hello!! idk how to start requests. js would like to see smth like reader calling will exclusively through nicknames like "blondie" and "glow stick" and "solar panel" and he knows it's directed toward him because ofc it is. then one day he heals some quest or training wound of hers in the infirmary and she calls him by his name for the first time (maybe the full william?) and he kinda js freezes and has an internal realisation. please and thank you!!
The first time you called him “blondie,” Will didn’t even look up from his clipboard.
“Kayla, if you’re going to comment on my hair again—”
“Wasn’t Kayla,” you said sweetly, limping past him and dropping onto an infirmary cot. “It was me.”
He glanced up then, sunlight catching in his stupidly bright hair, eyes narrowing when he realized you were grinning at him.
“…You,” he said. Flat. Knowing.
From then on, it became a thing.
You never used his name. Not once.
It was always “glow stick” when you wanted bandages, “solar panel” when he’d been in the sun too long, “sunshine,” “highlighter,” “Apollo’s nightlight,” and—his least favorite—“Vitamin D.” You said them loudly, casually, with zero shame, and always while making direct eye contact.
Everyone knew who you meant.
He always answered anyway.
“Glow stick, can I get ambrosia?”
“Solar panel, you’re squinting again.”
“Careful, blondie, you’re gonna blind someone.”
Will would sigh, roll his eyes, mutter something about camp disrespecting medical professionals, and still cross the infirmary to you every single time.
Because it was always you.
And because somewhere along the way, the nicknames stopped feeling annoying and started feeling… familiar. Expected. Like a private thread only the two of you were tugging on.
Still, you never said his name.
Not when you sat on the infirmary counters and watched him work.
Not when you brought him food during late-night shifts.
Not when you came in bleeding and tried to joke it off.
Never Will. Never William.
So when it happened, it hit him like a punch to the chest.
They don’t even knock.
The infirmary doors slam open hard enough to rattle the windows, and Will looks up already standing, already moving, because he recognizes the sound of panic before he recognizes faces.
Two campers stagger in first, armor cracked, hands slicked red. Another follows, shouting his name.
“Will—”
And then he sees you.
You’re slung between them, arms hooked over their shoulders, boots dragging. Your head is tipped back, curls plastered to your forehead with sweat and dirt. Your eyes are closed—but not slack. Not unconscious. Your breathing is measured, controlled, like you’re choosing it.
Like you’re enduring.
“Oh gods,” Kayla mutters behind him.
Will doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. He’s already there, hands under your arms, helping guide you down onto the nearest cot.
“What happened?” he asks, clipped, sharp, professional.
“Ambush,” one of your quest mates says. “Drakon tail—caught them on the side. They wouldn’t stop fighting.”
Of course you didn’t.
Will’s jaw tightens as he peels back your armor. The damage is worse than the blood suggests—deep gash along your ribs, dark and angry, scales burned into the edges. Poison. Residual magic. The kind that lingers.
His glow flares instinctively, bright gold flooding the room.
You hiss.
“Hey,” he says immediately, softer. “I know. I know. Just—stay with me.”
Your lashes flutter. You don’t open your eyes.
“I’m awake,” you mumble. “You’re not that special, glow stick.”
Kayla exhales in relief. Someone laughs weakly.
Will doesn’t.
“Ambrosia,” he snaps, not looking up. “Now.”
He presses his hands to your side. The glow sinks in, fighting something stubborn, something that resists healing. He can feel it—your body clinging to consciousness through sheer will.
Too much will.
“You should’ve called for help sooner,” he says, voice tight.
One of your quest mates starts to protest, but you beat them to it.
“I’m fine,” you say, sharper now, breath hitching as the light pulses. “It looks worse than it is.”
Will opens his mouth to argue—
—and then you add, with unmistakable edge,
“I’m fine, William.”
His hands stop.
Not slowly. Not gradually.
They just stop.
The glow flickers violently, then steadies, lower than before, like he’s forced it back through sheer shock.
William.
Not sunshine.
Not blondie.
Not solar panel, said with a grin and a tilt of your head.
His name—full, precise—cut with irritation and pain and that stubborn refusal to admit you’re hurt.
You open your eyes then, squinting at him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter. “I said I’m—”
“You’re not,” he says.
It comes out calm. Too calm.
The room goes quiet.
Your quest mates exchange looks and slowly back away, Kayla herding them out with a knowing hand. The infirmary doors shut, leaving just the two of you and the low hum of magic.
Will exhales through his nose, then resumes healing—more carefully now, more controlled.
“You’re exhausted,” he continues. “Poisoned. Running on fumes and attitude.”
“That’s my brand.”
“You almost collapsed on the hill.”
“But I didn’t.”
His jaw tightens again. “Because you’re stubborn.”
You manage a weak smirk. “And you like that.”
He doesn’t answer.
He finishes stabilizing the wound, wrapping bandages that glow faintly under his fingers. When he finally pulls back, his hands linger in the air for half a second longer than necessary.
“Three days,” he says. “Infirmary. Minimum.”
You groan. “Absolutely not.”
“Non-negotiable.”
“I have training.”
“You have a drakon wound.”
“I’ve had worse.”
He finally looks at you fully then, sunlight eyes sharp but something else burning underneath.
“Not today,” he says quietly. “Not with me.”
You study his face, the way his glow hasn’t fully dimmed, the way his shoulders are too tense. Your tone softens despite yourself.
“…Sorry,” you mutter. “Didn’t mean to snap.”
He nods once. Accepts it. Then, after a beat—
“You’ve never called me that before.”
Your brow furrows. “Called you what?”
“My name.”
Oh.
You look away, suddenly very interested in the blanket. “Well. You were being annoying.”
A corner of his mouth twitches despite himself.
“Get some rest,” he says, adjusting the pillows. “I’ll be right outside.”
As he turns away, heart still racing, one thought repeats louder than the rest:
You only used his name when it mattered.
And gods help him—
it mattered far more than he was ready to admit.
Yours, Always - Will Solace x Male reader One Shot
Summary: “the reader is to others this tough and sometimes intimidating guy but when alone with Will he just melts and is super soft.” Request from anon
Warnings: Smut; fluff; gay smut; dom/sub slightly
Words: 2.2K
Notes: To the anon that requested this back in march I hope this is what you were looking for sorry it took so long to write
Y/N’s POV
Will’s weight settles over me, solid and warm, and all I can do is lie there and feel.
My back is pressed into the mattress of his bed in Cabin 7, sheets tangled beneath us, his thigh slotted between mine. He smells like sunlight and healing herbs and the faint remnants of summer rain—the kind that sneaks in through the window during a lazy afternoon. His golden hair is mussed where I ran my fingers through it, strands falling in front of his ridiculously pretty eyes.
He has this look in them, this knowing smirk paired with so much softness it makes my chest ache.
“You do realise how fucking gorgeous you are like this, right?” he says, his voice low and rough against my throat. “Laid out. Breathless. Mine.”
I shiver.
To everyone else, I’m sharp edges and don’t-fuck-with-me energy. I train hard, talk less, keep people at arm’s length with a stare that could level a god. I’ve always had to be that guy—the one who doesn't break, who doesn't bend.
But Will doesn’t just make me bend. He melts me.
“Will…” I murmur, and it’s meant to be a warning, a weak protest, but it comes out like a plea.
He grins against my skin. “What? You gonna growl at me, tough guy?”
I want to. I should. But instead, my hands find his shoulders, nails biting into sun-warmed skin, and I drag him closer until our hips meet and he groans, low and needy. I kiss him like I need him to breathe—because maybe I do. He tastes like mint and honey, and every slow roll of his tongue against mine makes my thoughts blur out into static.
His fingers drag slowly, agonisingly slowly, down my chest, over old scars and muscle, and I can feel how much he adores every inch of me. Not just how I look, but how I give in to him. How I soften beneath him when no one else gets to see me like this.
“You’re so good for me,” he murmurs against my collarbone, licking a stripe along it just to hear me gasp. “All that strength, and you hand it over like a gift.”
“It’s not fair,” I whisper, already breathless. “You shouldn’t be this good at driving me insane.”
Will pulls back just enough to look at me, brushing a thumb across my cheek. His smile is reverent. “You’re so beautiful when you let yourself fall apart.”
I want to say something back, something like you’re the only one I’d ever let see me like this, but then he’s tugging at the waistband of my pants, sliding them down with practiced ease, and the words dissolve in my throat.
I’m already half-hard beneath him, and when his hand wraps around me, slow and sure, I curse—loudly.
“Language,” Will teases, grinning, but there’s heat in his eyes now. Heat and hunger.
I can’t help the way my hips buck into his touch, desperate for more. He leans down and kisses me again, deep and consuming, as he strokes me slow—too slow. My hands fly to his back, trying to ground myself, but he’s everywhere—his mouth, his hands, his warmth pressing me into the mattress like I belong there.
And gods, I do. I belong right here, under him.
“I want you,” I whisper, voice cracking. “Please, Will. I need you.”
That gets him.
His smile falters into something tender and serious. He kisses my forehead, my nose, my cheek, then whispers against my lips, “You have me. Always.”
He shifts just long enough to grab the little bottle from his nightstand—he always keeps it there for nights like this—and warms the lube between his fingers.
His hips press me down into the bed like he owns me. Maybe he does.
The sheets are damp with sweat, twisted beneath my back. My thighs are trembling on either side of his waist, open wide, shaking from anticipation, from nerves, from the weight of his stare. Will’s looking at me like I’m something holy. Like he’s about to worship me.
“Relax for me,” he murmurs against my skin, voice soft, but charged—like a current crawling beneath the surface of my skin. “Let go.”
I try, but my body is strung tight. I’m stretched out beneath him, exposed in a way I never let anyone see me. My chest rising and falling too fast. My fingers clutching the sheets like they might ground me.
Then he touches me—his hand slick, warm, slow. His fingers slide between my thighs, teasing, circling, before slipping inside me with a practiced ease that still makes me gasp, every time.
My breath catches in my throat.
The stretch burns, but it’s good—so good it makes my toes curl and my lips part on a moan I can’t hold back. He works me open with such aching patience, curling his fingers just right until my hips lift off the bed without permission.
“That’s it,” he whispers, kissing the corner of my mouth. “You’re doing so well for me.”
Gods, I want to be good for him. I want to give him everything.
By the time he’s slicked himself up, lined himself against me, and pushes in—slow, deliberate, inch by inch—I’m panting, trembling, staring up at him like he’s the only thing tethering me to the world.
The initial stretch makes my back arch off the bed. It’s a burn, a deep one, dragging a raw noise from my throat that doesn’t sound like me. It’s too vulnerable. Too honest. But Will doesn’t look away—not for a second.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs, brushing my cheek. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
When he’s fully seated inside me, his hips flush to mine, I feel full in a way that borders on overwhelming. Like he’s everywhere—inside me, around me, under my skin.
He gives me a moment, just holding me, kissing my jaw, my throat, my lips. His thumb rubs slow circles into my hip.
And then he moves.
The first thrust knocks the air out of my lungs.
My fingers dig into his back as he pulls out halfway and sinks back in, deep and slow. It’s intense. Every movement drags across that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyes. I gasp, clutching at him, nails leaving red crescents on his golden skin.
“Will—fuck—” My voice breaks, high and desperate. I don’t sound like myself. I sound wrecked.
His pace quickens, hips snapping forward with more force, more hunger, but still somehow loving. Always loving. Every thrust sends a wave of heat through me, makes me feel like I’m unraveling at the seams. The room narrows until all I know is the stretch, the pressure, the deep throb of pleasure blooming in my gut.
“You feel so good,” he growls into my ear, voice hoarse. “You were made for me. Gods, you feel perfect.”
I don’t know what I say in return—maybe his name, maybe some half-formed plea—but I know I’m trembling beneath him, legs locking around his waist to keep him close, closer. My cock is pressed between us, leaking, aching, dragging across his stomach with every thrust.
“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for. “Don’t stop. Don’t ever—”
“I won’t.” He kisses me hard, deep, his hand sliding down to wrap around me. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, baby.”
When his hand closes around me, it’s too much.
The rhythm of his hips, the friction of his body against mine, the pressure of his hand—it slams into me all at once like a tidal wave, crashing through my core. My orgasm rips through me with a full-body shudder. My vision whites out, my mouth falling open in a broken cry. I come hard between us, over his hand, his stomach, my own chest.
Will fucks me through it, groaning against my skin as I pulse and twitch beneath him, body wracked with aftershocks.
Then I feel it—his hips stuttering, his breath hitching.
He thrusts deep, grinding against me with one final push before spilling inside, heat flooding me in a way that feels so intimate it nearly breaks me. He moans my name—ragged and raw—before collapsing onto me, panting into my neck.
I hold him.
Arms wrapped around his back, legs tangled, our skin slick and hot and shaking. I don’t want to move. I don’t think I can.
“Will…” I whisper, heart still racing, voice barely there.
He lifts his head and looks at me—his expression dazed, flushed, and so full of love it makes my throat ache.
“I’ve got you,” he says softly, brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead. “Always.”
And I believe him.
Because under all the armour, beneath all the toughness I wear like a second skin—with him, I don’t have to pretend.
With him, I can fall apart.
And he’ll always be there to hold the pieces.
The silence that follows is thick with heat and heartbeats, broken only by the sound of our breathing—shallow, uneven, coming down from something so overwhelming it still echoes in my bones.
Will’s weight is heavy on top of me, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable. It’s grounding. Comforting. His skin is sticky against mine, flushed with exertion, but neither of us moves. I don’t want him to. I don’t want to lose the feeling of his body on mine, in mine, around mine.
I feel safe. I don’t say it out loud. I don’t need to.
His fingers drift lazily along my side, tracing idle, featherlight shapes. Stars, probably. Maybe suns. Whatever they are, they feel like love.
“You okay?” he murmurs softly, lips brushing my temple.
I nod. Swallow hard. “Yeah… more than okay.”
He lifts his head enough to look at me properly. His blue eyes—bright, soft, a little sleepy—search my face like he’s still memorising it, even after all this time.
I know I probably look a mess. My cheeks are flushed, my lips swollen, my hair sticking up in all the wrong directions, and my eyes probably still glassy. But Will looks at me like I’m beautiful. Like I’m his.
“You melted,” he says, grinning.
I groan and hide my face in his shoulder. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I will start,” he teases, arms tightening around me. “You go around camp all tough and scary, giving people the death glare, and then five minutes with me and you’re whimpering and clinging to me like—”
“I will hex you.”
“You won’t,” he says smugly, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Because you secretly love it when I talk like this.”
He’s not wrong. And I hate that he knows it.
I sigh, exasperated but smiling, because I really can’t help it when he’s like this—warm and smug and unbearably good. His fingers are already back to drawing gentle lines on my skin, coaxing the tension from my muscles with each pass.
“Let me clean you up?” he whispers after a while, brushing his nose against my jaw. “Then I’ll get you water. Maybe one of my shirts?”
Gods. I love when he does that. When he takes care of me like I’m something precious. Not just a child of Ares who is meant to be rough around the edges, mean and callous.
I nod, voice too soft to say yes out loud, and he presses one last kiss to my lips before pulling back—slowly, carefully, whispering quiet apologies at every flinch, every shiver. He helps me sit up, legs still trembling a little, and tugs his shirt off the hook beside the bed before gently slipping it over my head.
It smells like him. Cedarwood, lemon, and something clean and sun-warmed. I melt again, just a little.
“You okay to stay here tonight?” he asks while wiping me down with a warm cloth, his hands so gentle it nearly undoes me.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
He smiles at that. That smile—sunlight and softness and something that feels like home. Then he pulls me back into bed, into his arms, into the tangle of sheets and the heat we’ve left behind. My head fits perfectly on his chest, my body tucked against his, his heartbeat thudding under my ear.
And when he presses a kiss to my hair and whispers, “I love seeing this side of you. The soft part you only give to me,” I don’t flinch. I don’t run.
I just let him hold me, and I let myself be held.
Because with Will, I don’t have to be the tough guy. I don’t have to guard my heart, or armour my softness. I can melt.
you know what this fandom is lacking? will solace / reader content.
you know who can fix this? you.
(please i'm begging i am starving for crumbs here)
BABESSSSS you are so real for this.
no bc Will is literally the best boyfriend. saying he's the epitome of sunshine doesn't even begin to cut it. Will makes you feel warm. you feel so comfy and accepted around him. like yk when you're hanging out with someone and everything just feels right?? like you think this is what characters on tv who are literally written to be perfect for each other feel like. Will never has a shortage of bandaids and ibuprofen and songs to whip out on the guitar and your favorite candy (and of COURSE kisses and hugs and cuddles and "love you, lovebug"s for his favorite person in the whole world)
and like beyond that, even past all the sweet fluffy stuff, Will is such a stable fucking person. he always smells a little bit like lemonade and dandelions and that summery fresh cut grass clean warm air smell. he's not freaked out easily. Will has this way of making you feel seen and known and validating your feelings without escalating things or making you feel worse. no matter what is wrong you ALWAYS know you can go to Will, and thathe can come to you. you can both practically read each others minds, you're that close. and Will wields his power of knowing you responsibly, always keeping an eye on you. he checks up on you, checks in on you and makes sure that you're doing okay. and if you're not, never fear - your boyfriend can cure any ailment (even the ones in your heart)
Summary: Will Solace can’t realy hold his alcohol but Nico doesn’t really mind.
A/N: 2 fics in one week? Oh my gods, who is this writer and what have they done with Persephone? Enjoyy yall- I really enjoyed writing this one!
Read on A03
“Hands off sunshine!” Nico warned as he held the bottle of vodka above his head, his arms outstretched.
“Give meee!” Will cried, his hand sloppily hitting Nico’s arm. The summer air was warm and Nico could feel the thin layer of sweat on his forehead- considering he had to stay in his tiptoes to hold the bottle above Will.
“Will, you didn’t even drink that much! How are you so drunk?”
“You don’t love me! Do you love me?”
“Of course I love you, ya little drunk shithead. You are totally wasted, no matter how many times you will doubt it,” Nico sighed, throwing Will’s arms over his shoulders in a vain attempt to carry him back to Cabin 7.
Will gave one long blink. Then another. “ Where are we going?”
“To your cabin. I’d shadow travel but I've seen a regular person’s reaction to that, I don’t want to see what chaos would come out of shadow travelling a hot drunken mess.”
“Did you just call me a mess?” Will pouted.
“Yes but I called you a hot mess. Focus on that part. It was mostly a compliment.”
“You’re sooo mean to meee. Do you even love me?”
“Yes I love you, stop being so heavy and carry your own legs please.” Nico shifted his back under the weight of his boyfriend's entire body and tried to manage a few steps- they would have been easy if his boyfriend wasn’t so damn fit and if he himself wasn’t slightly inebriated.
“Ni-” Will hiccuped. “-Co!”
“Yes?”
“Do you love me?”
Nico sighed again, slightly frustrated by the constant question. “Yes I love you, ask again and the answer may vary.”
“Phi Phi is so much nicer than you,” Will grumbled, his head leaning into the crook of Nico’s neck. Nico could smell the twinge of alcohol in Will’s breath along with the regular smell of the spearmint gum he would always be chewing.
“Phi Phi?” Nico snorted. “ Who in the name of God is that?”
“Your stepma! Phi Phi! She gave me so many nice flowers last time we visited!” Will paused before giving Nico an innocent look of disapproval. “ Do you not remember Phi Phii?”
Will accidentally dragged out the last ‘ee’ syllable in the word ‘phi phi’ making it sound like he was a 3 year old trying to read for the first time. Nico almost shivered at the mention of his stepmother; the last time he checked, she still had at least 157 variations of dandelions that she could turn him into the second he did anything going against her liking- afterall, she may have been the Goddess of the Spring but she was still the Queen of the Underworld.
“Yes, of course I remember Phi Phi.” He lowered his voice as he muttered the next few words under his breath to prevent them from being heard. “ How could I forget her and her stupid dandelions?”
“Phee Pheeee!”
“What about Phi Phi?”
Will paused for a few seconds. He tilted his head looking at Nico. “ Do you love me?”
Nico, awfully frustrated, decided to not answer the question honestly. “ No, I do not love you right now. Drunk you is a mess whom not only subject hops but also cannot walk coordinately.”
Nico did not think Will would take anything he said seriously but to his horror he was greatly mistaken. Will’s slow and steady breathing quickly became a rapid torrent of quick and unsteady breathing. Nico had thought that he was just mucking about but then he felt warm tears stain his shirt.
Tears streamed down Will’s flushed face, his freckles were almost invisible as the tears continued running down his face like a current. His chest racked with sobs and he pulled away from Nico and collapsed on the ground. He buried his head in his hands and let his heart beat harder with every cry that left his lips.
Nico watched, his mouth dropped. He had no idea what he had done or how to make it better. He reached out, trying to console the drunk and overly emotional Will but instead found himself feeling guilt beyond any he had ever felt before.
“Will?” He whispered. “ Will? You’re drunk. I was just joking, I didn’t mean anything I just said.”
Will's loud sobs started to slowly quieten down but the tears still freely ran across his face. He glanced upwards at Nico, his eyes rimmed red. His bottom lip wobbled and his eyes were wet.
“But.. but you said that you don’t love me…”
“I was joking. I was lying. I do love you. Only you.”
Nico plopped himself beside Will and shuffled himself closer, awkwardly. He tried to wrap one of his arms around Will but he found it to be too short and only barely touched Will’s other shoulder. So instead, he settled for rubbing soothing circles on Will’s back, calming him and forcing him to breathe slower.
“How do I know you are not lying to me now?” Will’s eyes were innocent and once again brimming with tears. “I always worry that you're just lying to me and then one day you’re going to just go poof and stupid me will be all sad.”
Nico thought he could feel his own eyes stinging- was this how Will really felt? Was Nico that bad a boyfriend that Will felt that every word, every kiss, every moment was a lie? Or did Will just consider himself so unloveable that every good thing that ever happened to him was just temporary or fake?
Nico glanced at the blonde eyelashes that were clad together with tears.
What happens inside that gorgeous head of yours, Solace?
“I love you William Andrew Solace. I choose you. You’re my significant other, significant annoyance- whatever you want to call it. And if I ever disappear, you’re sure as hell coming with me.”
Will wrapped his arms tightly and unexpectedly around Nico’s waist- causing Nico to be pushed onto his back while Will snuggled into his abdomen. Nico could feel his t-shirt stick to him due to the tears from Will’s face.
“I love you soooo much,” Will murmured into Nico’s stomach. Nico could feel his breathing hitch at the words. Nico kissed Will- light and innocent. That's what the kiss meant. He could taste the salty tears on Will’s lips and the bitter aftertaste of the vodka on his tongue. The kiss was quick, chaste and it may have not satisfied Will’s desire but it made him feel safe.
And to both of them, that’s all that mattered.
Will awoke the next morning with several life regrets but none as strong as the stupid amount of alcohol he had decided to consume the previous day or night. He could barely remember anything- let alone figure out where in the name of Zeus he was. The cabin seemed dreary but at the same time it was beautiful. It was dark and light and terrifying and beautiful all at the same time.
Wait. What Cabin was this? Whose Cabin was this? He didn’t think there was any Cabin that was so roomy with such a lack of accommodation. He almost felt like he was in a Cabin for a child of the Big Three- He remembered the one time he had taken a glimpse of the Poseidon Cabin and he remembered it to be huge- something he deeply envied Percy for.
It was only until Will noticed the black clad figure kneeling beside him that he realised where exactly he was. Beautifully tousled hair, gorgeous lips and eyes that one could get lost in forever- he only knew one person with features so defining. The question was, what on earth was he doing in Cabin 13?
Cabin 13- His boyfriend's cabin. Immediately, Will scrambled upwards. He looked Nico straight in the eye and tried to recall to what extent he embarrassed himself as a drunken idiot last night.
“How bad was it?”
“Shall I sugar coat it or give it to you straight?”
Will managed to squeak out, “Give it to me straight.”
“You tried to get into my pants and talked about how hot you thought I was.” Nico shrugged nonchalantly.
Will blanched and he immediately wished that had asked for the sugar coated version. He heard Nico laughing and he could feel his nerves both calm down and panic at the same time. Nico’s laugh was calming and beautiful and warm and made him feel all fuzzy like he was under a fluffy blanket. But he worried for what reason Nico was laughing.
“Calm down sunshine. I was joking- you should have known that I wouldn’t have been able to give it to you straight. You just asked dumb questions and cried a bit.”
“I cried?”
“It’s not a big deal.” Nico batted his hand. Will collapsed back onto the bed with an ‘ow’ and groaned something unintelligible about it being ‘too early in the morning for this’.
“It’s actually 1 in the afternoon but to each their own I guess.”
Will wanted to shout WHAT but he did not want to rack his head with an already painful headache so he instead settled for dropping his jaw.
“Close your mouth sunshine unless you plan on using it,” Nico mumbled. Will felt his jaw drop further before he snapped it back and swore internally. He made a mental note to never have a hangover near Nico because he would use it to his advantage.
“So why exactly did I cry yesterday?” Will asked as he sipped from the glass of water that had been placed at the bedside by, he could only assume, Nico. Will noticed that when asked that question, Nico tensed, his hands digging slightly into his jeans.
The corner of Will’s lips tilted upwards. “ What did you say?”
“What makes you think I said anything? Drunk you is a crybaby and you know it,” Nico huffed defensively, refusing to meet Will's eye.
“Yeah but you’re acting guilty.”
“What if I killed some boring skeleton zombie this morning and I’m only now mourning their already dead body?”
“Spare me the dark and frankly dry humour,” Will deadpanned, excited to hear the cause of his outburst yesterday.
Nico mumbled something under his breath, all while looking away from Will.
“What?”
“I said,'' Nico took a deep breath. “That I didn't love you-”
“-What?”
“But it was a joke!”
Will could feel his stomach churning and he couldn't tell if it was from the hangover or the current situation. He managed to resist a gag. “How is that a joke?”
Will’s voice was so hoarse and weak, Nico thought that he was going to break into tears all over again and he knew that if that happened, he would end up with tears flooding his own face.
“It’s because, well, drunk you kept on asking Do you love me and of course I do but drunk you is just so heavy and you kept on asking and so I of course gave a sarcastic quip and you just burst into tears and..”
Will stared at Nico and for a second, Nico was terrified that he had really blown it.He watched as his boyfriend buried his face into his hands and began shaking. His back was shivering and Nico could hear little whimpers.
“Fuck.” Nico had subconsciously let the profanity pass through his lips.
Will, suddenly, threw his head back and his laugh echoed around the empty Cabin 13. Nico felt stuned. Was he laughing in rage? Should he run?
“Will. I am so so sorry. I swear, it was a joke. I love you, I chose you William Andrew Solace. I’ll do it again and again.”
“You,” Will wheezed. “ Idiot! Did you really get so worked up over drunk me being dramatic? I was being hyperbolic!”
Nico tilted his head ever so slightly but his ravenous locks still fell over his eyes however he didn’t seem to mind as he made no effort to move it from his sight.
“So… you aren’t mad?”
“I mean I won’t reject any special treatment if you were thinking of offering as a way of showing your sorrow,” Will teased.
“Shut it.” Nico pouted. “ Do I not get a dramatic love confession? I gave you two.”
Will raised his eyebrow and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. “ If I can count correctly, and I can, I only recall one dramatic love confession.”
“You were too drunk to remember the first one.”
Will let out a groan before softly smiling.”I love you. I choose you, Nicolo Di Angelo.”
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: William Solace & f!reader
ᴛᴡ: period cramps, menstruation, mild pain, embarrassment
ᴀ/ɴ: There aren't many Will x reader blurbs I'm gonna sob.
The cramps hit again just as you stepped fully into the infirmary, sharp enough that you sucked in a breath and paused by the door like you might actually turn around and leave.
“Hey—” Will looked up immediately. “You okay?”
You nodded automatically, then shook your head just as fast. “Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
That earned a small smile from him, but it softened quickly into concern when you pressed a hand to your lower stomach again.
“Sit,” he said, already moving a curtain aside. “Before you pass out dramatically and make my paperwork worse.”
“I’m not going to pass out,” you muttered, shuffling over to the cot.
“Everyone says that,” Will replied. “Half of them are liars.”
You sat, knees pulled together, back stiff, hands folded tightly in your lap. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward, broken only by the faint clink of bottles as Will reached for a clipboard.
“So,” he said casually, pen poised. “What’s going on?”
You stared at the wall.
Your brain screamed don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it—which, naturally, made it impossible not to.
“I’m on my period,” you blurted.
Immediately, you wanted to die.
You slapped a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said it like that. I mean—I do, that’s what’s happening, but I didn’t need to just—announce it—”
Will blinked once.
Then he nodded and started writing.
“Okay,” he said calmly. “Period cramps. That explains the posture. You’re doing the classic ‘trying not to curl into a ball’ thing.”
Your face burned. “I am not—”
“You absolutely are,” he said, amused. “I see it at least five times a month.”
You peeked at him. “Five?”
“Minimum,” he replied. “Camp Half-Blood has a very consistent cycle schedule. It’s honestly impressive.”
That pulled a reluctant huff of laughter out of you before you could stop it. You quickly covered it with a groan as another cramp hit.
“Pain level?” he asked, scribbling something down.
“Bad,” you said weakly.
He looked up. “Bad like ‘ugh’ or bad like ‘I’m considering committing arson’?”
“…Arson.”
“Cool,” Will said. “Eight, then.”
You stared at him. “That’s… accurate.”
He grinned and went back to writing. “Any nausea?”
“A little.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah.”
“Cramping radiating to your back?”
You hesitated. “…Is it that obvious?”
He shrugged. “Apollo kids are built different.”
You sighed and leaned back against the pillow, mortification slowly settling into exhaustion. “I just… I didn’t want to come in. This is embarrassing.”
Will paused, glancing at you over the top of the clipboard. “Why?”
“Because,” you gestured vaguely at him, “you’re a boy. And I’m talking about my uterus. To a boy. Who I don’t even really know that well.”
“Hate to break it to you,” he said lightly, “but I’ve had full conversations about periods while actively stitching people up.”
You winced. “That’s worse.”
“It’s efficient,” he corrected, then set the clipboard down and moved to the storage shelves. “Okay, supplies. Pads or tampons?”
“Pads,” you said immediately.
“Any preference? Thin? Overnight? Wings?”
You stared at him in horror. “Why do you know so much?”
Will laughed quietly as he rummaged through the cabinet. “Because if I didn’t, campers would riot.”
He handed you a small bundle of pads and set them gently on the cot beside you, like he was afraid they might bite.
“There,” he said. “No judgment. No commentary.”
“Thank gods,” you muttered.
He turned back to the counter, grabbing a bottle of pills and returning to his clipboard. “I’m going to give you ibuprofen. Safe dose, helps with inflammation and cramps.”
“Thank you,” you said, then immediately added, “Sorry.”
He looked up again. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“I know,” you said miserably. “I just… do.”
Will smiled a little, then glanced down at the chart. “Name?”
You told him.
“Age?”
You answered.
As he wrote, he continued talking, voice easy, deliberately casual. “So. First day?”
“Yeah,” you said. “It’s always the worst.”
“Of course it is,” he replied. “Your body really said ‘let’s start strong.’”
You snorted despite yourself.
He slid the pills toward you with a cup of water. “Take these. And I’m grabbing you a heating pad.”
While he crossed the room to plug it in, he added, “Fun fact: heat relaxes uterine muscles. Which is a very unfun sentence to hear out loud.”
You laughed, actually laughed, and clapped a hand over your mouth. “Please never say that again.”
“No promises,” he said cheerfully, returning and placing the warm pad over your lower abdomen. “I thrive on medical discomfort.”
The warmth seeped in almost instantly, and you let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.
“Oh,” you murmured. “That’s… really nice.”
“Told you,” Will said. He leaned against the counter again, glancing at you. “You can stay here as long as you need. Nap. Read. Exist.”
“…You’re really not weirded out?” you asked quietly.
He met your eyes, sincere. “Not even a little.”
Something in your chest loosened at that.
“Okay,” you said softly. “Then… thanks. For not making it worse.”
He smiled. “Anytime. Period cramps are already villains. No need to add embarrassment to the list.”
You settled back into the pillows, heat easing the pain, embarrassment finally giving way to comfort—while Will returned to his paperwork, occasionally glancing over to make sure you were okay, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
