#solomeon

ok so the new lesson has me literally tweaking and screaming because AHHHHHHHHHHHH SOLOSIM CONTENT????????! ¿?? "! :! :? :? ]! at this point solmare is just lowkey pairing solomon up with anyone because it's his manwhore era but SOLOSIM CONTENT OH M HGOD!!? 'MVVMMM "I'm thinking of taking you out of the 'regular friend' column and filing you under 'close friend's instead from now on." LIKE????! ok but it's lowkey funny how solomon's face in that frame is like "☹️" because my guy prolly thinks he just got epic failed FRIENDZONED!!!

psshhhh... @satangcrush

Mornings with Solomon almost always felt straight out of a storybook.

The chilled autumn air, looming thicken and heavy with a melancholic tone, greeted you as you stretched your arms, teasingly leaving a trail of goosebumps as your warmed skin left the sanctuary of your bed. Cocytus Hall froze in the Devildom winters, its thick walls and dark tones doing little to keep the cold air comfortable enough. Thankfully you weren’t alone. You never were, these days. You had him to warm you up.

The thought was nearly was enough to tempt you back into his sheets, to snuggle back into his sweet scent, but… something was missing. As you blinked sleep from your eyes, glancing around the Sorcerer’s room, you realized the man in question was already gone. Confused, you sat up, looking around for your bedmate. He was just as avoidant of the cold weather as you were; while he did occasionally let you sleep in during summer, it was very unlike him to do so in the winter.

You shielded your eyes from the glare of sunlight that shone directly on you, trying to make out objects in the room from the dust floating in the air. “Sol…?” you called, pursing your lips as no response formed. That’s when the smell hit you.

Sweeten spice. Warm, honey-rich, and bready. Oh, Devils in Hell, was he trying to cook again!?

The thin camisole you wore did little to protect from the cold air, though it greatly increase the amount of skin you got to press against your beloved Master in bed; you cursed the decision now, pulling the comforter off the bed and rushing down the hall to the kitchen.

“Sol, I swear, that better be coffee I smell-”

Your words stopped short as your eyes made contact with the one man you expected to find up to no good. Fingers interlaced, under his chin, Solomon sat at the small table in the kitchen, a cup of warm, amber tea in front of him, the steam billowing up and blooming into white whips as it hit the air.

“Good morning, my dear.” His eyes raked over your body, lighting up with excitement as he reached your translucent dress, barely covered by the blanket you clutched, but relaxed your grip at his wandering eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen before…

“Ah… good morning, little lamb.”

In horror, your eyes shot over to the other man in your kitchen, the one you weren’t expecting, the one Solomon should’ve warned you about-

Simeon. Who stood at the stove with a apron on, a spatula in one hand; who met your own gaze with widened eyes of his own. His eyes flickered downwards every so often, but tried to maintain eye contact with you. By the way his cheeks darkened, you can tell he was failing.

“Solomon!” You squeaked, turning to him with a look of betrayal, your cold hands twitching — wanting to gather the heavy fabric as close to you as you could but you couldn’t. There was very little you could do here without directly making Simeon uncomfortable, and that’s not what you wanted. It wasn’t like you hated his attention on you, but what you, him, and Solomon had was from a different time, one that didn’t presently exist. Even so, you knew Simeon well enough, that if you tried to cover yourself, he’d blame himself for looking, for putting you in a position that you felt you had to do that. (When really, he should probably be blaming the man who most likely orchestrated this.) And the past affection you held for your former lover, even if he wasn’t the same one, still held you back.

The man who, currently, sipped his tea and shrugged with such blasé, that anyone who wasn’t in a 3 year long relationship with him would be able to tell that he was the mastermind behind this little plot that you could see right through. “Dove,” Solomon calls, setting down his cup with a slight clink!, motioning for you to come to him. “You haven’t met Simeon yet, have you?” You wanted to hit him. You wanted to absolutely smack him with all the force you could embarrassingly muster. He knows that the three of you-! “Come on now, he’s one of the newest exchange students. From the Celestial realm. I invited him over for… breakfast.” You didn’t miss his hesitation in that word. You didn’t miss how his lips twitched upwards as he tried to smiled reassuringly, twisting the action into a perverse grin, even if for only a second.

Your feet make a decision before your mind does, carrying you over to him with soft pit-pats before you can even register the movement. (This is how it’s always been, this is how you remember it — but this isn’t your Simeon. He isn’t your other part, currently.) Solomon grasps your waist and pulls you onto his lap as you approach, letting only him see your very unamused face as you finally give him an answer, “Yes. How very kind of you, Solomon. Very unfortunate that I didn’t know about it sooner.”

Ah… full name. He was in trouble then. You could practically see the drops of sweat forming on his forehead as he sheepishly answered — “Oh? Did I forget to mention that was today? I’m so sorry, Dove,” — though the act worked in seeming like he actually forgot. And that forsaken nickname-! That was-

“He calls you Dove?”

The both of you startled at the reminder of the other man in the room, forgetting who exactly you were locked in a silent, mind-reading argument about. But his soft, quiet voice was almost as loud as your own heartbeat, drawing out the longing you knew you both felt for him.

Simeon looked just as surprised, however, when both of your heads turned towards him, and his cheeks flushed before he quickly turned back to the stove, worrying over his pancakes to hide his embarrassment at the injection. “I, uhm, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, haha!”

“No, Simeon, it’s, it’s ok- ah!” You nearly tip over Solomon’s cup in your rush to stand, his hands meeting your own to steady the porcelain, before you continue getting up, with his help to heap the comforter over your arms like a shawl. “It’s just a, an old nickname he uses for me. It’s very dear to me.”

Simeon nods, still keeping his face down, towards the stove as you approach from behind. You feel like you’re cornering a scared bird, yet again, and try to keep your distance by stopping at the island.

“It’s… It’s cute…”

How you wished you could tell him that it’s his, it’s always been his, it belongs to him, just like you and Solomon, and both your hearts —

But when you looked back at your sorcerer, the same one who had his eyes locked on the back of the angel currently making you both pancakes…

When yours finally locked with his… and he sadly shook his head…

You both knew this longing would have to wait to be resolved, once more.