For Forever With You Pt. 2

For Forever With You pt. 2

***This. Took. So. Much. Longer. Than. I. Wanted. It. Too. BUT IT'S DONE! Thank you all so much for being patient while I finished school and took a break, but I am BACK and I am so so glad to be. I hope you all enjoy this lovely little fic! -B***

Summary: A mortal human and an immortal wizard dating is great until something bigger than the world shakes them. War starts in the human world, and the supernatural worlds around them and Solomon can only watch as everything he has carefully nurtured for the past few years begins to crumble.

Part 1

Late 1930s

It turned out that life with you was riveting.

Solomon could hardly remember the last time he had felt so young and free.

With you, he took time to stop and smell the roses. With you, a decade that would usually be an insignificant droplet in his life has become a vibrant waterfall. With you, he is aware of every second, of every step, of every breath that he takes and just how valuable and rare they are to be shared with you.

He treasured you in a way that he hadn't treasured anything since he last sat on a throne in the days of old.

But just as his crown was eventually taken from him, so were the days of peace, joy, and love that he shared with you.

Lightning cracked outside your apartment windows as rain rattled the glass panes. He stood there, gaping at you as you walked around your apartment, packing your things.

"No," he whispered. "MC, please, you can't do this."

You glanced back at him in sympathy as you shook your head. "I'm sorry, Solomon. But you've heard the news; war is on our door step. I can't just sit back and watch, not when I have skills that help."

He gritted his teeth as he clenched onto the enlistment papers you had handed him to read — the very papers with your name written all over them. "If war is really coming, then we can go somewhere away from the war. Away from all of this."

You frowned as you blinked at your partner. "Wait, what?"

Solomon shoved a hand into his suit pocket, quickly magicking a wad of cash into existence before pulling it out in front of you. Your eyes bulged at the sight. "We run. We leave this damned country together. Somewhere the war will never find us. Somewhere safe."

You sighed as you put your hand over his and gently pushed the money back towards him. "I can't. These are my people. My friends. My co-workers. I can't just abandon everything when there's something I can do about it." Keeping your hands on his, Solomon's breath caught in his throat as you pulled him closer to you. "I'm sorry. I understand that you're concerned. But think of it this way, I'm drafted as a telegrapher. I won't even be on the front lines-"

"The front lines don't matter when there are bombs involved," He couldn't help but hiss back, his hands twisting around the money to grip tightly onto yours. "Hospitals were targeted last time. Camps obliterated. What if you're there when- Please, love. I ... I don't want to lose you."

He couldn't lose you. Not yet. Not this soon. He thought he still had decades left with you, not hours.

Your expression softened as you leaned forward and gently pecked Solomon's lips. He savored the sensation of your soft touch like as though it was his final breath of air before death. He clung to every second of your attention and affection that you gifted him with grasping, never-satisfied, hands.

He leaned into your delicate touch, as you cupped his cheek and pulled away. "Solomon, I will do everything in my power to come back to you. Just ... Promise that you'll be here for me when I return."

He closed his eyes, putting of his weight against you as he pulled his lips into a thin line. He wanted to make that promise, but there was more than one reason why he was asking you to run away with him.

You weren't the only one being called to fight — only his was with greater powers that he had been hiding from you.

"I'll do my best," he whispered instead. His heart clenched as he squeezed tightly onto you. "And ... When all this is all done, when we find each other again ..." his heart ached as he met your confused stare, "We never leave each other again. We ... We become forever."

He watched as your breathing halted and realization slowly lit behind your eyes. "A-Are ... Solomon, are you saying that you want to-"

He gathered your lips with his, suffocating the words before they dared enter the world. "Don't say it. Not yet. When all this is over."

You shakily nodded, new tears lining your eyes as you stared at him. "O-Okay. When this is over."

It turns out that was all easier said than done.

The war wasn't quick — Solomon didn't know why he expected it to be. It dragged on for a torturous amount of time filled with seemingly endless evolutions of ways to tear each other apart. Not a day went by that he didn't think of you and yet ...

He hadn't dared to send you a letter, or contact you in anyway.

Solomon didn't doubt that you had attempted to reach him, but he wasn't anywhere close to his normal address. He was traveling across realms, taking part in the supernatural side of the war. He was constantly surrounded by beings who had the ability to snuff out mortal lives with the snap of his fingers — he couldn't let them know about you.

So he went silent. He never spoke of you to anyone. He kept an eye on you and where he knew you were drafted from a distance and ensured that you were safe.

He hated it. God, he hadn't known that being apart from someone could hurt so badly. But he knew it was for the best.

Years passed. Victory was finally earned. The violence and blood shed began to settle, and the world became still once more.

So now he stood outside of the apartment that he hoped you still called home, a bouquet of blue hyacinths in hand and fear stewing in his gut.

With a deep breath, he raised a hand, and knocked on the door.

"Just a moment!"

Several locks clicked and suddenly you were there, looking just as captivating as the day you left.

Your eyes widened as they met his, your butter-soft, kissable lips parting shock. "Solomon," God, he missed the sound of his name dripping from your tongue.

"Hello," he whispered in adoration.

Hearing his voice seemingly shook you out of whatever stupor you had been in, as the beautifully stunned expression on your face melted into fierce furociousness and you began to slam the door.

The wizard quickly stepped forward and caught it. "MC, please! Just a moment!"

"No!" You shouted from behind the door. "You do not get to skip back into my life after abandoning me during a literal war!"

Solomon winced as the heavy oak door rammed against the side of his foot. "My love-"

"You don't get to call me that," you snapped, the door ripping back open. He nearly choked on his own spit at the heat behind the glare you were pointing at him. "I wrote to you daily. I called. And not once did I receive word back. I tried to visit you in the middle of all this mess, you know," you stepped out from your doorway and was now standing nose-to-nose with Solomon. "You weren't home. I asked about you, and even our closest neighbors somehow didn't know who you were. I thought you were dead, Solomon!" His chest ached at the utter grief in your voice as you screamed at him. Your lip quivered as a broken gasp bubbled up them. "Where were you? I- I needed you, and you left me after everything! After you- You had hinted that-"

He moved closer to you, regret pooling in his stomach regardless of how he knew his actions were for the best. Although you may not have wanted to be anywhere near him at this exact moment, he couldn't stand there and watch you fall apart. Without another word, he gathered you tightly into his arms, pulling you as impossibly close as he could and curling himself around you.

For the first time since he first saw your name on your enlistment papers, he could breathe.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as you sobbed into his chest, your balled fists punching against him. "I'm so sorry for leaving you alone. I ... I thought I was protecting you."

Your movements stilled at his explanation. "What do you mean? Are you a spy?"

There was no stopping the snort that ripped out of him. "Oh definitely not. Just ..." he let out a shaky breath and smiled at you. "Let's take this inside. I think it's finally time that I explained a few things."

You stared at him, and for a moment he feared this was the end, that he was about to lose the only mortal that he had truly cared about for centuries. But then you sighed, and you dropped your beautiful eyes to the ground as you stepped back and pushed open the door. "Fine," you breathed and simultaneously breathed hope back into his soul. "Fine. Come in, just ... Talk."

He nearly fell to the ground in relief, but quickly walked in, whispering thank yous under his breath as he did.

After an awkward silence as you made tea (complete with a splash of rum) and some cold sweets you tossed onto a plate, you met him back in the living room and sat sternly across from him. "You have one and only one chance," your words blew over him like the tundra's wind. "Speak."

He swallowed thickly, wiping his unusually calmy palms on his pant legs before taking a deep breath. "This ... This is going to sound insane. You might not believe me, but please, trust that I am telling the truth," your eyes narrowed suspiciously on him as you took a sip of your tea. He nodded in acknowledgment of your attention. "I'm a wizard, an immortal one at that. I was called by the powers of Heaven and Hell to fight the supernatural elements of the war and, as I do every time I leave a location, I wiped the memories of our peers before departing." You looked at him, face remaining neutral, before you slowly set down your drink. "Get out," you hissed, the venomous anger that lay barely restrained under your skin, finally beginning to break loose.

Solomon's heart plummeted. "Love, please. I promise, I'm telling the truth!" You laugh, your expression morphing into one of pure disbelief. "Are you kidding me?! Wizards? Supernatural? Do you even hear yourself?" You choked on your words as you shook your head at him. "If you wanted to lie, you could've done so without mocking my intelligence. Get out."

"I can prove it!" He shouted desperately, rising to his feet. "I can show you!" Without waiting for a response, he began moving his hands in familiar semantics, whispering incantations under his breath as glyphs float in the air for a moment before suddenly a large tome apparated into existence and dropped into his hands. He rushed towards you, flipping open the book and showing you the contents. "This is my spell book. Every spell I've ever created and/or mastered is in here. Look for yourself."

Your eyes widened, jaw dropping a little as you took in the display and the book now being thrust into your hands. You shakily flipped through the fragile pages and sure enough there was page after page of strange symbols and words written in a language you didn't understand. There was a tingling presence to the book that ran through your fingertips up your arms and caused you to shiver.

Solomon slowly comes to stand beside you, watching you take in the precious artifact in your hands. "I wasn't lying," he whispered softly. "I didn't want to go. They didn't give me a choice. Then it was too dangerous for me to stay in contact. I didn't want to risk you getting pulled into an ever greater war than you were already fighting."

At that moment, he wished he could read your mind. Your lips pursed as you continued flipping through the pages. His stomach twisted in knots the longer you perused. There was always the chance that you still wouldn't believe him and would brush him off. There was always the possibility you would believe him, but would be disgusted and would turn him away regardless.

It had all happened before. He didn't want it to happen again. Not with you. But he had no say in the matter.

The snap of the books pages slapping shut pulls his attention back to you as you look up at him. You silently hand it back to him and then you stare. Your eyes dig deep into his soul, they crawl under clothes and beneath his skin, they bury themselves into every mark on his flesh, until they close and you let out a tired sigh, falling against your chair. "That's- It's a lot to take in Solomon," you breathe.

He nods, shifting on his feet and trying to get some grasp on your body language, but the mask you've built for yourself is carefully locked in place and no longer budges for him. "I know," he whispers. "I know it is. But that's the truth, dearest. That's why I left. It's why no one remembers me, but you. Please believe me." You sigh, and run a hand through your hair. "I do, I just-" you cut yourself off, troubled eyes looking into the distance but not truly seeing anything. "This brings out so many more questions. How many other lies did you tell me? If you really are this immortal powerful being, what are you doing here? Why-" Your voice cracks and you finally look at him again — tears, that he has always hated but is now the cause of, lining your eyes. "Why did you chose to haunt me?" He can't handle it. He moves closer, getting down on his knees before you as he takes your hands into his own. "I don't haunt you. I don't have that ability," he lightly jokes before getting serious once more and coming just a little bit closer until your legs brush against each other. "I love you. It's true that I have told you lies before to protect my identity and keep you safe, but that has always been true. I stayed here because I love you. You enchant me, MC. In ways that, even with hundreds of lifetime's of knowledge, I cannot begin to understand," your breath hitches as he runs his thumbs across your knuckles. He leans in and ever so delicately presses a kiss to them.

"Please," he begs with the voice of a broken man whose only thing he had to lose was sitting before him. "I don't want to lose you. Not when we still have time. Let me prove myself to you again. No more lies. Just you. Just me." You hands slip out of his, and a single finger comes under his chin, tilting it up until he was looking at you. For the first time that evening there was something different glimmering in your eyes — a willingness and acceptance. "Alright," you say. "You get one more chance," your other hand swoops around to caress his hair, brushing it up and back away from his face lovingly. "Show me your strange funky world, magic man. All of it this time. Show me the real, Solomon." His body slumps in relief, silver eyes overflowing with the love for you that he has been floating in without you being there to share it with. "I will," he nearly whines. "I will. I promise." And he did. It wasn't easy, but he spent the next year showing you all that he had always fought so hard to keep secret. He introduced you to magic, to other strange and greedy witches. He showed you his demon pact symbols that are burned into his skin, and brought back delicacies from the other realms and taught you about their existance. Slowly, you were introduced to a whole other layer of the man you were already enamoured with. A man who wasn't sketchy or mysterious as people so often thought him to be — but who was curious, childlike in his wonder, and hungry for the knowledge of everything around him.

This Solomon was lighter, even happier than the one you loved before.

And after a year of magic and witches and spells and demons and angels, you approched Solomon as he worked on a potion in your kitchen and pulled out a ring.

You asked to marry this strange wonderful man, and Solomon felt the worlds around him still. You asked to stay by his side, not just for this life time, but to aid you in doing so forever, and Solomon felt the air escape his lungs.

You asked to swear yourself to him and him to you in a pact that no magic could ever comprehend, and Solomon's heart nearly exploded alongside the potion on the stove.

With shaking hands, and trillion reassurances, he said yes. And with a single potion, a piece of paper, and beautifully personal ceremony the two of you were bound together, until the ends of time. It took another month after your marriage and consumption of your immortality potion for him to realize that this was real.

He would never be alone again. ***Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I've been trying to write this for so so so long and I'm so happy I finally got it done! Thank you all so much for your patience and hanging around while I worked on these two! I love them so much. I hope you guys do too! Thanks! -B***

Taglist:

@thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie @justtiarra @mammoneybb @poly-bi-mf @burrixino @pumpkins-mainside-blog @acousticpen @sucker-for-angst-and-fluff @itskrispy @10paradox10 @vallison-rea @ivoryclive @newfangled-artistry @pumpkinpatchkid @chirikoheina @sailboat21 @theother4 @todoroses @circus-of-freaks @mcx7demonbros @bloopthebat @simpinginthecorner

found some old doodles i did when i started obm! and had to redraw them cause they were too cute to let go unseen

through the threads of time — cocytus hall squad HCs pt. 1 ??

you and solomon found out by accident that his devilgram account still worked in the past

solomon and you become famous in the devildom for your extremely bizarre and funny posts

eg - videos of the two of you snatching up random little Ds and running away with them as barbatos chases you across the castle, while solomon holds a dead rat to keep the butler from catching up completely, pictures where solomon is posing with a gargoyle flashing a peace sign captioned, "getting stoned with the homies", etc

this makes your job as an attendant easier since the demon brothers also become more liked and popular by association with you, one of the hottest new influencers in the devildom

meanwhile in the present-day devildom, asmo is scrolling through solomon's devilgram when the demon notices posts from centuries ago…that he remembered were definitely not there before

cue demonic hollers as he goes and shows everyone that solomon found you in the timeline

even though both of you were centuries away in the past, the present-day brothers could keep up with your life through solomon's devilgram

suffice to say, they don't always like what they see

for instance, one picture of you and solomon sitting in a luxury restaurant with a pair of cats that looked just like you two, captioned "our kids <3" had made satan throw such a huge tantrum, every brother, even lucifer, had to work another job to cover the costs of rebuilding the HoL

belphie found a video where you and solomon were illegally downloading all the britney spears' songs that had survived the time jump on your D.D.D. and put them in one of lucifer's cursed vinyl records— he frowned; you were doing epic anti-lucifer league activities without him and satan

lucifer, upon hearing belphie's whining, went through his collection of cursed records and smiled fondly when he found the one you and solomon had meddled with; even if you had tarnished the record, it was still proof that you were safe and doing okay in the past, although he was apprehensive of solomon after the sorcerer posted a picture of him doodling a crude version of the avatar of pride's pact mark on your forehead

mammon wouldn't stop complaining for days after he saw the post where solomon had taken a video from across a lush cafe, of mephistopheles setting a steamed mocha down on the table in front of you, goofy smile on his face as he leaned towards you while chatting, and it seemed like you two were getting along really well, too; why did that horse boy get to be your sugar-daddy?!

asmo had been dealing with blow after blow every time he scrolled through the posts on solomon's devilgram; however, the one post that made him fume was a very cinematically shot video of thirteen standing in the wind on a hill illuminated by the moonlight, when the reaper turned around wearing a fake moustache and started proclaiming her love for you in spanish with a corny deep voice as you giggled behind the camera; why were you having so much fun without him?

beel felt something growling inside as he watched little food vlogs pop up on the sorcerer's feed; whether you were going out to eat with solomon, or trying out new food, or teaching him how to cook, beel felt a pang of jealousy in his stomach…he wanted to do those things with you, without that culinary terrorist joining in

levi knew better and tried to stay away from his brothers so that he wouldn't have to hear about all the fun you were having with solomon, until asmo shoved the D.D.D. screen in his face, a video of you and solomon spying on simeon, who was scribbling away in a notebook; the two of you were giggling, and he could hear you say "heh, he doesn't know he's currently writing the biggest best-seller in all the three realms!" and levi decided right there and then that he would figure out how to time travel, no matter how many times he'd have to bother barbatos

the best part is when they discover a centuries-old account with the username @royalattendant, where all the posts seem to feature them

when they discover that the account belongs to YOU, they become extremely invested, and start rooting for their past selves

they keep record of how many times each of them features in a post, and so far, mammon, asmo and levi have tied for top place, much to the three demons' delight

Happy Birthday Asmo 🎉

Cw: suggestive

Had this style study i never finished. Just thought Asmo would fit pilyeons style so tried my hand at it even though detailed hair is the bane of my existence. Ended up with me just finishing it up right now for the bday so didn’t even get to complete my study so now it’s just this mismatch of my style too lmao

Spider Leviathan.

Prints on my INPRNT shop ♡ 

𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡;

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader

summary: "Someone else stole him away, a long time ago, but you managed to squeeze yourself between the chambers of his heart. Any way he cares for you, cherishes you, loves you—it’s enough. It’s enough. It has to be."

words: 1.4k

warnings: just a lot of pining lol

notes: im obsessed with leon ofc i had to write a fic about him. this might (probably) turn into a series but idk!!! update it's a series lol

»part two // part three // part four

He comes to you and collapses against the doorway when you appear. Says he meant to call, that he’s sorry he’s been gone so long.

But all you see is the scabbed-over scrape on his chin, the bruises along his arms, the weariness in his bones.

He comes to you a lot like this: broken down, likened to eggshell, impossibly cracked and picked apart, a reset of jagged edges glued just enough that you almost can’t tell he’s struggling.

But he’s struggling. You can tell regardless.

You lead him over to the couch inside your apartment, and he follows on instinct. He visits a lot, and you aren’t sure if the burn between your ribs is relief or resentment. Maybe a bit of both.

“Where have you been?” you ask, nursing a glass of lukewarm tap water.

He doesn’t respond for a few long beats, which gives your fuzzy brain time to think. It’s dangerous.

You know when he’s gone, and you worry yourself sick, motionless at times, sad. You know when he might not return. His four in the morning visits, the familiar knocks to your door that raise you from the couch because you’re both too energized yet too emotionally exhausted to sleep, and the cold sheets of your bed never call in invitation anyway.

You can’t do this anymore, you think. Be friends with him, possess this secret kind of one-sided love that eats away at the muscle of your heart.

Possibly. Maybe.

You’ve created a safe place for him to rest, and your company provides the security of another presence. You’ll be for him what he needs, whenever he needs.

There’s someone else, anyway.

It has to be enough.

When he leans forward, he smells of signature cologne and thick forest and gunpowder, and you know where he’s been:

Gone.

“That’s classified,” he says all matter-of-fact, the perfectly molded agent equipped with knee-jerk responses. And he soothes a palm over the curve of his forearm, over scars old and new, the small, shallow peel of post-burn flesh. “Just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re safe.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His lips tease a smile that soon flatlines, and he leans forward to balance a forearm on each knee. “I needed to be sure.” His hands hang lifeless between his legs, and you spot a crust of blood beneath a single blunt fingernail.

“So you aren’t gonna tell me?”

“I can’t. You know that.”

“I’m not asking you to give me the mission report, Leon. I just—“ you reign yourself in with a deep breath, because talking to him about work is like pulling teeth with a jackhammer. “How bad was it?”

“How bad is it usually?”

“Bad.”

“There’s your answer.”

You worry for him. Always, especially now.

“You sure don’t wanna talk about anything?”

He sighs, and the line of his shoulders stiffen. His muscles tense, almost bracing for something you can’t see.

“I’m not trying to be pushy,” you say. “I’m just worried. I’ve never seen you hurt like this before.”

“What’s the point? Shit happens, you get banged up, and you move on.”

“Do you really believe that, though?”

“Believe what?”

“That you’ve moved on. That you can.”

He exhales a laugh devoid of humor. Like the act tastes bitter on his tongue. Then his face falls, brows knotting from some invisible pain that plagues him.

“No,” he whispers.

You understand the gravity of his admission. He’s never given you such honesty, and by the look on his face, he’s never been this honest with anyone else, either.

“I still have dreams about Raccoon City. I failed a lot of people that day, and I’m still trying to make up for it.”

He doesn’t speak about the outbreak often. Just bits and pieces, breadcrumbs here and there, a trail that you’ve never been able to follow.

“I remember when that happened. It was all over the news one day and then nobody ever talked about it again.”

“Trust me, that was on purpose. The government didn’t want anybody to know. Only a few people made it out alive.”

“What happened to them?”

“I’m not sure. One person I knew escaped, but I was caught by the military. So was someone else.”

“Wait, you were there? I thought you left before all of it happened.“

He blinks as if stunned, then turns to you. Curls a large, scarred hand around your fingers. “I can’t say anything else. For your safety.”

You don’t know much about what he does. Just that he works for the government, and that his job is dangerous. You don’t think he’s a spy, or CIA, or anything of the sort. But he was a survivor of Raccoon City, and was captured by the very people he works for. That knowledge changes a lot.

“I didn’t come here for this anyway,” he says, releasing your hand, and the comfort of his warmth evaporates from your skin like cigarette smoke. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Well, you checked on me. I’m okay.”

You attempt a warm smile, a reassurance, and he looks at you with bleary eyes, lids low from exhaustion, and you wish to tuck him inside your chest. To clear out all the viscera and bone and keep him there, where he can be safe and maybe—god, just maybe—happy.

“Can I steal your couch for the night?” he asks, uncharacteristic in his melancholy, once burrowed deep inside his bones now spread thick as tar throughout his being.

“You don’t have to ask. You know you’re always welcome here.” Another smile, more tender. “Besides, it’s kind of expected at this point.”

He huffs out a laugh, more genuine than the last, and then his lips curl up at the edges and he brushes the hair from his eyes and you know you have it bad.

“Thank you, for always being here. I’m just sorry you have to.”

The sentiment cuts deep, a clean slice through your intestines, but your smile never wavers.

You can take this. You can. You’re always there for him, he said it himself, and that’s enough. Someone else stole him away, a long time ago, but you managed to squeeze yourself between the chambers of his heart, and any way he cares for you, cherishes you, loves you—

It’s enough. It’s enough. It has to be.

“Don’t apologize. It’s what friends do.”

Friends. Such a liar.

I love you. Of course I want to help you and spend time with you and make sure you’re okay and—

“Should I expect breakfast tomorrow?” he asks, and the color’s come back to his face. His eyes shine again. He still smiles.

He deserves so much better than this. Whatever job that sends him to you in such a state, whatever past that haunts his dreams.

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Pancakes,” he replies, “with chocolate chips. Do you have any of those?”

You rise to your feet and move to collect the pile of blankets from the end of the couch. “I’m sure I could find some. If not, I have to go to the store anyway.”

He toes off his shoes and stretches out along the couch, and you try not to think about the dirty state of his clothes on your furniture. He’ll just have to help you scrub out the stains tomorrow.

He tilts his head forward, enough to meet your eye. “Get some strawberries if you go. We could bake a cake.”

“Oh, you bake now?”

“I dabble.”

“...So I should get a pre-made mix then.”

He takes a moment to yawn, his bulk comically small beneath the fuzzy mass of your comforter. If only his feet weren’t hanging off the armrest. “That’s probably a good idea.”

His eyes slip closed shortly after, expression softening, and you adjust the fabric over his legs. You brush the hair from his face.

“Sweet dreams, Leon.”

The sheets of your bed are cold and lonely, but you find solace in the man snoring on your couch a room over. You’re alone, but you’re not. He’s safe. He came back to you.

You’ll stay awake all night to stare at the ceiling, and you’ll go to the grocery store first thing in the morning, and you’ll make him pancakes with chocolate chips, and you’ll bake a cake with him in your kitchen, and you’ll pretend like you’re okay. Like it’s enough.

It has to be.