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:

“Freckles? Oh, please, they’re totally tattoos!” Mammon scoffs, and when all he gets in reply is MC’s deadpan stare, he jumps onto the braggin’ wagon. “Aren't ya impressed with the Great Mammon? Never fails to surprise ya more and more. These are pretty sensitive places to get tattoos on, too!”

“I didn’t take you for a liar.”

“I’m not lyin’!”

“Oh?” They bite back a laugh as they raise an eyebrow. “What are you doing in bed, then?”

He frowns at them—blinks—watches as their eyebrow trembles with barely constrained amusement.

And then it hits him; they see it in the way his eyes roll just before he closes them.

“...stupid human,” he groans out as MC bursts into laughter.

Tattoos or not, MC spends hours during sleepless nights, brushing gentle lines between the points. Unlike ordinary human freckles, these grow darker against his skin not in the light, but in the dark. They love each and every single one of them, and Mammon, in turn, loves his human more with every tickle on his skin.

Tattoos, he calls them; memories inked on his skin. It's not far from the truth.

He grabbed at stars when he fell, fast, dazed, unexpectedly; they'd always held him up before. Maybe if he managed to clutch onto one—to hold onto it with all his being, or one hand, or a single finger—maybe he'd get to stay and make things right, make them see—get things back to the way they used to be. The stars caught him, enveloped him in a silver net of light, and for that, they fell with him. But stars burn out. As Mammon hit the ground, they burned into his skin, their sacrifice etched there forevermore.

“Feels kinda nice,” he whispers in the dark.

They can’t help but smile; it’s not often that Mammon openly speaks about things he enjoys unrelated to money or material possessions. Any time his words are laced with honesty, quiet as it is, they pay attention.

So they keep their hands wandering, impassioned explorers gliding through the even planes speckled in stardust; learning their beauty, noting the intricacies, adoring each and every tiny cluster. Mammon’s muscles relax further under their gentle exploring. Perhaps using a little more strength and rubbing his back would feel even better, but now isn’t about releasing tension; no, now is about praise, gratitude, and showering Mammon in as much love as they inconspicuously manage.

This—the slow, delicate strokes of MC’s palm over his skin as he lies facing away from them—he seems to accept without much resistance.

At one point, he must have ventured into a dead end of his mind; he lets out a long-suffering sigh and with a gentle push against MC’s body he turns onto his back.

One night, they promise themself as Mammon wraps his arm around them and pulls them close enough to hide his face against their head, I’ll make your body a shrine.

With a smile, they lay their head more comfortably on his shoulder and ever so slowly run soft fingertips against his chest.

“W-whatcha doin’, feelin’ me up?”

They grin. “Just mapping out your constellations.”

His breath stops for a second. “Eh?”

“Mhm.” With a quick press of lips to his neck, MC pushes themself onto their elbow, now half-hovering over him. “Just look…”

Even with his fingers nervously playing with the hem of MC’s sleep shirt, Mammon doesn’t look away.

“This one right here.” MC taps their finger against one dark star, then draws invisible lines over Mammon’s skin, each one connecting one spot with another until they create the shape of a letter M. “It’s pretty straightforward, really. It’s called The Great Mammon, and it’s shrouded in mystery for many people. I wonder why?”

He scoffs; they smile.

“Humans mistakenly call it Cassiopeia, but we both know the truth; you can see The Great Mammon even in the human realm. What else could the M stand for, right?”

Mammon’s only answer is a quiet grumble.

Let him be flustered.

“Now, here,” they say, reaching over to Mammon’s arm that’s not wrapped around them, “is where the Golden Way is.” They stroke over the skin, delightfully warm under their palm. “An entire galaxy of tiny, undiscovered constellations—but they’re here regardless. You can distinguish between them if you focus closely.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Oh, but it is!” They look up at him with a grin. “I’m pretty sure you can find all your brothers’ constellations in there.” With a sparkle in their eye, they drum their fingers against his arm. “Maybe one day you’ll find mine, too.”

Mammon’s eyes refuse to meet theirs, instead, they’re fixed on his arm, almost like he’s—

Searching.

For a moment, they search together—separately—in silence. Each new star-connected shape comes alive in MC’s mind; a feather, a fish, a heart, a book, two interconnected circles, endless halos— they don’t bring up any of them. Mammon will find them, just as many others, all by himself.

“There’s a constellation I haven’t told you about yet,” they say softly, gently getting Mammon to pay attention to them again. “It’s my favourite.”

He’s more quiet than he’s ever been since they’ve known him. In any other situation, it would have been worrying, but they know— they know and understand. Sometimes it’s hard to speak when somebody loves you.

His eyes flit to theirs, then immediately focus on their fingers as they slowly, softly brush a path towards the middle of his chest. They tap on one spot, then glide to another. Pause. Move. Pause.

Move. Pause.

Close it.

Mammon clears his throat, yet his voice is still strained when he asks, “A box?”

They tilt their head in thought. He’s close, but still wrong. “It’s called the Treasure Chest.”

His eyes light up.

Ah, they think. Time for deflection.

Maybe they did push him just a little too far?

Mammon’s arms turn sure and strong as he wraps them around MC. “What’s inside?” His voice is louder again, any sign of vulnerability hidden, gone. “A treasure… Gold? Diamonds? Must be something precious, can’t be anythin’ else on the Great Mammon!”

Your heart, they think, but remain quiet. Instead, they roll their eyes and entertain his ideas with a laugh.

When the ridiculousness passes, Mammon pulls them to rest on his chest again, and says, “You should be a storyteller, comin’ up with all that stuff.”

“Excuse you.” They tug at his earlobe in retaliation. “Nothing I’ve said was made up.” When he snorts, they playfully narrow their eyes. “It’s a real scientific field. It’s called ‘Mammstronomy’ and I’ve got a PhD in it.”

His hand envelops theirs, fingers entwined together, and places them comfortably over the Treasure Chest.

“...and you call me a liar.”

“Say what you want.” MC huffs, but only snuggles closer, their face pressed against the crook of Mammon’s neck. “I’d spend my whole life studying you.”

They fall asleep in a gentle embrace to the melody of Mammon’s heartbeat; warm, soft, safe—

So I think I'd write an introspective Satan-centric fic exploring his connection to the brothers.. what actually peaked my interest in the MC reveal after Belphie tries to kill them is Satan saying something like "I didn't know her (Lilith) from before, but I still feel happy somehow" and he implies that.. him and Lucifer are connected emotion-wise somehow? I've taken that as Satan maybe inheriting more than just Lucifer's wrath.. (perhaps fractions of Lucifer's memories regarding those important to him.)

It would probably be a multi-chapter fic, each one focusing on something Satan happens to know of whichever brother he is accompanied by that he shouldn't otherwise .. unless he somehow had Luce's memory.

(Chapters would be centering around one other brother, going in.. ascending? descending? Order.. whichever one would go from Belphie, to Beel, to Asmo.. etc.)

(Fourth chapter would be Satan remembering something about Lucifer's anger right before he was Made.)

I'm not.. quite sure how I would end this, surely with some climax concerning Lucifer's feelings about himself and perhaps a conversation about the fractured memory share..