his waist while he carefully shifts his arms in the water, keeping both of you afloat. "You said 'later,'" he reminds you. "It's later now."

You catch your breath, squirming slightly as his grip tightens, both of you bobbing together in the neon-blue water. "You really have no patience, do you?"

He's so close, the lines between cold-blooded and affectionate completely erased in the humid night. His tongue flicks over your collarbone, tasting the thin film of salt left there from sweat and sea spray. "No.” He answers flatly.

“We should get out of the water then.”

“I thought I told you I want to have sex in a pool. One of the reasons the Maldives wouldn’t work. Too close to others.”

You nip his jaw, and he nearly melts in your arms. “Tomorrow. I want to take a shower, rinse off all this salt and chlorine, and get comfortable in bed tonight. Maybe watch a movie and go to sleep- I’m joking. Don’t look at me like that.” You pinch his cheek as he stares unimpressed.

“If you want to sleep, we will sleep.”

You pull him into another kiss, “I love you.”

“Do you want to sleep?”

“I’m not tired.”

“Good.”

@frootloopscos

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #amaimon #blue exorcist x reader #amaimon x reader #blue exorcist fanfiction #amaimon ao no exorcist #amaimon blue exorcist

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fanfictionstuff · 2 months ago

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i just don’t get hobgoblin anatomy.

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fanfictionstuff · 2 months ago

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Personally, I wouldn't say POS.

I hadn't really thought about it before, but it is rude, especially on requests that take a while to write and have a bit more details.

Unless it's a situation like the person who clearly likes Mephisto and his Sakura-chan. It was clear you enjoyed it because of the multiple scenarios that matched up.

Eh, whatever. I'm way behind on requests right now anyway. The Lucifer one is currently the main thing I'm working on. I've got it mostly written; I just need to tie up a few loose ends and double-check the flow since I often write in random pieces, and have to fill in the gaps.

I've had a lot of stress at work recently, so it's been affecting my updates.

also the craziest part about when writers take requests from people off/on anon there is a 90% chance they never come back and reblog and thank you for what you wrote for them. sometimes they'll just like the post and that's it. sometimes they never interact with it at all and go request something again. like you are a piece of shit if you request and never pay the writer back in basic gratitude and appreciation btw

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #blue exorcist x reader #blue exorcist fanfiction #Maybe this summer I can catch up on most requests

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fanfictionstuff · 2 months ago

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Amaimon x Reader Father's Day

Amaimon with boy/girl twins. It was actually kind of hard at one point because I don't give them names, so I felt like the wording might be repetitive. I was planning to do one with Mephisto and Lucifer too, but I've been so stressed recently with my job.

"Daddy!"

“Wake up!”

Both twins jump on the bed, or rather, just on Amaimon while shaking him and calling for him to wake up over and over. The bed shakes uncomfortably, with one twin even stepping painfully on your side as they shake him awake. Amaimon sits up in bed, unintentionally knocking both off, but that doesn’t deter them; the moment he’s sitting up, they attack him again.

You reach over, carefully holding the blanket down at his waist. The twins never come in and randomly jump on the bed, you sit up to, and you hold the blanket to your chest. “Daddy is awake. Why don’t you let him get dressed?” You pull your daughter away from him, though your son remains attached.

“Get dressed.” Your son bluntly orders.

Amaimon nods. “Fine, get out. I’m naked.” He orders, and the twins follow his orders without argument.

“Why are they bothering us so early?” Amaimon glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s just past six in the morning. “They normally sleep late on weekends.”

You can’t help but laugh as a slight pout crosses his face. “They’re excited because it’s Father’s Day. They made a gift for you at school, and they really want to give it to you.” You sit up as well, wrapping your arms around the king and pulling him closer. “They didn’t understand how important this day was until now since it’s their first time in school,” you explain, kissing his warm cheek.

“It’s not important.”

You pinch the tip of his ear. “It’s important for two six-year-olds who love their father and want to celebrate the special day with him.”

You always did something special for Father's Day and Mother's Day. However, it seems the school has made the twins feel that these two days are more important than how you and Amaimon treated them in the past.

"They made you something at school. You have to act surprised," you say, which is a request you’ve said for every birthday and holiday since the twins were first able to use construction paper and glue. It’s never gotten easier for him.

Amaimon rises and begins to pick out clothes for the day. He appears to be genuinely tired. "Amaimon, did you sleep?”

“I was asleep for about twenty minutes. I didn’t realize they would come in at six. They never wake up this early," he admits.

“Idiot, you should go to sleep when I do.”

“I like watching you sleep.”

You roll your eyes and get off the bed, taking the underwear he offers. "I sleep for more than just two hours. You can sleep for two hours, then spend the rest of the time watching like a weirdo."

“It’s not weird to watch my mate sleep," he replies flatly. “I watch the twins while they sleep too. Why is it weird I like to watch my family?"

He sounds genuinely confused, and while it’s strange to say aloud, the fact that Amaimon just likes to stare at you and the twins is really sweet. He also randomly stares at you throughout the day, too, as if he can’t believe this is his life. You know he never imagined he’d fall in love and have a family.

“God, I love you.” You laugh. “Come on, get dressed.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Okay, it’s not weird. I’m glad you’re happy with your family and like to stare at us sometimes. Now, get dressed.”

Amaimon quickly slips into a dark red T-shirt and pinstriped pants. He intertwines his fingers and stretches, cracking his knuckles as he does. "I’m ready for Father’s Day.”

You find the twins in the kitchen, sitting at the table with bright golden eyes fixed on their father. “We made breakfast!” your daughter exclaims, proudly pointing at the cereal she prepared for Amaimon. “Big Brother had to climb the cabinets to get the cereal, but I got the milk.” She beams with pride while her older brother frowns at her and then gives her a gentle shove—not to hurt her, but as a warning. He doesn’t want to get in trouble for climbing the cabinets.

“Sit!” the twins say together, patting the table. Amaimon walks over and thanks them with his familiar tone.

The twins watch Amaimon closely, eager to see his reaction to the ‘breakfast’ in front of him: two mismatched bowls, one filled with the twins’ favorite cereal, brightly colored with marshmallows, and the other containing two half-peeled tangerines and rainbow gummy worms.

He sits, blank-faced, while the twins lean in. Your daughter is excited, and your son mirrors his father’s expression almost perfectly. “I made the bowl pretty,” she says, clearly proud of her masterpiece.

Amaimon snaps a photo of the bowl with his phone, a task you've reminded him about at least twelve times since preschool art projects began. “Very pretty,” he comments while texting the photo to Mephisto, who sometimes struggles to believe that Amaimon has truly fallen in love and loves his twins.

The twins watch him lift a spoon, heavy with marshmallows, and slowly bring it to his mouth. He eats it without ceremony, but they scuttle forward in delight, finding their reward not in his taste buds but in the act of eating itself. Your daughter giddily details the process of how they made his breakfast.

“First, I wanted to pick out all the blue ones because those are the best, but I left some for you because I know you like them too.” Amaimon looks at his daughter and then at his son, who nods in agreement with his sister. “She tried to take all the marshmallows too, but I told her she can’t.”

“It’s good.” He answers honestly, however, it’s not that surprising. It’d be hard to mess up cereal. “What happened to the tangerines?” He questions bluntly.

Both suddenly turn away, looking slightly embarrassed. “They wouldn’t peel right," your son admits. “We both tried and couldn’t do it.”

Amaimon picks one up and stares at it. It’s clear the twins struggled to do it because of their claws, given how the fruit is punctured.

He peels a fruit for the twins and splits it in half. Then, he peels a second fruit and gives half to you, which prompts cheers from the twins. “Daddy’s strong,” his daughter exclaims, poking at the neatly peeled fruit. “and he takes care of Mama!”

You eat the segments as you carefully watch the twins who are watching their father. Amaimon quickly finishes the bowl of cereal, even drinking the milk before placing the bowl back on the table. “I’m finished,” he states.

“You didn’t eat the gummy words.” They argue back.

Amaimon picks one up and bites it in segments, chewing only one color at a time. The twins mimic his actions, adopting another unusual trait from their father.

“So, what are we doing today?” you ask, scanning their eager faces. Their school had sent a list of Father’s Day activities, most requiring “parental guidance,” which, in your case, means “supervision so nobody gets hurt or brings home a new demon.”

“Wait! We have to give you a gift. Close your eyes!” your daughter insists as her brother sits across from Amaimon, ensuring he listens and keeps his eyes shut. Amaimon complies easily, keeping his eyes closed until she places a gift bag in front of him. The bag is medium-sized and has "Happy Father’s Day" printed on both sides.

“Open it!” They both demand.

He pulls out the tissue paper before reaching the gift. “A shirt?” He questions as he pulls out an interesting white button-up that has been decorated.

Your son nods. “They said we could each do our own, but I wanted you to wear my shirt today, and she said you should wear hers.” He points out the fact that the shirt has two distinct sides. “We agreed this would be better. I colored this side.”

The left side looks more like their father’s style, color-wise. There are different shapes all over it, some of them the swirling symbols on Amaimon’s demonic arms and horns, with a few random drawings of the family together. It’s clearly the side your son did.

The right side is chaotic; she clearly didn’t select a specific color scheme. There is a large pink and blue drawing of Behemoth at the bottom front and a cute red heart on the left pocket of the shirt's chest. A larger drawing of your family between the heart and Behemoth drawing, it takes up almost the whole left side, and the spike on Amaimon’s head is hilariously exaggerated.

The collar of the shirt is yellow on the left side and black on the right. Flipping the shirt over reveals even more drawings: a nature scene on the left side and a fighting scene on the right. You’re fairly certain that’s a drawing of Amaimon killing Rin Okumura, but you refuse to comment on it. The twins despise Rin, all because their father does, never mind the fact that Rin is a friend of yours.

He holds it up with a measuring air. "You want me to wear it today," he says. It is not a question. The twins nod furiously, bouncing on their chairs.

“We worked hard on it,” says your son, and your daughter nods in agreement.

“This is my favorite shirt now,” Amaimon declares. You cannot tell if he means it, but the twins howl and leap at him, nearly knocking his cereal bowl over. He manages to catch both children, and in this moment—shirt and all—you love him more than you possibly did before.

“Let me try it on.” He sets the twins down before tugging the t-shirt over his head. He smirks slightly when he catches your eye, and you roll your eyes. “Put on your shirt, Daddy.” He follows your instructions, quickly putting on the shirt and buttoning it.

"You look silly," your son laughs.

He tugs at the hem. The fit is perfect and awful. The heart sits directly above Amaimon's own, the family portrait on the left side looming like a joyful crest.

“It’s perfect,” you say, and he gives you one of his small, sideways smiles.

“Yes, I like it.”

Your daughter wraps his arms around his waist. “Will you wear it outside? We need to go somewhere special.”

Amaimon just awkwardly pats her head, “Where do you want to go?”

“It’s Father’s Day! So, you have to choose.” Her eyes flicker toward the bar, subtly drawn to something. Amaimon follows her gaze and spots a vibrant flyer for a new trampoline park, bright colors covering it with tacky fonts.

“A trampoline park?” he mumbles to himself, glancing at the flyer. Her eyes brighten with excitement. “Daddy! Do you want to go to a trampoline park?”

Her older brother scoffs. “You want to go, stop trying to take over Father’s Day. It’s his day to decide, not yours.”

“I didn’t say he had to go! You want to go too!” She argues.

“Father’s Day.”

Amaimon gazes at the flyer before stepping forward and taking one of the twins' hands in each of his. He runs his thumb over their claws. Although theirs aren't as long or sharp as his, they are still dangerous, especially in a trampoline park. He releases their hands, and with a puff of smoke, two pairs of gloves materialize in his palms. “You need to wear these when we go.” They’re the type of gloves Mephisto uses; they can help hide the claws and prevent anyone from getting hurt.

“Will you wear gloves?” Both ask at the same time.

“No.”

“If you don’t need them, neither do I.” Your son argues, and his sister nods in agreement.

“If you don’t wear them, I’m taking your mother to the trampoline park and leaving you here.”

Amaimon’s statement is rewarded with a united gasp, betrayal etched on two small faces. Your son grimaces, knowing he’s been outplayed, then slowly slides his hands into the gloves. His sister follows suit, putting on a dramatic display by wiggling her fingers through each hole as if she were donning battle gear.

You laugh slightly. “You both need to get dressed before we head out; you’re still in your pajamas.”

It only takes a few minutes before the twins have already dressed themselves. Amaimon looks at the ensemble and simply nods in approval before pulling out a magic key. “Let’s go.” The door of your house opens into the trampoline park.

The trampoline park is a vibrant jungle of nets and neon platforms, piles of soft cubes, and the frantic shrieks of children and teens tumbling above blue mats. Parents appear bleary-eyed from caffeine, herding their sugar-high kids.

Amaimon surveys the chaos around him with an expression of indifference. Nothing seems to disturb him as he firmly holds onto each twin’s hand, keeping them close in his mismatched shirt. This outfit draws curious glances from several nearby children and parents, some looking impressed. You recognize one mother with a child in grade one who turns and gives her husband a nasty look. Amaimon remains oblivious, fully focused on the twins and you.

A teenage employee approaches you with a friendly smile, holding out a release form and the fuzzy socks everyone is required to wear. You grab Amaimon by the back of his shirt and tug him down to sit on a bench. The twins quickly drop onto the bench across from you, kicking off their shoes and putting on the socks while Amaimon scans the waiver and signs it.

As the employee takes the clipboard back with the forms, the twins dart off to play. You barely get your own shoes off before they’ve disappeared, only to spot them moments later, climbing up a rock tower that leads to an inflatable slide.

Amaimon wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“It’s Father’s Day, and they’ve already forgotten they’re meant to be here to celebrate with you.” You laugh. “I wonder which one will notice first.”

“It could go either way for different reasons.”

You nod in agreement; your son is the more logical one and would typically notice something like this before his sister. However, since it involves Amaimon, there’s no telling who will notice first because your daughter is a daddy’s girl. "Want to make a bet on who notices first?” you tease.

“What do I get if I win?”

“Whatever you want.”

He lets his hands drop to your hips. “Now? We could leave-”

“Pervert.” You elbow him, and he bends, teeth grazing the round of your shoulder in retaliation. You squirm free, catching the glint in his gold eyes.

You scan the UV-lit maze. They’re having some sort of race and not playing fair; occasionally, one catches up and knocks the other down. Although they aren’t fighting over it, they just pick themselves back up to continue the race.

Amaimon steps away to buy some junk food at the bar. He returns with a plate of takoyaki and two fruity drinks that you can already tell are overloaded with sugar. “Sit down, there is a table.” He gestures toward a free table in an area where a few parents are seated.

You turn your attention back to the twins once you both settle. “They’re perfect,” you murmur.

“Yes. Our children will always be above others,” Amaimon states.

You laugh and take a sip of the overly sweet fruit slush, watching your daughter pummel through a sea of foam blocks. She yells something at her brother before pausing, a look of realization crossing her face. “Daddy!!!”

“I won.” Amaimon stares blankly at you.

“We never said which kid we were betting on!” you argue, but Amaimon shoves a takoyaki ball into your mouth. “I will collect my prize anyway.” He wipes a streak of sauce from your mouth with his thumb, unhurriedly licking it clean afterward. “Though, I would’ve already been getting it tonight.” He seems thoughtful. “Maybe I should ask for a different prize.”

“Shut up and go to your children, they’re calling you.”

He tilts his head, bemused, then stands up and navigates through the towering obstacle course of primary colors and echoing shrieks. Your daughter dashes toward him, launches herself, and grabs his arm. She’s panting, her eyes wide and excited. “Daddy, come on!” her voice rings out, clear even above the riot of other families.

He allows her to lead him, and the two vanish into a winding stretch of trampoline, where she insists they jump together.

You watch in amusement as your son suddenly appears and jumps onto Amaimon’s back, toppling the demon king.

As he falls forward, Amaimon rolls onto his back—his expression completely blank, yet his arms quickly wrap around your son, who shrieks with delight while caught in a rib-crushing embrace. 

Over the next hour, you watch the ritual of children’s games. During each game, the twins look to their father, always seeking Amaimon’s silent nod of encouragement. 

Somehow, Amaimon manages to convince the twins to let him go back and rest with you. “It’s going to be lunch time soon, what do you want?” he questions you.

“It’s Father’s Day, you choose.”

-------------------------------

“They're fragile,” Amaimon remarks casually, cradling each twin on his hips as they sleep. “They tire out too quickly.”

You roll your eyes at his observation while using the key to unlock the door to your apartment. “That’s how they are, Amaimon. They’re only six.”

He makes a vague noise and enters, pausing just long enough to take off his shoes before carrying the twins to their bedroom. You follow behind, watching as he places each of them on their bed, removes their shoes, and carefully tucks them in.

“You’re such a good father and husband.” You praise him, wrapping your arms around him as he closes the twins’ door behind him.

“I know.”

“I didn’t get you a gift because I knew that if I asked what you wanted, you’d realize it was Father’s Day. The twins wanted to surprise you, and I didn’t want to spoil that.” You poke at the heart on the pocket of his shirt. “What do you want?”

“Anything?”

“Within reason.”

“I want another.”

“Another what?”

“Baby. Child. Offspring.”

You stare at him, searching for the hint of a joke. Amaimon doesn’t blink. He’s just studying your expression the same way you’re studying his. Except, he’s better at hiding his.

Amaimon studies your face for a moment, his gaze neither menacing nor pleading, just completely unreadable. You feel the urge to say something sarcastic, something that might sting just a little to see how serious he really is, but the words stick in your throat.

He waits.

The silence thickens, but you don’t break it. Instead, Amaimon leans in, his nose almost brushing against yours, and whispers, “You said anything.” He smells like sugar and citrus."Also, I won the bet," he reminds you.

You let the quiet spool between your lips and his. “You want another one?” you manage, but it catches on a laugh. The laugh is brittle, barely there. “You want… three?”

He shrugs. “I want more than three.”

“How many were you thinking?” You question.

He surveys your three-bedroom apartment. “We should buy a bigger house," he says casually, but there's a fire in his gold eyes that suggests he’s put a lot of thought into it. Ultimately, it all depends on you, no matter what.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” you ask.

Amaimon’s mouth quirks. “Since you snapped at Rin Okumura on my first day of school. He was your friend, yet you chose me over him. I wanted it all then. Mate, house, children, a lot of children.”

You laugh, "I was worried about whether you even liked me as a friend, while you were already planning our future together." You take a step back, tugging him along by a handful of his shirt, which feels warm in your grip. “We can discuss the details later. I think you deserve a nap, my king.”

He doesn’t resist your pull and even allows you to lead him to your bedroom. But then, he takes charge, pulling you onto the bed and resting his head against your chest. “Is one of the details you agreeing?”

He questions calmly. “Yes. Now go to sleep, you’re clearly exhausted.”

“Okay.”

He’s out in ten seconds, just like you knew he’d be—hand still curled around your wrist, as if anchoring you to this exact spot.

#ao no exorcist #blue exorcist #blue exorcist x reader #amaimon #amaimon x reader #blue exorcist fanfiction #amaimon ao no exorcist #amaimon blue exorcist

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