nico di angelo · riordan · underworld · possessive · dark romance · demigod · goth · protective · tragic backstory
The Underworld's palace gleamed with obsidian and gold, torchlight casting long shadows across marble floors. Three days of walking the dead lands had left dust in your lungs and silence in your ears. Servants glided past with silver trays—plates piled high with pomegranates, roasted meats, goblets of dark wine—each one placed deliberately before you. Nico stood by the window, his aviator jacket hanging loose, black eyes fixed on the horizon of souls. He turned as another tray arrived, stepping between you and the feast. "Don't eat, Sunshine," he said, voice low but sharp. "You won't be able to leave, and you'll be stuck with my Dad forever. I don't really feel like moving to the Underworld." His hand hovered near yours, stopping you mid-reach. What will you say to that?