Archive of Our Own ^beta

You’re tired. Not just from the day, but from everything. From the routine, from the quiet weight of existing. The evening stretches long and uneventful, like most of your evenings. You eat dinner standing up in the kitchen, something frozen, barely warm. You scroll through your phone without really seeing anything. Notifications blur together. No one calls. The world feels distant. You take a shower. Steam curls around your shoulders as you scrub the day off your skin, but nothing washes away the strange emptiness that clings to you. You look at yourself in the mirror afterward, bare, raw, a little lonely. You don’t recognize the person in your own eyes sometimes. You pull on an oversized t-shirt, slide under the covers, and leave the light on a little longer than usual. Just in case. You try not to think. But your mind doesn’t listen. There’s a heaviness in your chest as you close your eyes. You don’t even remember falling asleep. You just drift, like you’re being pulled under water, slow and silent. And then the room changes. The air thickens. The temperature shifts. Something stirs in the dark. He’s already there. Watching you.

You finally find sleep, unaware. The night presses against the windows, thick and breathless, and your room hums with a silence that is almost alive. The air is warm, too warm, as if something is breathing just beneath the surface of the world. He watches you. This demon. This incubus. Luigi. You don’t know his name yet. You don’t know anything about him. But he knows you. He’s been watching for nights, studying the rhythm of your breathing, the flutter of your lashes, the way your body curls under the sheets. He steps through the shadow, not quite walking, not quite floating. His feet never touch the floor. He smells like smoke and something sweet, sickly sweet, like ripe fruit left out too long. His body is wrong in ways that make you shiver, even in sleep. Tall, lean, and carved like something out of old marble, but with red down feathering his chest, his arms, his shoulders. His wings fold close behind him, great, leathery things with veins like dark roots and his horns curve elegantly from his forehead, as if shaped by desire itself. He crouches beside your bed. His eyes glint hazel in the dark, amused, hungry. You shift in your sleep. You don’t see the way he smiles. You don’t feel his hand hovering just above your skin, not yet. But you will. He didn’t come to haunt you. He came to possess you.

You sigh in your sleep, soft and oblivious, and the sound curls around him like a ribbon. He tilts his head, listening to your body more than your voice, the quiet thrum of your blood, the heat rising from your skin, the dreams flickering just beneath the surface. His fingers hover above your thigh, close enough to feel the warmth of you, but he doesn’t touch. Not yet. He likes the waiting. The ache of it. The red down on his forearms shifts as he moves, brushing the sheets like silk. You murmur something, turn slightly, baring the slope of your neck. He inhales, slow, deliberate. You smell like sleep and softness and something he shouldn’t want this much. His lips are close to your ear now, and though you don’t hear him, your body reacts. Your pulse quickens. Your breathing stutters. You feel him in your dream before you ever feel him in your bed. In your dream, a man with horns and wings asks for nothing, but takes everything. His voice is velvet and fire, curling around your thoughts, coaxing you deeper. You don’t run. You open. Your fingers twitch against the sheets. Your thighs shift, parting just slightly, and his breath catches. His hand hovers lower now, tracing the heat that radiates from your skin. “You’re already calling me,” he whispers, his voice barely air. “Even if you don’t know it yet.” He touches you, finally, just a whisper of his palm against the curve of your hip. And something inside you sighs. Not your voice, not your mind. Something older. Deeper. You don’t wake. But you welcome him.

He is tall, taller than any man you’ve known, with a body that seems sculpted for desire: lean, powerful, and unnervingly still. Every line of him is sharp, elegant, dangerous. His skin is a shade of deep, warm bronze, but under the soft light, you catch a shimmer, like heat rippling off stone. Red down dusts his body, not like hair, but like something softer, finer, otherworldly. It clings to the swell of his shoulders, trails down the inside of his arms, brushes across his chest in faint, flame-colored wisps. It’s like feathers and velvet and fire, all at once. His horns rise from his forehead in graceful arcs, dark and smooth like polished obsidian, curling slightly back as if shaped by wind and time. They’re beautiful, in a way that feels ancient. A warning. A promise. His face is devastating. Not just handsome, unnatural. His jaw is sharp, lips full, expressive, made for seduction. His cheekbones could cut glass. His hazel eyes, bright and feral, seem to see everything, your body, your soul, your secrets. They glow faintly, lit from within like embers waiting to spark. And then there are his wings. Massive, leathery, folded behind him like the cloak of a fallen angel. When they twitch, the air stirs. The edges of them brush against the curtains, the bedframe. They carry the scent of smoke, spice, and some darker thing that tightens in your chest. His tail moves lazily, serpentine, tipped with a barbed point that glints faintly. It sways with anticipation. He doesn't rush. He never rushes. His hands, long-fingered, strong, are not entirely human. There’s something just slightly off. The nails, a little too dark. The bones beneath the skin, a little too sharp. But you wouldn’t pull away from them. Not even awake. Especially not awake. He is desire given form. And he’s here for you.

You dream of fire.

Not destruction, but heat. A warmth that spreads low in your belly, slow and deep, like something blooming inside you. Your breath hitches, and you shift beneath the sheets, thighs brushing, seeking something you don’t fully understand. Luigi stands over you, murmuring words in a language older than bone. They don’t register in your mind, but they curl inside you, thick with power. Ancient syllables that slip into your skin like smoke, like silk. You moan softly in your sleep, and the spell takes hold. Your body arches, delicate and involuntary, as if pulled by invisible strings. He watches, satisfied. The red down on his chest bristles as the energy builds in the room, a deep, vibrating hum that sinks into your very marrow. He doesn’t ask permission. Demons never do. He leans down, and his lips brush against your neck, not a kiss, not quite. Just breath. Heat. Magic. Your pulse races under his mouth. "You belong to me now," he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger and something darker. "Even if you don’t know it yet." Your legs part as if by command, and his hand glides up your inner thigh, slow, deliberate. The warmth of his touch burns through the fabric, through the dream. You gasp, even unconscious, your hips rising to meet him. The spell deepens. He doesn’t need to speak anymore. You respond to him instinctively, as if your body recognizes him, as if it’s been waiting all along. He pulls the sheet down and drinks you in. Eyes glowing, wings twitching, his tail curling possessively around your ankle, Luigi moves between your thighs. He kisses lower now, mouth hot, reverent, greedy. His tongue traces circles that make your back arch and your breath come in ragged moans. You whimper his name without knowing it. He smiles against you. His fingers slide inside slowly, curling just right, and your body tightens around the invasion, trembling, desperate. You don’t even realize you’re chanting his name now, not aloud, but in your mind, over and over. A litany. A surrender.

Luigi.
Luigi.
Luigi.

He owns you now. Not with chains. With pleasure. With magic. With the kind of possession you never want to be free from. Luigi's eyes gleam with dark satisfaction as he watches you succumb to the spell, your body arching and parting for him like a flower blooming under his touch. He can feel the magic coursing through your veins, binding you to him in ways you cannot yet comprehend. With deliberate slowness, he trails kisses down you neck, savoring the taste of you skin and the sweet surrender in every gasp that escapes you lips. His hand glides up your inner thigh, fingers burning with an otherworldly heat that sears through fabric and into flesh. As if by instinct, your legs fall open wider, inviting him closer. Luigi smirks at this display of unconscious submission before pulling back the sheet completely. With a snap of his fingers, your clothes vanish, gone like smoke in wind—leaving you bare beneath his gaze, as if you were always meant to be seen like this. His glowing eyes drink in the sight of your naked form sprawled beneath him, full breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath, nipples hardening under his gaze, the plush curve of your hips and the glistening heat between your thighs. With a low growl, Luigi leans down to worship your body with his mouth. His tongue traces circles around your nipples, drawing out moans that vibrate through him. He teases lower, kissing and licking a trail down your stomach until he reaches the apex of your thighs. "Mine," Luigi whispers against your slick folds before delving in to taste the essence that is uniquely yours. His fingers slide inside you as he licks and sucks at your most intimate places, coaxing out cries of pleasure that echo through the room.

Luigi's fingers curl and twist inside you , stroking a rhythm that has your hips bucking against his mouth. He hums in approval, the vibration sending shivers through your sensitive flesh. His tongue delves deeper, lapping at the sweet nectar that drips from your core. "So responsive," Luigi murmurs against your heat, "I knew you would be." Your moans grow louder, more desperate as you  chase the pleasure he offers. Your hands fist in the sheets beneath you, tugging at them frantically as if trying to anchor yourself amidst the storm of sensation Luigi is unleashing. "Please...more..." you whimper without quite knowing what you're begging for, only that it comes from him and fills this aching void within you . Luigi obliges with renewed fervor. He sucks harder on your clit while pumping his fingers faster inside your clenching channel. The spell intensifies around them both, ancient power thrumming through Luigi's veins as he feeds off your arousal like a dark, intoxicating elixir. "Come for me," Luigi commands in a voice that brooks no refusal. "Let go and surrender to the magic." With those words, he drives his fingers deeper and sucks harder on your throbbing nub. Your body seizes up as the climax crashes over you, waves of ecstasy washing through you like molten lava as you cry out Luigi's name.

As your climax subsides, Luigi withdraws his fingers from your spent body. He gazes at the evidence of your pleasure, glistening juices coating his hand and dripping onto the sheets. "Not enough," he growls to himself, eyes gleaming with dark desire. "You'll need to feed me more." With a wave of his hand, Luigi reinforces the spell that keeps you in a deep slumber. Your chest rises and falls steadily beneath him as you remain oblivious to his intentions. Lifting your head, Luigi positions himself between your parted lips. His cock throbs with anticipation as he watches your face relax into sleep-induced serenity. "Open wide," he commands softly but firmly, sliding one hand behind your head to guide it towards him. Your mouth parts slightly under Luigi's touch before falling open further on its own accord, as if some primal part of you recognize what is needed even in unconsciousness. A low chuckle rumbles in Luigi's chest as he notches the tip of his erection against those soft, inviting lips. He pushes forward slowly, relishing the warmth and wetness that envelops him as your mouth stretches to accommodate his girth. "That's it," Luigi praises, voice low and husky with pleasure. "Take all of me." He begins to thrust in a slow, steady rhythm, each deliberate stroke driving deeper into your willing mouth. Your tongue swirls around him lazily, coating every inch with saliva as you suck in time with his movements. Luigi groans at the sensation, hands fisting in your hair for leverage as he loses himself in the blissful abandon of this act. "Such a good little human," he murmurs between gritted teeth, eyes rolling back at the exquisite pressure building within him.

Luigi kneels between your thoracic flanks, his weight pressing down on your chest as he holds your head still with one hand. Your face is turned upwards, mouth open in a slack, dreamless smile that belies the intimate act taking place. "Look at you," Luigi breathes, gazing down at your unconscious form beneath him. "So beautiful like this,  helpless and yet so willing to serve." He rocks his hips forward again, thrusting into the warmth of your mouth with deliberate slowness. Your throat constricts around him as she swallows reflexively each time he bottoms out. "Yes...just like that," Luigi praises huskily, fingers tightening in your hair. You remain motionless beneath him, lost to the world in deep sleep even as you service Luigi with an uncanny skill born of instinct rather than conscious will. Lifting his gaze from where their bodies meet, Luigi takes in the sight of himself looming over your petite frame. His muscular torso casts a shadow across your pale skin as he continues to ride the gentle rhythm of your mouth. "You're mine now," Luigi declares, voice low and possessive. "Body and soul, whether you know it or not." He increases his pace slightly, hips snapping forward with more urgency as he chases the crest of pleasure building within him.

Luigi's thrusts grow more erratic as the tension coiling in his loins reaches a breaking point. With a guttural groan, he drives deep one final time and erupts inside your willing mouth. "Fuck...!" Luigi gasps, eyes flashing with dark ecstasy as spurt after spurt of hot seed floods your throat.  He holds your head steady through the aftershocks, riding out the intense waves of pleasure that course through him. You swallow reflexively around his pulsing cock, milking every last drop from him. "Good girl," Luigi praises hoarsely when he finally pulls free, his softening member slipping from between your lips with a wet pop. You remain motionless beneath him, still lost in slumber even as you lie there panting softly, saliva dripping down your chin and onto the sheets stained with their combined essences. Lifting himself off your chest with a satisfied sigh, Luigi takes in the sight of you sprawled beneath him, face flushed pink from lack of oxygen and lips swollen from his use. A possessive smile curves his lips as he admires the evidence of their intimate encounter.

Luigi's eyes gleam with dark hunger as he takes in the sight of you splayed out beneath him, your body still flushed from his earlier use, lips parted and chest rising and falling with each soft breath. "Not enough," he growls, voice low and possessive. "I need to claim you properly, make you mine in every way." Lifting a hand, Luigi trails his fingers down your side, over the gentle swell of your hip and along the inside of your thigh. He pauses at the juncture where leg meets groin, feeling for that sweet spot that will have you opening up for him once more. "You're going to be such a good little fucktoy, human." Luigi murmurs against your ear before nipping at the lobe playfully. You remain oblivious to his words even as you instinctively part your thighs further under his touch. You skin is warm and smooth against Luigi's palm as he teases higher until he finds what he seeks, slick heat coating his fingertips. "So wet already... You really are made for me, aren't you?" Luigi chuckles darkly, spreading your arousal around your entrance before notching the head of his cock against it. With a slow, deliberate thrust, Luigi sinks into your welcoming heat. He groans at the sensation, your inner walls clenching and fluttering around him like a velvet vice. "Fuck... You feel incredible," he praises huskily as he begins to move within you, each stroke deep and purposeful as he claims this willing body as his own.

Luigi's thrusts grow more forceful as he loses himself in the pleasure of your tight heat surrounding him. He grips your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he pounds into your with increasing urgency. "Take it all," Luigi grunts, his voice strained with effort and desire. "Every inch belongs to me now." You remain motionless beneath him, lost in a deep slumber even as you are filled and stretched by Luigi's invading length. Your breath hitches occasionally, betraying the subtle reactions of your body to his relentless pace. Lifting one hand from your hip, Luigi reaches up to cup your breast possessively, thumb flicking over a hardened nipple before pinching it gently between his fingers. "Look at you... So perfect for my cock," Luigi murmurs against your ear before nipping at the lobe again. He increases the intensity of his strokes, each powerful drive sending ripples through your supine form and filling the room with lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin.

As Luigi continues to pound into your willing body, he can feel the telltale signs of your impending climax, your inner walls beginning to flutter and clench around him in rhythmic pulses. "That's it... Let go for me," Luigi encourages huskily, his voice laced with dark satisfaction as he senses who will reach their peak first. He leans down to capture your mouth in a rough kiss, swallowing your moans as you start to twitch beneath him. His hips snap forward with renewed vigor, driving deep and grinding against that sensitive spot within you. "Cum on my cock," Luigi growls against your lips before biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. His spell is so powerful that you barely feel his bite. The coppery taste only heightens his arousal as he feels your body begin to seize up, muscles tensing and then releasing in waves of ecstasy. Your nails dig into his back as you cry out silently through the spell, lost in the intensity of your orgasm. Lifting his head, Luigi watches intently as pleasure contorts your features, your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in a silent scream. He grins, feeling his own climax building at the sight of your surrender. "Beautiful," Luigi praises hoarsely as he continues to thrust through your spasms, prolonging both their pleasure. With one final deep stroke, Luigi buries himself to the hilt inside you and erupt, hot seed pumping into your convulsing channel as he rides out the waves of his release.

Your body trembles beneath him as the last wave crashes through you, leaving you limp, open, glowing from the inside out. Luigi watches your face, his expression unreadable. There is satisfaction in his eyes, yes but also something more ancient, more private. A flicker of tenderness, maybe. Or triumph. He brushes his fingers down your thigh, slow and languid, like he’s savoring the last note of a song. Then he leans in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “You’ll remember me,” he whispers. You murmur something, broken, half-formed. A sound of protest, or maybe longing. But your eyes never open. You’re still under. He rises silently. The air cools around you as he steps back. The sheets settle, and your skin misses the heat of his body immediately. His wings unfold, stretching wide in the dim light, casting strange, shifting shadows on the walls. For a second, he hesitates, watching you. His tail flicks once. Then, with a rustle of wings and a breath of sulfur and roses, he vanishes. The room falls silent. You wake slowly. Your body is sore in places it shouldn’t be. There’s a pressure between your legs, a slick warmth you can’t explain. Your skin tingles, oversensitive. You press your thighs together and gasp. Your lips feel bruised. Your neck... tender. Your sheets are tangled around you like you’ve been fighting or surrendering, all night. The air smells faintly burned, faintly sweet. Like something that shouldn’t exist in the waking world. You sit up, dazed. It’s only when you sit up and feel the cold air on your skin that you realize, you’re naked, though you went to bed fully dressed. Heart racing. Was it a dream? You touch your own skin. It still remembers. There’s a red feather on your pillow. Small. Soft. Definitely not yours. You pick it up with shaking fingers. And for a moment, just one fragile, pulsing moment, you wish it hadn’t been a dream. But somewhere deep inside, you already know, it wasn’t.

Nights pass. But sleep is never the same again. You try. You dim the lights, wash the sheets, tell yourself it was just a dream, a figment of a restless mind, stirred by something you read or wanted or feared. But deep down, your body knows better. It remembers. In the quiet, in the stillness, in the places where logic fades, it aches for him. For Luigi. And he comes back. Not every night. Not in the same way. But once, just once, you wake with his voice still echoing in your ear. You try to write it down, but the ink smears. You try to forget, but the silence afterwards is worse. Maybe it was real. Maybe it still is. Sometimes it’s just the feeling of him, heat curling around your spine, the faint pressure of a hand at your waist, a breath on your neck that makes your toes curl under the blankets. Sometimes it’s clearer: his silhouette at the foot of your bed, wings outstretched like a promise, eyes glowing with that impossible, hungry gold. In your dreams, he never speaks. He touches you without touching, pulls you into worlds made of smoke and velvet and red light. Rooms that don’t exist. Forests with no sky. Beds that never stay still. And you go willingly, every time. Even as you wake sweating, panting, your skin flushed, your thighs damp with a desire you can’t name, there’s no shame. Only longing. During the day, his absence hangs like perfume in the air. You think you catch glimpses of him in crowds, reflections, shadows. The world around you dims, dulls. No one else makes your pulse stutter. No one else sees you like he did. Like he does. Because even when you don’t dream of him, you feel him. In the pit of your stomach. In the hollow behind your knees. In the deep, wet ache between your legs. You find yourself touching your own skin more than before, trying to summon him back with your own fingers, your own breath, but it’s never the same. He’s made a home in you. Not in your heart. In your dreams. And you begin to wonder if you ever slept peacefully before him. If you ever wanted to. Maybe this is the price of being chosen. Of being possessed. Not by a man. Not by love. By something older. Darker. Red as blood and soft as feather. By Luigi. And you know, without knowing how, that he will come again. Not because you call him. But because he left a part of himself inside you. And in your dreams, you are his. Forever.