#soft solangelo

[mediumgayitalian]

“I’d pick you up at the airport.”

“What?”

“If we were normal. I would — have one of those signs, you know. When you came back from your adventures.”

“Oh.” Nico snorts. “I’m still fucking off all the time when we’re normal? And you’re not coming?”

“It is woven within your very soul to fuck off as you please,” says Will sagely. “You get antsy. You know, like a house cat.”

He laughs when Nico shoves him. Less when he loses his balance and rolls into a tree, but he crawls back, anyway, kicking Nico’s ankle as he lies back next to him, folding his hands over his ribs. Nico watches him for a moment, tracing the round edges of his knuckles, until Will’s smile begins to twitch with him knowing, and he looks hastily back to the sky. It’s embarrassing, Will’s snorting huff of amusement, but more than that it’s electrifying, zapping a trail down Nico’s spine and making him shiver.

He can feel the heat Will is always throwing off, blazing every centimetre from his shoulder to his heels, a hair’s breadth away, a millimetre of distance.

“What else would it look like?” He clears his throat. “Our, um. Our normal?”

Will hums. “New York, probably. Big-ass penthouse with your trust fund.”

“I’m a trust fund baby?!”

“Hey, Nico, how much does dish soap cost?”

Nico opens his mouth, and closes it again. Will’s snickers get louder. Is it considered bad etiquette to banish one’s significant annoyance to the Underworld? Only permanently, probably. If he only keeps him there for a couple weeks it should be find. A couple weeks would be appropriately humbling.

“And what do you contribute?” Nico asks, instead of answering. (Not because he doesn’t know. Obviously. Because he is dignified, that’s why.) “Your dimples and boyish charm?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Well.

“…Okay, fair.”

Will snickers triumphantly.

“You still a doctor?”

“Mhm.” Will shifts, mouth curled in amusement. “Paediatric in Mount Sinai. We live close, by the way. You said it’s cause it’s close to Central Park but really you like to hide my lunch in the mornings to have an excuse to come see me.”

“Sounds like you forget your shit a lot, actually.”

“That, too.”

He looks over and smiles at Nico and for a moment he is convinced, wholly genuinely and truly, that the sun that’s been hiding behind the clouds all day has finally peeked out, because he can actually feel his whole body warm, in that slow-rising, penetrating way; he can actually smell the surge of sunshine in the air, feel the red glow in the backs of his eyelids, taste the brightness of the light. Every one of his neurons sinks into his system, sighing, cells reacting to thousands of years of memory of the gentle warm of the Earth’s closest star.

But the sun is not shining, and there is only Will, and his too-big teeth brush against the bottom of his lip, and his dimples show, and his eyes crinkle, and he is more radiant in even his old stained camp shirt and fraying jean shorts than his father has ever been and could ever hope to be. A thousand planets could thrive under a hundred blazing stars and none could come close to him. He knows it, how those ancients felt, the drunken surety as they stood and challenged the gods, swore up and down that their beloveds outshone Venus, Diana, Juno; Will does, Will does, and Nico understands intimately the hubris in a way he scoffed at as a child, because the words bubble and boil and threaten bursting inside of him now. What claim have the Olympians? Over sunlight? Over beauty? Over Will?

“We’re happy?” he says instead, choking hoarsely over the veneer words, over the blocked desperation, truth. “In our normal, we’re happy?”

“Always,” Will whispers. He twists onto his knees, crawling the two inches over to press close, close, closely, hand gentle on Nico’s stomach when he tries to sit up, and presses his lips to Nico’s cheek, dry, twitching with his smile, shaking with his laughter. Nothing is funny, and he isn’t joking, but Nico can feel the giddiness bubbling up and out of him the way sadness flows out in tears; when Will is giddy he giggles, constantly, hiding it barely in his hands, and now he presses it into Nico’s skin, because he knows how Nico aches to hear it, how he watches him like he’s burning it into the ridges of his brain. “I am always happy with you, Niccolò.”

“I love you,” Nico says, fiercely, and it will never be enough, not in English, not in Italian, not in Greek, but he will try. “Te amo. Capiscimi? I love you, Will, I —”

“I know.” The tiny little vibrations of his laughter are — intoxicating; Nico is drunk, ascending. “I know, di Angelo. Sap. I love you, I know.”

He dissolved into giggles into the crook of Nico’s neck, and Nico is lying, still, facing the clouds, and he is warmed, and he is warmed, and he is warmed.

[mrsoftthoughts]

"Will is the pretty boy and Nico is batshit insane"

"NONONO, nico is the pretty boy and will is the one that looks crazy-

"nonsense, both are pretty boys in the relationship and-"

"both are batshit insane "

All this is so wrong and right at the same time

"Why?" You ask, dear, let me ask you something;

Have you considered that all this statements can coexist?? Hey!! Look at me, Have you??

If no, the answer is simple:

Nico and Will are both pretty boys that can look extremely batshit insane, it just depends the day to see what combination you get

[dreamyzworldlove]

the most important thing about solangelo is that they’re both little weirdos argue with the wall

——————

If you like my work please reblog <3

[taesnix]

BACK from the void to present to you: Nico, who wears the most absolutely ridiculous socks ever because no one can see them.

Gods, he has so many.

Most of them are thick and warm for maximum comfort, and they go up to just under his knees with the stupidest little things and patterns on them. For summer, he has an equally impressive collection of crew socks that are still thick enough to not get easily worn out, but don't make him sweat buckets trudging under the sun.

Nico knows that he'll forever be a collector at heart but it's not like he wanted to choose socks of all things as his next prized possessions. He didn't wake up one day and decide "man, these things are pretty great, let's go amass an army's worth of SOCKS!" It just happened. He had no control over that. They just feel nice, okay. And perhaps the colour combos and sheer variety of everything makes him happy.

Is it kind of embarrassing? Yeah. Would he cease to exist if anyone found out? Holy shit, maybe. But it's not like anyone has been able to tell underneath his daily go-to of heavy jeans and combat boots, so he's been in the clear so far.

Until he gets distracted for a split second while sparring with Percy and riptide cuts a huge slash across his leg.

Nico's fast, so he's able to jump back just enough so that the sword barely catches any flesh, but his jeans unfortunately don't come out unscathed.

"Keep your head in the game, Neeks!" Percy teases with a grin. He's got an annoying glint in his eye to match and Nico just knows he's about to say something worse. "No matter who walks in."

And—shit. Nico feels his face flush scarlet despite him screaming internally at his body to not react. He pointedly does not look at the new blob of neon scrubs sitting next to Kayla in the stands. "Shut up, Jackson. Like you're any better when Annabeth so much as blinks at you."

Percy shrugs. "Hey man, at least I acknowledge it."

And—fine, he does. Nico will give him that. Jackson was peak levels of embarrassing about his girlfriend on a good day.

"I think you should go get that patched up," Percy smirks. He then makes a big show of squinting at the stands, pulling a similar face that Jason makes trying to read highway signs without his glasses. Basically, he looks really fucking stupid. "Impeccable timing, too! Whaddya know? There seems to be a free medic right there."

One day, Nico will kill him. It'll fix almost all of his problems, and gods know he'll always have too many at any given point in time. But he'll do it. Maybe Annabeth will even take pity and give him a pass.

Before Nico can even open his mouth and retort with something snarky, Percy raises his hands and hollers. "Hey, Will! The King here is in need of some dire medical attention!"

"No, I'm not!" Nico shouts when Will's eyes grow wider. "Nothing happened, I'm fine."

Percy snorts and claps him on the shoulder. "As if that's worked before. Good luck, little man. Same time tomorrow?"

And he doesn't wait for a response, just gives a one-handed salute and begins to make his way to the stands. Percy says something to Will as they pass by each other and Will's brows furrow.

One day.

"What happened?" Will asks as he jogs over. His blond curls rise and fall with every step and if you zeroed in on only them, the loose coils look like they're in zero gravity. Bouncing with an impossible grace as they get closer and closer.

Not that Nico was looking. Or that he'd even noticed at all. Man, is it getting hotter here? He should definitely drink some water soon.

"Nico?" Will waves a slow hand in front of his face. "You alright? Percy said his sword mostly caught your jeans, but you never know."

"Huh?" Nico chokes. Right, this is the dire medical attention part.

Will gives him a wobbly smile, like he's trying not to laugh but failing miserably. "Okaaay then. Can I check your leg?"

"Um, sure."

He's still so out of it that he doesn't hear his subconscious screaming at him why Will kneeling down to lift the denim is a terrible, horrible idea.

Nico feels the lithe fingers carefully cut down the fabric with scissors that have seemingly appeared from nowhere. He feels them gently peel back his jeans with a confident precision, minimizing the disturbance to the wound. He hears the faintest of gasps and he feels the other boy go completely still.

He tilts his head down to see what the issue is—surely Percy hadn't slashed him that bad—and then, like a statue, he freezes in place too.

In the most obnoxious shade of yellow possible, rows of mischievous rubber ducks beam back at both of them. He says mischievous because they've got annoying smirks and eyebrows strong enough to rival the Stoll brothers on the first of April. Which is quite a concerning amount. The smallest flecks of red from his cut take the whole "sinister menaces" thing to an unholy level.

Neither of them breathe for the next 30 seconds. Or maybe it's 30 years. Hell, if Nico knows now, his damn heart stopped working properly ages ago.

Then, either his saving grace or the final nail in his coffin, Will sucks in another shaky mouthful of air and clears his throat.

"You know," he starts, scarily neutral. Not a single waver in his voice. "I'm beginning to think Kayla's got a point."

Kayla talks a lot, running through an average 5 conversation topics in a record of 7 minutes with Nico himself, so that narrows it down by exactly nothing. "Uh, about what?"

Will doesn't reply, simply carrying on with cleaning and dressing his injury like he hadn't said anything. It drives Nico crazy, but he knows Will's priorities, so he holds his tongue. Will had drilled them into Nico's brain during his first infirmary stay; treat first, talk second.

So he waits. He lets Will dab the tiniest bit of nectar across the cut and wipe away blood. After a minute or two, his leg is wrapped neatly with a bandage, and suddenly, there's no more treating to be done.

"We're matching," Will finally says.

Nico blinks. Because—what.

"I mean, it's a slightly different shade, but eh, close enough to count."

Nico breaks out of his stupor when Will traces one of the ducks with his nail. Soft but accurate, light but impossible to ignore, like everything else he does.

"Yellow?" Nico whispers. He can't seem to muster up his voice to be louder than that.

Will looks up at him with a particular glint in his eye, and Nico's heart stops a second time.

"Mhm," he grins, dusting his knees as he stands up. He winks and it has no right to kickstart the thumping in Nico's chest. "Same wavelength."

"You're ridiculous," Nico lightly shoves at Will's shoulder and prays that his face isn't burning red.

Will just laughs and catches his hand, holding it in place. "Sure, but I'm also right."

"Are not."

"Are too."

"Are n—"

"Okay," Will interrupts, "I hate to break it to you, Neeks, but we're both wearing obnoxious shades of yellow. You've got the added bonus of sly rubber duckies, and my scrubs glow in the dark. Ergo, we're both ridiculous and both on the same wavelength."

Gods, who the hell says, "ergo". Why is Nico so enamoured with such an idiot.

"And how, exactly, does Kayla have a point here?" Nico sighs, ignoring that his hand is still on Will's shoulder and that Will is still holding it there. He'll take his silent wins as they come.

Now, Will's cheeks become a rosy red. It makes Nico want to trace a finger around his freckles to check if his skin has become warmer, too.

"Well..." He trails off. He glances down to Nico's leg again, where some of the damn ducks are peeking out behind his jeans.

With a grounding deep breath, Will shuts his eyes for a moment. When they open, he meets Nico's gaze head on, calm yet confident once more.

He's beautiful like this, like he always is.

Against his own will, Nico smiles. Will shines underneath the sun and his stupid blond curls are golden.

"She said we're soulmates. And I think she's right about that."

And Nico thinks she's right about that, too.

[olliethewallflower]

[theshakykid]

Golden Hour

Summary: A lazy morning with Solangelo

Nico di Angelo was not a morning person. In fact, he had a long-standing vendetta against mornings. The sunlight that poured through the blinds, the birds that chirped outside their window—it was all far too cheerful for his taste. But on this particular morning, lying tangled in the sheets with Will Solace, he found it harder than usual to hold on to his disdain.

Will had one arm draped across Nico’s waist, his golden hair sticking out in all directions like he’d been struck by lightning. His face was buried against Nico’s shoulder, his breath warm and steady against Nico’s skin. Nico, despite himself, didn’t move. He didn’t want to wake him.

The clock on the nightstand blinked 8:42 AM. Too early, Nico thought. But not early enough to justify staying in bed for much longer. He shifted slightly, trying to stretch without dislodging Will’s arm.

“Mm... stop squirming,” Will mumbled, his voice muffled.

“I’m not squirming,” Nico said, though the lie was half-hearted at best.

Will made a soft, disgruntled noise and tightened his hold around Nico. His blue eyes peeked open, groggy and full of warmth. “You’re ruining the best part of the day.”

“By trying to move?” Nico raised an eyebrow.

“No, by not letting me cuddle you properly,” Will replied, his voice tinged with sleep and a faint pout.

Nico rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away when Will tucked his head back against his shoulder. Instead, Nico found his hand instinctively brushing through Will’s hair, smoothing out the chaotic strands. It was softer than he expected, like sun-warmed silk.

“You’re insufferable,” Nico muttered, though his tone was more affectionate than annoyed.

“You love it,” Will replied, his grin audible even if Nico couldn’t see it.

Nico didn’t respond, but the faint flush that crept up his cheeks gave him away. He hated how easily Will got under his skin, how effortlessly he made Nico’s carefully constructed walls crumble.

Will leaned back slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at Nico. “I have an idea,” he said, his voice brightening.

“That’s never a good sign,” Nico replied flatly.

Will ignored him. “Let’s stay in bed all day. No missions, no errands—just us. What do you think?”

Nico stared at him for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing. “That sounds... disgustingly domestic.”

Will grinned. “Exactly.”

Nico sighed, but there was no real bite to it. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a moment like this—free of chaos, of blood, of the endless weight of their choices. A day to just be.

“Fine,” Nico said at last, settling back against the pillows. “But if you try to make me watch one of your terrible rom-coms, I’m leaving.”

Will gasped, his hand flying to his chest in mock offense. “You love my rom-coms!”

“I tolerate them,” Nico corrected, though the corners of his mouth twitched in what might have been a smile.

Will laughed, the sound filling the room like sunlight. He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to Nico’s forehead before flopping back down beside him. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Nico rolled his eyes again, but this time he didn’t argue. Instead, he let himself relax, the warmth of the moment wrapping around him like a blanket. For once, he didn’t mind the morning.

[boredcoldandhungry]

If there was one thing Nico was grateful for, it was his planning period. Everyday between teaching second period AP US history and fourth period art history he could reply to angry emails, indulge into his candy stash, grade, write angry emails, refill his water, and go to the bathroom.

He had somehow ended up with the same exact schedule from one term to the next. He followed his second period out to run some arrends around the school and was scared shitless when his room was occupied with about 10 freshman. Two things were frightening about this, A: he didn't have a class third period, B: he didn't teach freshman at all this term (he could tell they were freshman, they had the scared look in their eyes).

"Woah you guys can't be in here, get to class!" He urged, slamming his stack of copies onto his desk.

"Uhm, this is our class," one of the braver ones said, " aren't you Mr. -" she knit her eyebrows together and glared at her schedule, "Di Angelo-Solace?"

Nico took a deep breath. "What class do you guys think you're in?"

The same girl, they're leader apparently, responded. "Honors English 9?"

It took all Nico had in him to not point at the various historical posters on his walls and the whiteboard dedicated to Italian verbs. He in no way taught English.

He took a deep breath (again). "There are two Mr. Di Angelo-Solaces in this school. I teach history and Italian, the other one teaches english. Go upstairs to room 302. I'll call him and let you know you're all coming."

The leader of the bunch seemed confused, but not confused enough to ask questions. She quickly gathered her things and walked out the door, causing everyone else to follow her.

Nico sighed and sat down at his desk. He knew Will had his cell off during work hours so he reached to the hardly used landline on his desk and dialed Will's classroom.

"Hel-lo" a sing-songy voice responded.

Nico smiled at the voice, "Hi love, it's me, sorry to bother I know it's syllabus day."

"It's no prob, what's up?"

"Missing half your class?"

"Yup. Got em?"

"Yup I just sent them up. Throw them a solid and don't mark them tarty. My fault I wasn't in the room when they first came in. I think I also generally scared them."

"Okay, will do, love you."

''Love you too, hun."

Nico put the phone back in it's holder and gave a soft sigh, turning to his desktop and opening his email.

next part

[rispen]

I love drawing calm camp moments, they happen way to rarely

Counsler Will teaching his little siblings abbout healing herbs 🌿

[mildew-dread-mold]

more than halfway through the sun and the star and the contents are obviously pretty fucking dark and despondent but i am filled with such longing for what will and nico have.

[thaliasthunder]

this was baby behavior idc what yall think

[thepileofclothesonyourdesk]

non queer girls are like: Of course im an ally! I love fetishizing gay men!!

[mediumgayitalian]

“Call me if you need anything.”

Nico raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the phone, glancing back up at Will. The corner of his mouth twitches.

Will shakes it at him, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “Just in case,” he insists.

“If I need anything,” Nico repeats, blinking again at the little device. It’s compact, at least, not even half the size of Will’s palm — although that doesn’t mean much — and appropriately black. There is a dorky little Pokémon charm clasped to the antenna, but it’s removable, probably. At the very least it can be stashed in a pocket. And it thankfully does not look brand-new.

“Yes.”

“From you.”

“Thus the ‘call me’.”

“…From the Underworld.”

“Would you just —” He darts out and grabs one of Nico’s hands, prying open his fist and slapping the phone in his palm, curling his fingers back over it. “Take it. Please.”

Nico takes it, twisting it in his hands.

“I’m not gonna need it, Will.”

“That’s what you think.”

“What, d’you get a dream or something? Should I be worried about this?”

“Of course you should be worried about this! You’re chasing down errant souls in the godsdamn Underworld.” He works his jaw, gaze dropping to the ground. “By — by yourself, with gods know what after you. So.”

The smile Nico had been trying to fight back pushes through the last of his defenses, softening his face, and in one move he pockets the cellphone, swallows back the laughter pushing at the bubble in his chest, and reaches out, hooking a finger under Will’s chin.

“Will,” he says, grinning when those pretty blues finally meet his eyes, when he rolls them, glancing stubbornly away again. “Will, sweetheart.” Stubborn, stubborn boy; pulling away from all of Nico’s touches but leaning into the hand he uses to tuck his hair behind his ear. Melting into it, like he always does. Nico’s smile grows into something much more smug, and his voice bleeds something teasing. “I lived there. For years. My father is the king there, if you recall. I’m something of a prince.”

“Yeah, prince of being a pain in my ass.”

Nico snorts. “You know, it’s almost like we switch roles when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous, you jackass, I am responding normally to a stressful situation. That’s logic.”

Nico glances down at the nails he’s chipping, clicking them rapidly.

“You’re clicking.”

His hands still.

“…Am not.”

“Well, now you’re not.”

“Just —” He blows an errant curl out of his eyes, mouth twisting in frustration. “Call me, Nico.”

“There are maybe four places with cell reception.”

“Well, you better find them.”

Nico laughs, pulling him down at the same time he pushes up on his tiptoes, kissing the worried line between his eyes.

“I kind of like worried on you,” he admits. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

Will makes a noise in the back of his throat, something halfway between a scoff and a sigh, and follows Nico’s mouth when he starts to pull away, pressing close, pressing close, pressing closer. He tastes like mint chapstick and sunshine, as usual, but his lips are bitten, and his cheeks are flushed more than usual.

“I’ll call,” Nico promises softly. He pulls away just enough to meet his eyes again, holding his gaze until he softens, nodding. “Not a lot, ‘cause I’ll be busy, but I’ll call, tesoro. Once every couple days at least.”

“I’ll come find you if you don’t,” Will grumbles, scowling when Nico laughs again, smiling when Nico kisses him on the cheek, in the nose, on the forehead and eyelids and mouth. “Stay safe.”

“Love you too, azzurro.”

[mrsoftthoughts]

Frank and Will have little reunions to exchange tips of "how to deal with the unusual things caused by having Partner raised in the 1930's"

That's it

That's the post

[spankysparkles]

Chapter 1 of: Iris Messaging = Dangerous-- A Solangelo Story OUT NOW!! 🚨 Trigger Warning: implied rape, non/con, underage. 🚨 Nico and Will realize the major downside of Iris-messaging; even when you don't want to be called or when you aren't expecting a call, anyone can call you and see you immediately. And, Nico starts having weird dreams, possibly related to the situations he's experienced or is experiencing in real life? Read it from me on Wattpad here:

Read it from my co-author emonemo on AO3 here:

[yonemurishiroku]

Prompt of Nico being an isolated poet who only goes to a cafe closest to him and Will is the cafe worker who takes an interest in Nico?

and Will memorizes Nico's order 🥺🥺 and Nico feels down whenever he comes but Will be off his shift so he memorizes the other shifts 🥰🥰🥰 Will leaves cheering up notes on Nico's cups 💖 Nico writes short poems on the bills and gives it back along with the tips to Will 🥰 Nico forgets a pen at the cafe and the next time he comes Will has it clipped nicely on his breast pocket 🥺 The cafe has a guitar and Nico publishes a whole poem collection about Will singing----

[turtleshelf]

Solangelo dynamic with a 'glass half full, but stubbornly pessimistic' Nico and 'glass half empty but stubbornly optimistic' Will.

Nico can find the good in any situation, he can find hope in the darkest places, but the life he's lived leaves he unable to accept or embrace that. The world is beautiful and kindness can be found in every moment, but he's unable to let himself stay in the softness. There is always another side to a situation.

Will can find the bad in any situation, he can find sorrow in the brightest places, but the life he's lived leaves him unable to accept that the worst outcome is the only one. The world is awful and everything is falling apart, but he's unable to let himself drown in that misery. There is always another side to a situation.

They ballance the worst of this out in eachother.